He’s a healthy man. He’s fit, maintains a healthy diet, but if he's already given up, I know that increases the chance that something could go wrong during surgery. I have to wonder how things would be for me if the tables were turned. Would I be capable of maintaining good thoughts, holding on to hope, if I were to lose more than half of my own leg? I'd like to think that I could, but I'm not so sure.
There's so much wrapped up in every service member’s psyche, including our ability to keep doing what we do.
“He’s going to be fine,” Kincaid says as he approaches, but there's a hint of worry in his eyes as well. “Every surgery comes with risks and Aro’s is no different. I think we're going to need some change in protocol,” my president says. I nod in agreement. “Even though we have so many protocols in place to keep us safe already, I'll have to discuss it with Shadow and the rest of the upper team, but we'll have a meeting.”
Shadow approaches, looking exhausted and worn. He gives me a half-smile, and I know it's meant to assure me that everything is going to be okay. I can’t manage enough hope to feel the same. I can't muster the positive thoughts I wish Aro had had before they wheeled him back for surgery.
I'm once again feeding off of his negative energy, the same way I did in Costa Rica.
“I've made arrangements for his rehab in Albuquerque,” Shadow says. “They have a great facility, but their housing accommodations aren't that good, so I've made arrangements for a house where he'll be more comfortable.”
Kincaid nods, taking in all the information before turning to look back at me.
“Did you see the look in his eyes before surgery?” he asks. I nod, grateful I wasn't the only one to notice. “I'm going to want you with him in Albuquerque,” Kincaid says.
“He's going to be going through a lot and he's going to need someone from his team who he can trust and confide in,” Shadow adds. “If he's willing to do that at all, I think that person is you.”
“Okay,” I answer solemnly. I knew from the beginning I wanted to be with him on this journey the entire way, and I'm grateful my bosses are allowing me to go without having to argue the point.
My hands are shaking when the doctor returns to the waiting room. Knowing Kincaid is in charge, he heads in our direction. All the other Cerberus members stand in anticipation of the news the doctor will provide.
“Surgery went well,” the doctor says. “We weren't able to save the knee, but we knew that going in.”
I'm supposed to be a strong person. The one who's capable of keeping their head on their shoulders at all times. The one responsible for making sure every member of the Cerberus team is mentally healthy and fit to do their job. So I don't understand why in this moment tears burn the backs of my eyes. The news we’re given is good, but I'm still grieving for his loss. The fight Aro has to endure is only beginning.
“We’ll keep him here for observation and to make sure an infection doesn't set in for a week,” the surgeon says.
“We've made arrangements for medical transport to Albuquerque,” Kincaid says, and the doctor nods.
“He'll be more comfortable that way,” the surgeon says. “Although, he could fly commercially if private transport wasn't an option. He's in recovery now. Your team may go two at a time to visit him. Are there any other questions?” The doctor looks around the group, but no one speaks up.
Since I’m staying behind, I know that I’ll have the opportunity to speak with the doctor privately, should I have any questions.
“No questions,” Kincaid says, holding out his hand to shake the doctor’s. The doctor walks away after the handshake.
Kincaid and Shadow turn back in my direction. “He didn't seem impressed that we were in the room when he woke up, so we're going to head back to New Mexico,” Kincaid says.
“I know you'll take good care of him. Keep us apprised of any issues,” Shadow says. “If the two of you need anything while in Albuquerque, don't hesitate to call and ask.”
I nod in agreement, shaking each of their hands and standing there like a statue as I watch them walk away. I take a seat in the now empty waiting room, mustering the positivity I know Aro isn't going to have when he wakes up.
I've witnessed otherwise healthy soldiers deteriorate not long after surgery. I can hope that Aro isn't going to be one of those, but even if he is, even if he wakes up ready to give up on everything, I won’t allow it.