((Linked with Lucky Number 7.))
Days went by in the hospital too slowly for Kaylee. There was too much routine, too many hours spent inside her own head. Her family had been visiting, in dribs and drabs - first Correy, then Jon and Vicki, then Caroline, Des, Cian, cousins who seemed to have worked out a rota to visit by so she didn't get overwhelmed. Psychiatric assessments and sessions took up her mornings here, but the afternoons were reserved for visitors. But not today. She'd asked for people to leave her alone today. Her bruised and cut fingers painfully navigated a pen across paper. Forty-two names. Forty-two lives. And she was the only one who remembered them all.
There was one person who had somehow managed to get past the security guards and the constant rounds of doctors, nurses, and aides. There was good reason for that, as he was, in a way, one of them, a familiar face here at Rhy'Din General. He was wearing a dark blue uniform, the Star of Life on his shoulder declaring him a medical professional of some sort, but not a doctor or a nurse, and certainly not a shrink. There was a reason he was there, but it wasn't quite what it seemed, not entirely anyway. A soft rap of knuckles against the door announced his arrival outside of the girl's room. He was trying to think of her simply as "the girl". The survivor. The last one left standing. Lucky - or unlucky - Seven.
The knock made her jump, the pen flinching against the paper, tearing a small hole as she looked up, toward the door. Every light in the room was on, banishing even the merest hint of shadow, the window wide open to let in the city smells and sounds, a constant reminder that she was home. "Come in."
He pushed the door open, poking his head in to let her see his face before he stepped inside. "Hey," the visitor greeted her with a soft smile, long dark hair framing a face that looked like it hadn't been shaved in a few days, green very human eyes taking her in. He moved slowly and carefully, his hands always in view, as if any quick, jerky movements - however non-threatening - might startle or frighten her. "You probably don't remember me, but I'm the one who brought you here." He didn't need to point out the patch on his shoulder that declared him an EMT; that much was obvious. His face was a friendly one, warm and sympathetic, if a bit serious.
The girl sitting up in the bed looked almost nothing like the Kaylee Granger Rhy'Din City knew. Half-starved, she was painfully thin, bruises and cuts standing out starkly on her pale skin. The yoga pants and long-sleeved t-shirt she wore seemed far too big on her frame, though thankfully some kind nurse had helped her to wash her hair thoroughly, leaving it to wave about her shoulders and hide some of the sunken shadows on her face. But he'd seen her far worse. "I remember," she said quietly. "Figures someone would ignore me asking for no visitors, right?" She clenched her fingers around the paper on her knee, hiding what was written with absent-minded suspicion.
He smiled again, trying to seem as non-threatening and reassuring as possible. "I'm not exactly a visitor. I kind of work here. I just wanted to come by and check on you. You were in pretty rough shape." And still was, by the look of her. "I can come back another time if you want to be alone," he added, leaving the choice completely up to her. His gaze darted briefly to the pen and paper, but he said nothing of it, maintaining what he hoped was a safe distance.
"No, it's okay." She nodded, making an effort to at least seem normal. She knew she'd been worrying her family when they'd come visiting, but she also knew the sooner she seemed better, the sooner she could get out of here. She frowned then, looking at him a little more closely. "You ....you were the one who brought me in, weren't you? I-I'm sorry, I don't remember your name. I was kind of ....out of it."
He'd just told her as much, but he knew it was going to take a while before she got it all straight in her head, if she ever did. If she was lucky, her mind would protect her by burying most of it in some deep recess of her brain. If not, well....That's what shrinks were for. It would either destroy her or make her stronger, and it was hard to say which way she might go. "Yeah, I'm Taylor," he offered his name, without offering a hand or closing the distance between them. "How are they treating you?" he asked what he deemed to be a safe question.
"Taylor," she repeated, realising belatedly that she'd asked a question he had already answered himself. "I never thanked you. So ....thank you. Doesn't seem like enough, but thank you." She bit her lip, wincing as the splits there stung in the action, and cleared her throat. "You can come further in, you know. I only go psycho when the lights go out."
Then leave the lights on seemed the logical response to that statement, though he knew that wasn't what she needed or wanted to hear. "You don't have to thank me. I was just doing what any decent human being would do. Besides, it's my job." His interest was a little more than professional, but she didn't need to know that just yet, if ever. He stepped a little closer, lowering himself slowing into a chair, but remaining far enough away that she wouldn't feel threatened. "You were in pretty rough shape. I know you don't think so right now, but you're pretty....fortunate to be alive." He avoided using the word lucky, for some reason.
Her eyes widened as he spoke, haunted suddenly with remembered fear as her bruised hands clenched in the sheets. Her lips moved, but she didn't seem aware of the words that escaped her in a low whisper. "Lucky number seven ....embrace the darkness." With a jerk, she pulled herself out of that memory, dark and harrowing as it was, and twisted to face him where he sat. "Fortunate isn't the right word," she told him in a shaken voice. "I don't think alive is, either."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees and clasping his hands in front of him as he watched her reaction, recognizing the fear in her eyes. He didn't have to strain his hearing too much to hear what she whispered, whether she was aware of it or not, stifling a shudder at a long-repressed memory that he refused to surrender himself to. He needed to know what had happened to her, but he wasn't a cop, and he wasn't there to question her. At least, not yet. He straightened as she seemed to remember herself, drawing back, stifling the urge to reach out and touch her hand. Though a human touch might just be what she needed, she had family for that. People who loved her and cared for her, even if they could never truly understand. "You've been through a lot," he started, once again gentling his voice, but not coddling her or minimizing the situation. "It's gonna take some time, but you will feel better."
Days went by in the hospital too slowly for Kaylee. There was too much routine, too many hours spent inside her own head. Her family had been visiting, in dribs and drabs - first Correy, then Jon and Vicki, then Caroline, Des, Cian, cousins who seemed to have worked out a rota to visit by so she didn't get overwhelmed. Psychiatric assessments and sessions took up her mornings here, but the afternoons were reserved for visitors. But not today. She'd asked for people to leave her alone today. Her bruised and cut fingers painfully navigated a pen across paper. Forty-two names. Forty-two lives. And she was the only one who remembered them all.
There was one person who had somehow managed to get past the security guards and the constant rounds of doctors, nurses, and aides. There was good reason for that, as he was, in a way, one of them, a familiar face here at Rhy'Din General. He was wearing a dark blue uniform, the Star of Life on his shoulder declaring him a medical professional of some sort, but not a doctor or a nurse, and certainly not a shrink. There was a reason he was there, but it wasn't quite what it seemed, not entirely anyway. A soft rap of knuckles against the door announced his arrival outside of the girl's room. He was trying to think of her simply as "the girl". The survivor. The last one left standing. Lucky - or unlucky - Seven.
The knock made her jump, the pen flinching against the paper, tearing a small hole as she looked up, toward the door. Every light in the room was on, banishing even the merest hint of shadow, the window wide open to let in the city smells and sounds, a constant reminder that she was home. "Come in."
He pushed the door open, poking his head in to let her see his face before he stepped inside. "Hey," the visitor greeted her with a soft smile, long dark hair framing a face that looked like it hadn't been shaved in a few days, green very human eyes taking her in. He moved slowly and carefully, his hands always in view, as if any quick, jerky movements - however non-threatening - might startle or frighten her. "You probably don't remember me, but I'm the one who brought you here." He didn't need to point out the patch on his shoulder that declared him an EMT; that much was obvious. His face was a friendly one, warm and sympathetic, if a bit serious.
The girl sitting up in the bed looked almost nothing like the Kaylee Granger Rhy'Din City knew. Half-starved, she was painfully thin, bruises and cuts standing out starkly on her pale skin. The yoga pants and long-sleeved t-shirt she wore seemed far too big on her frame, though thankfully some kind nurse had helped her to wash her hair thoroughly, leaving it to wave about her shoulders and hide some of the sunken shadows on her face. But he'd seen her far worse. "I remember," she said quietly. "Figures someone would ignore me asking for no visitors, right?" She clenched her fingers around the paper on her knee, hiding what was written with absent-minded suspicion.
He smiled again, trying to seem as non-threatening and reassuring as possible. "I'm not exactly a visitor. I kind of work here. I just wanted to come by and check on you. You were in pretty rough shape." And still was, by the look of her. "I can come back another time if you want to be alone," he added, leaving the choice completely up to her. His gaze darted briefly to the pen and paper, but he said nothing of it, maintaining what he hoped was a safe distance.
"No, it's okay." She nodded, making an effort to at least seem normal. She knew she'd been worrying her family when they'd come visiting, but she also knew the sooner she seemed better, the sooner she could get out of here. She frowned then, looking at him a little more closely. "You ....you were the one who brought me in, weren't you? I-I'm sorry, I don't remember your name. I was kind of ....out of it."
He'd just told her as much, but he knew it was going to take a while before she got it all straight in her head, if she ever did. If she was lucky, her mind would protect her by burying most of it in some deep recess of her brain. If not, well....That's what shrinks were for. It would either destroy her or make her stronger, and it was hard to say which way she might go. "Yeah, I'm Taylor," he offered his name, without offering a hand or closing the distance between them. "How are they treating you?" he asked what he deemed to be a safe question.
"Taylor," she repeated, realising belatedly that she'd asked a question he had already answered himself. "I never thanked you. So ....thank you. Doesn't seem like enough, but thank you." She bit her lip, wincing as the splits there stung in the action, and cleared her throat. "You can come further in, you know. I only go psycho when the lights go out."
Then leave the lights on seemed the logical response to that statement, though he knew that wasn't what she needed or wanted to hear. "You don't have to thank me. I was just doing what any decent human being would do. Besides, it's my job." His interest was a little more than professional, but she didn't need to know that just yet, if ever. He stepped a little closer, lowering himself slowing into a chair, but remaining far enough away that she wouldn't feel threatened. "You were in pretty rough shape. I know you don't think so right now, but you're pretty....fortunate to be alive." He avoided using the word lucky, for some reason.
Her eyes widened as he spoke, haunted suddenly with remembered fear as her bruised hands clenched in the sheets. Her lips moved, but she didn't seem aware of the words that escaped her in a low whisper. "Lucky number seven ....embrace the darkness." With a jerk, she pulled herself out of that memory, dark and harrowing as it was, and twisted to face him where he sat. "Fortunate isn't the right word," she told him in a shaken voice. "I don't think alive is, either."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees and clasping his hands in front of him as he watched her reaction, recognizing the fear in her eyes. He didn't have to strain his hearing too much to hear what she whispered, whether she was aware of it or not, stifling a shudder at a long-repressed memory that he refused to surrender himself to. He needed to know what had happened to her, but he wasn't a cop, and he wasn't there to question her. At least, not yet. He straightened as she seemed to remember herself, drawing back, stifling the urge to reach out and touch her hand. Though a human touch might just be what she needed, she had family for that. People who loved her and cared for her, even if they could never truly understand. "You've been through a lot," he started, once again gentling his voice, but not coddling her or minimizing the situation. "It's gonna take some time, but you will feel better."