UNKNOWN GUEST

#29 She's Fine!

After hours of contemplation, I finally decided to visit Mom at the hospital. As I walked into her room, the sight before me was both heartbreaking and familiar. Dad was slumped in a chair next to Mom's bed, clearly exhausted, his head tilted back in a moment of fitful sleep. 

Mom lay in the bed, an IV drip connected to her arm, with tubes running in and out. Various machines beeped softly, monitoring her pulse and blood pressure. The room was filled with the steady hum of medical equipment, creating a tense yet calm atmosphere.

Seeing them like this brought back memories of a time when I had been ill. I remembered a particular night when I had come down with a fever. Mom and Dad had returned home after being away on a mission for eight days. Instead of resting or tending to their own fatigue and injuries, they had stayed up all night taking care of me. 

I remembered the comforting touch of Mom's hands, gently placing a wet cloth on my forehead to help lower my fever. Dad had been there too, his hands carefully keeping my feet in hot water, trying to ease my discomfort. When I woke up the next morning, I saw them still awake, their faces etched with exhaustion. Dark bags under their eyes made them look almost alien, so worn out from the vigil they kept by my side.

Earlier, I had been angry at them. They had missed a school trip that I was excited about, a trip where one parent was required to attend. Instead, they were off saving the world from some massive threat. It was a disappointment I felt acutely at the time, and I'd let my frustration with them simmer.

Now, seeing them so dedicated to my care despite their own exhaustion and sacrifice, I felt a bittersweet wave of emotion. It was overwhelming. The memories of their care and the sacrifice they made for me filled me with a deep sense of regret. I had been so caught up in my own feelings of neglect that I didn't see the bigger picture.

Feeling the weight of my past reactions, I couldn't summon any anger or joy now. All I could do was tell them to get some rest and then retreat into my own world of silence. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had been a poor son, too wrapped up in my own disappointments to appreciate their sacrifice.

"Jason?"

It took a moment for me to get into my cover. As soon as Dad's voice broke the silence, I was momentarily caught off guard. I looked up at him as he stretched his hand out and asked, "What are you doing here? Is it your off day or something?" 

I nodded, slipping into a casual tone as I replied, "Yeah, you can say that."

I couldn't help but sigh, seeing how worn out he looked. "Cap," I said with a touch of concern, "why don't you go and look after yourself a bit? Anyone can mistake you for some alien. You're a mess." We shared a chuckle as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the fatigue evident in his movements.

He sighed deeply and stood up, his gaze lingering on Mom's still form in the bed. "I'll be watching her," I assured him. "Go, have some rest. You've been here for almost twelve hours." 

He gave me a nod, the exhaustion in his eyes making his acceptance of the suggestion almost automatic. "Alright," he said, giving one last longing look at Mom before walking out of the room.

Once he was gone, I took the empty chair beside Mom's bed and settled into it, the quiet of the hospital room wrapping around me like a heavy blanket. The rhythmic beeping of the machines and the soft hiss of the IV drip were the only sounds breaking the silence. I stared at her, feeling a deep pang of regret and guilt.

After a moment, I spoke softly, more to myself than to anyone else, "I've always been very selfish, haven't I? You don't know, of course, but... I'm really ashamed of myself, Mom." The words felt heavy as they left my lips. I was grappling with the weight of my past actions, the missed opportunities to show appreciation, and the frustration I had felt.

Sitting there in the quiet room, watching over her, I was faced with a stark reality of my own shortcomings. It was a painful realization, but one I needed to confront, hoping that maybe, just maybe, it would help me make amends in my own way. 

The soft pattering of rain against the glass window created a soothing rhythm, a gentle backdrop to my swirling thoughts. I had been sitting here beside Mom for hours, the weight of uncertainty pressing heavily on me. I wasn't sure how long she would remain unconscious, or if she'd wake up at all.

Then, out of the blue, a voice broke the silence. "It's raining." It was such a spontaneous observation that it took me a moment to realize it wasn't mine. 

I turned around to find Mom, her gaze fixed on the rain-soaked window. My eyes widened in surprise, and I gasped, "Ma'am! You're awake!"

Her lips curled into a faint smile, a weak but genuine one. "Hi, Jason."

 Relief washed over me like a tidal wave. I couldn't help but smile back. "Oh thank God you're okay."

She blinked rapidly, her eyes struggling to adjust. "How long was I out?" she asked, her voice sounding strained.

I sighed, lowering my head. "Please, don't freak out."

Her eyes narrowed in concern. "Now I am. How long, Jason?"

With another sigh, I answered, "Over a year. Fourteen months."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Shit, shit, shit, shit. What the heck just—"

I couldn't hold back my laughter. Seeing the Black Widow caught off guard was a rare and oddly delightful sight. I laughed, and she shot me a sharp glare, her eyes filled with a mix of annoyance and confusion.

She attempted to reach for something to throw at me, but her body was clearly aching, and she winced in pain. She clenched her jaw, trying to maintain her composure. "Are you kidding?" she demanded, her voice tinged with frustration.

I smiled and cleared my throat. "I was just kidding. It took almost 30 hours for the anesthesia to wear off. And you're prohibited from any physical movement for ten more hours."

She closed her eyes with a sigh, her frustration palpable. "As if 30 hours wasn't enough," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

After a moment of contemplation, she opened her eyes, her perfect eyebrow raised in a questioning arch. "I'm not sure if it's just my imagination," she began, her voice tentative, "but did you... call me 'Mom' when I got shot?"

Panic shot through me like a jolt of electricity. How could I address this? Could I steer the conversation away or distract her somehow? I let out a nervous chuckle, shaking my head in a way that I hoped seemed dismissive. "I think the doctors might need to examine something else, Agent Romanoff."

Her glare intensified, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Don't be sarcastic, Roberts. Don't think I can't put you in a bed in this hospital, just because I'm injured."

The playful smile I had been wearing vanished instantly. I cleared my throat, trying to regain my composure. "No, I called you 'Ma'am'—like this," I said, attempting to emphasize the formality. "I think, in the heat of the moment, you might have misheard."

She considered this for a moment, her gaze still scrutinizing. "Yeah, I must have. It makes more sense. Why would you call me 'Mom'?"

Relief mixed with unease. She didn't seem entirely convinced, but at least she was willing to accept the explanation for now. Inside, I was wrestling with the fact that I had indeed called her 'Mom' in the midst of the chaos. It was a slip that had revealed more than I intended.

 For now, though, I had successfully diverted her suspicion, even if only temporarily. I had to keep my guards on. She was already suspicious of me enough.