I winced as the fifth nurse squeezed the lump on my temple. She was older than all the previous ones, with a short blonde fuzz on her head instead of hair.

"It's just a bruise!" I wrested my head back out of her grasp, "I'll sleep it off! Can I please be discharged now?"

"Hmm," she muttered and tilted her head sideways as if trying to get a better look, "I still think we need to get a consult from a neurologist."

"Fine," I said in breathy exasperation, slumping back against the headboard, "waste more time."

The nurse patted my head as if I were a tantrum-wielding toddler, "Doctor Young is nice. You'll like her."

Somehow I doubted that, but I didn't argue. They had rushed me to the medical unit within the dome as soon as the knife-wielding maniac was taken away. Hours had wasted away while the nurses poked and prodded my aching temple. And now they wanted to consult a neurologist.

I watched them leave the small makeshift room. It had the bare minimum to be considered a room too. There was a small bed where I sat, an intravenous pole with a bag of fluids that went straight into the back of my hand. I had insisted I could use my mouth just fine for a glass of water too, but apparently they didn't want to risk it. A closet was across my bed with a small cache of medical supplies. It was shut now, but I had seen the nurses grab the cannula from there.

I waited a little longer before I heard feet shuffling, "Oh thank goodness," I said, far too loudly as someone knocked on the doorless arch, "please come in and discharge me, I'm clearly okay."

The response was a deep chuckle as the doctor in a lab coat and yellow scrubs made her way into the room. My eyes trailed from the bobbing Adam's apple on her neck to her dark wavy hair, shaved on one side and falling lazily on her shoulder on the other. I was sure I could make out the remnants of an unshaven face too, but I seemed to have lost the ability to speak at the sight of her.

It was weird. People didn't make me feel this way. They hadn't for a long time.

"Your face would disagree Doctor," she said with a warm smile. Like a human bass, her deep voice seemed to resonate with something in the pit of my stomach. I may as well have been the one stabbed there.

I nodded, not really sure why. Agreeing with her seemed like a good idea.

"So," she began, taking a seat on the edge of my bed as she perused through the clipboard in her hand, "how do you feel?"

I had wanted to say 'normal,' 'fine' or any number of synonyms, instead all that came out was "Umm."

It was a good thing she was far too busy looking at the clipboard in her hand.

"Okay," I finally choked, "I'm-I'm totally okay."

Dr Young smiled, "That's good," she said gently, and her eyes travelled to my forehead, "any nausea? Sensitivity to light?" She traced a hand on my temple and my face grew warmer than a furnace.

"Nope, feel totally okay."

"It looks like it's just a bruise," she agreed, and took a seat on the edge of my bed again, "you're a little dehydrated," she added, "but you've had a long flight so I'm not overly concerned." She smiled again and I noticed how one of her incisors was slightly whiter than the rest. "I'm happy to discharge you, Doctor Gilbert."

"That sounds ... okay." I was sure I knew other words, none seemed to come to mind though.

She stood up, "If you feel any worse, I'll be in the medical compound, just pop in."

"Um," I wheezed, embodying my old Dean, Dr Verne completely, "I don't know where that is."

Another chuckle and my stomach did a funny somersault, "You'll know soon enough," she said, "I think the Director and Horatio are anxious to see you first."

I sat up straighter at the director's name. Images of my mother came flashing back into my head. It was the real reason I was here. A wave of guilt blanketed all the flurries I was feeling. Ma in her hospice bed. Ma all alone. Ma ... dying. I had no time for any of this.

"Thank you," I said, feeling far calmer than I had been the past five minutes. She smiled again and knocked on the wall by the rectangular archway.

I saw Riquebourc first, in a bright green sweater this time. His dark hair were still slicked back and his face as clean-shaven as ever. Behind him was a wiry, grey-haired fellow, in a crisp suit with cold, blue eyes. He must have been Horatio.

"Theo!" Riquebourc rushed in with both arms outstretched.

I felt my face flush again, "You're all overreacting," I told Riquebourc, "it's just a bruise." Behind him, both Horatio and Dr Young stood with their heads bowed, expressionless.

Riquebourc wagged his finger, "You're being modest Theo, I saw the footage." His expression softened instantly, "I'm sorry he got past security, but it looks like you can take care of yourself just fine, eh?" His fists connected with my shoulder, "Self-defence training?"

"It was science," I disagreed, "and years of bullying that really sharpened my instincts." I knew how to look after myself, I had little choice otherwise. My mother had been diagnosed before I had even left school and the world was an unkind place.

Behind the pair of men, Dr Young smiled, but she continued staring at the floor.

I thought I had been quite subtle, but I caught Riquebourc following my line of sight to Dr Young, "So he's okay, Eli?" he asked her, misunderstanding my stare.

Dr Young nodded, finally raising her head, "No signs of a concussion, Director."

"Just a bruise," I insisted, even though she hadn't said it to him. And when no one said anything anymore I popped my feet off the bed, taking the cannula out of my hand, "I've had a long flight Director, I've wasted enough time. I need to get to my lab."

I also needed to speak to Ma. After seeing first-hand how useless the hospice staff was, who knew how she was doing?

"You need rest," Riquebourc countered, pushing me back down on the small bed. "We'll talk more tomorrow."

"Absolutely not!" I stood straight back up, and a wave of nausea and dizziness made me sit back down immediately. "I ... need ... to speak ... to her." Every word I uttered seemed to require more effort by the second, "She'll worry," I panted, "Riquebourc, please ... the whole point—"

"I know," Riquebourc interjected, and he squeezed both my shoulders. My mind was whirring with emotions, but all I could think of was how firm his grip was. "I can't let you use your phone, it's risky—"

I saw red, "You promised! You—"

"But," he said, louder than me, silencing my rage with nothing but his voice, "I'll get you a tablet that will bounce off your phone, okay?"

I nodded, "I don't care, I need to speak to her." I repeated, finding both my voice and my composure again.

Riquebourc turned to Dr Young again, "Eli let's transfer him to the medical compound tonight," he said, "as a precaution."

"Of course Director," she said, giving a little bow.

I tried not to look at the pair, but I was getting very weird vibes from the way everyone treated Riquebourc. So instead I gave a small sigh as I looked at my hands, "I have no say in this, do I?"

Riquebourc patted my back, "Just one night," he insisted, "Horatio will give you a tour of the place tomorrow and take you to your lab."

Behind him, Horatio bowed silently.

"Oh and make sure he gets his tablet," Riquebourc added, with a careless nudge of his head as he made his way out of the room, Horatio bowing away to his every command.

Dr Young—Eli found her way to the edge of my bed again, "Looks like you're stuck with me a little longer."

I attempted a smile, "That's not as bad as you think it is." I felt my face heat up again as I said it, but at least I wasn't choking on my words anymore.

She laughed again, "You'll change your mind by tomorrow," she said patting my shin, and the flutter in my stomach returned. Ten times stronger.

I sincerely doubted she could do anything to make me dislike her anyway. Not unless she would fly over to Seris and hurt my Ma. I'd probably hate her then.

I watched her leave the room in silence, feeling a little sorry she was stuck with me when she could have gone home and slept soundly for the night.

I won't pretend I enjoyed the attention. I wasn't even allowed to walk. The same porter that was wheeling my mice, now wheeled me into an ambulance. I had no idea where I travelled once again. Only that it was bumpy and lasted a few minutes only before I was wheeled into an ordinary-looking hospital.

It was another good while before Horatio arrived with my tablet too. The rooms here were a little more minimalistic than the med bay in the airport. And while I lay on the bed, forcing myself awake, Horatio worked away at the device with my phone in one hand and the larger screen in the other.

When I finally received the large square device, I snatched it so furiously that I nearly tossed the bloody thing away. It was a lot lighter than I had expected, and looked like it was made entirely of glass. But the screen mirrored my phone exactly, so the fanciness of it was of little concern to me.

I tapped on the icon to begin a video call, catching a look at myself in the camera. I finally understood what the fuss was about. A sizeable portion of my forehead was stained black and blue. The bruise went all the way to the right of my head.

I was going to be incredibly sore in the morning. I could already feel the headache seeping in. It was weird though, I didn't remember hitting the ground that hard. But I chalked it off to the adrenaline. It was the only logical explanation.

I did my best to use the pillow and my mousy curls to hide most of the bruising. I hoped my mother wouldn't see the rest as I dialled her number.

The woman that answered the call was not my mother. But it gave me a reason to sit up straight as my Ma's stern-looking caregiver began listing everything she had done that day.

"She's beginning to have shorter periods of lucidity and physical activity every day," Dr Irma continued, "you're already aware that her fine motor skills have ceased entirely."

"She was fine yesterday," I insisted, the lump in my throat dropping to my stomach.

"We've been through this Dr Gilbert," Irma responded, eyes narrowing at my desperation, "she will have flukes, they will always be temporary."

My heart sank even lower, "I want to speak to her." I was almost out of time and instead of speeding up my research, I had wasted a whole day.

The doctor tutted, "Dr Gilbert—"

"Please," I whispered, I was begging just like the trees, like everything else I despised. I felt just as helpless too, rooted so far away from her. But I had to see her, to make sure she was okay ... that I hadn't just made the biggest mistake of my life.

I saw the shift in her expression first like she had done barely two days ago. And then she spoke, "Okay." And the phone was carried back to my Ma's room.

I flopped back down, covering my bruise as much as I could. All I wanted was to see her breathing. So when I heard the stern Doctor Irma tell my mother she had a video call from her son, her stuttering confusion didn't hurt. It didn't tear me from the inside to watch my Ma give the screen one look and squeeze her eyes shut in fear either.

Ma was alive. That's all that mattered.