............ DISCLAIMER: Catherine Marshall's beautiful story of Christy is owned by the LeSourd family. I am in no way seeking profit or credit for her story. I am continuing the story of Christy for my own amusement only. Any additions in story line and characters were invented by the writer. ........................... Title: Mirror-fic: Slow Recovery Author: AnniE ........................... Slow Recovery I kept looking at myself in the mirror, and it never got any better, no matter what angle I chose. What was I going to do? I'd seen what typhoid had done to others, but it still shocked me to see how emaciated I had become. Now I wished I'd never looked in the mirror. The sound of a knock on my bedroom door made me jump. "Christy?" It was Dr. MacNeill. "May I come in?" I hurried to the bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. It was silly, since he'd taken care of me for weeks, but now that I knew exactly how awful I looked, I felt the need to hide, and all the more because it was Neil MacNeill. "Yes, come in," I said. Even my voice was thin and weak. The doctor's appearance made me feel even worse about myself. His hair was nicely combed -- it must have been cut recently. He was clean-shaven, with a shirt that looked fresh. He pulled the chair up to the side of the bed and dropped his medical bags on the floor beside him. "You're feeling better," he said. He must have heard me moving around the room. "Some." "You look better." My bitter laugh came out as a cough, and I turned my face away from him. The cough continued, and though I tried, I couldn't stop it. I felt Dr. MacNeill's hand on my back, gently raising me to a sitting position. He offered me a drink of water, and watched as I caught my breath. I knew his concern was genuine, but the image of my sunken cheeks, dark-rimmed eyes and bony neck was painful to me. "Not that much better, obviously," I said between gasps. "Take another sip," he said, and then took the cup. "I told you recovery from typhoid is slow, but I promise you're improving." "You call this improvement?" "What do you mean?" "I saw myself in the mirror, Doctor. You don't have to pretend." I half expected he would laugh at me and tell me not to be so vain, but he sat in silence, gazing solemnly at me until I wanted to hide beneath the covers. I couldn't keep my eyes on his face -- I kept glancing away and then back to him. My self-pity and anger melted when I saw the brightness of tears in his eyes. "Neil?" I held my hand out to him, and as he reached for it he moved to sit on the bed. He took both of my hands, stroking for a minute before he spoke. "The most beautiful sight I ever saw was your blue eyes when you came back to me. I thought I'd lost you. I thought you... had died." We hadn't spoken of my awakening from my vision, or of Neil's touching prayer. At the time I was weak and exhausted, and had fallen asleep again within a few minutes; afterward we were rarely alone. Now I wanted to tell him. "It wasn't like dying," I said. "It was like coming alive -- really alive, for the first time. I saw Fairlight, and she was perfect. I wanted to be with her, I wanted to stay." Neil looked frightened somehow, and I smiled and squeezed his hands. "But then I heard you calling me." "I did call your name," he said, his eyes round with wonder. "You heard me?" "That's why I came back." "Oh, Christy." He lifted my hands to his lips. When he released me I leaned forward to hug him. He held me close for a long time, and then kissed the top of my head. I rubbed my cheek against his flannel shirt as I listened to his deep, gentle voice. "There are so many things I want to tell you." "Me, too." I sat up and smiled into Neil's eyes, no longer concerned about my looks.