i guess we'll just have to adjust

It's 8:08 in the morning.. Newt's been awake for six hours, twelve minutes, and thirty-three seconds. Thirty-four now. He knows this because there's a clock on the wall in front of him and he's been watching it very carefully between rounds of people coming in to fuss over him, ask him questions he doesn't know the answers to, hearing the doctors and nurses talk about him like he's not even there. He doesn't pay very much attention anyway, all he really wants to do is get the hell out of here even though he's pretty sure that's not going to be an option for a solid minute.

When he'd woken up, there'd been only pain--pain in his head, pain in his side, pain everywhere. There's been a respite since because he's got drugs being pumped in him through an IV. He's already been told that he's been in a coma for... Christ, has it really been almost two weeks? He can't really remember much, though the doctors have said something about-- what was it, recessing memories? That doesn't make sense but whatever, nothing makes a whole lot of sense right now because all he knows is that he'd been stabbed and that really freakin' sucks, dude.

The television has been turned on for him by a kind nurse whose name he guiltily can't remember right now but his attention stays with the clock. It's not until the door to his room opens again that his eyes leave the ticking hands and he raises an eyebrow at the entrance, fully expecting it to be more nurses. When he sees who walks through, he relaxes the tension he hadn't even realized has been in his shoulders and a relieved smile curves the corners of his lips. "Hey," he says softly, "it's been awhile, huh?"

[st/lt welcome ftr]

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"You are," he insists because he just really needs to make sure she knows that it's the truth, that it's not just a casual throwaway statement. He'd come close, way too fucking close to not making it this time because being stabbed in the stomach is way worse than breaking his leg and what if he hadn't made it to the hospital in time? Or what if he hadn't woken up, what if he'd stayed in that deep sleep forever? There are so many awful scenarios running through his head right now and his body tenses with the distress of it all as he squeezes her hand with his own as tightly as he can. He's still weak and his grip is pathetic but it's something. It's better than the nothing he's been giving her the past couple weeks.

"I mean, yeah, job and friends and duh, Jeff, but I can't-- I mean, without you, I don't--" He frowns, shaking his head with frustration and regretting it because there's a dull ache now. Maybe the drugs are wearing off or maybe he's just thinking too hard, he's not sure, but his inability to do normal functioning human things is really starting to become frustrating. He hates to think how angry he's going to be when he tries to walk again because he suspects his first time out of this bed isn't going to end in anything but sweat and maybe some hidden tears.

He tries to speak again but finds that his voice has gone hoarse. He rubs at his throat with his free hand, ignoring the sting of the IV needle, and raises an eyebrow when he feels the stubble there. It's hardly even stubble anymore, it's practically full beard and he glances up at Kate with mild surprise as he clears his throat. "I'm like fucking what's his name, the sleepy guy. Ripped Vans something or whatever. Anyway. You'll have to tell me those stories again because they sound awesome, will you tell them to me again?" He clears his throat again before sighing with frustration. "And could you maybe ask the nurse to get me something from the water store?"

Shaking her head, she squeezes his hand back and says, "You don't have to. Don't worry about it." She doesn't want to think about how close she came to losing him, not when she's already lost so many other people over the past several years. It's just not one of those things she can allow herself and whatever, it's a defense mechanism to just avoid thinking about it, she knows that, but she kind of thinks there's something to be said for defense mechanisms, no matter how much Shoshana might disagree with her. The whole benefit to not seeing a shrink is that she can deal with her shit in her way and no one can tell her not to.

So she avoids. As far as she can tell, it's not the worst way to deal with something. At least she's not out getting totally, dangerously blasted or super high. And it's not like she's running around banging random dudes anymore, so she thinks this whole thing is a big step up from how she used to deal with shit.

"Rip Van Winkle?" she asks with a bit of a smile, reaching up to rub her fingertips at the underside of his chin. She's never really been into beards, but this is totally a look that works for him and, okay, she's probably biased just because she's so glad to see him awake, but whatever it is, he looks good. She's just happy to see him moving around and talking. "Man, they must be giving you the good drugs," she continues, reaching for the call button for the nurse. Once she's pressed it, she relaxes back against the bed, looking over at him. "I don't know where this water store is, but the nurse can probably get you something from the kitchen."

"That's the one," he says, wrinkling his nose because the way she's rubbing at his chin maybe tickles just a little bit. He's starting to notice how poky and itchy his facial hair is, and he almost always has some kind of stubble going but if he doesn't shave soon, this beard is going to either get really annoying or it's not going to go anywhere for a long time. He almost snorts then as he realizes that he's anguishing over the state of this beard when he should probably be more concerned over whether his brain is okay or whether he's suffered from any permanent damage from getting torn into with a knife. It's not entirely unlike him, though, to downplay his problems--he doesn't know how to fix this one, isn't sure there even is a fix, as much as he's open to the idea of making himself believe it won't be long before he's totally fine and dandy.

This just seems like one of those things he's not going to be able to bounce back from as quickly as a close call with a kaiju. He'd wanted that for so long, had wanted to see one up close and alive and even though it had been terrifying as hell and even though drifting with a kaiju brain has royally fucked him up in certain ways, he doesn't regret any of it. His situation here, now, this? It could have been avoided. Maybe. Probably. But he can't even voice those thoughts because that would mean telling Kate about the ring, the one he doesn't have anymore, and he can't. He can't admit that defeat.

So he settles for fixing her with a blank stare when she says the thing about good drugs. "I mean, they're good," he says, though his hand drifts toward his side where he knows he's stitched up, "but I mean, wouldn't water stores just be everywhere? It's water, where do you think the kitchens get it from?"

"From the tap?" she asks, tilting her head slightly as she shifts on the bed a little and studies Newt. The painkillers are probably just making him a little groggy or something, that's what she keeps trying to tell herself, but he seems pretty coherent otherwise and at first she'd thought he was making a joke, but now she's not so sure. It's not that funny, to begin with, which is weird. Newt might not have to try to be funny most of the time, but he's alway been really good at making her laugh and this just isn't really clicking. "Which comes from a water processing plant? Which... probably comes from a lake or something? I don't know, I've never been a water expert."

She's about to ask him if he's okay when she's saved from having to do so by the nurse coming into the room. It's not the douchebag, which she figures is pretty lucky, given the fact that she's actually in the bed with him. The nurse glances at the two of them, one of her eyebrows lifting in amusement, but she doesn't say anything as she comes to check his vitals, making notations on the chart she picks up from the end of his bed. Kate thinks about looking at it, trying to see if it gives her any idea what might be going on with him, but she knows she won't understand any of it, no matter what it says.

"How are you feeling?" the nurse asks, reaching over the bed to press the call button again, turning it off. She sets the chart down and then looks expectantly at Newt and Kate has to smile a little at how pointedly she's ignoring the fact that he's not alone in the bed.

He's glad that the nurse chooses that moment to walk in because he'd been about to ask Kate if she's feeling alright. He doesn't think he's said anything particularly weird, but she's giving him the strangest look, like he's talking gibberish or something. His gazes lingers on her for a long moment before turning to address the nurse with a shrug. It's the nice one, the one who'd turned the TV on for him, and her badge tells him that her name is Emily. She looks just vaguely amused at seeing Kate in bed with him, and he's grateful as hell that she doesn't make a fuss about it. He's not ready to be away from her again yet, even if it's just a couple of feet.

"I'm okay, I guess," he answers, and it's pretty much the truth. He's as okay as he suspects a person can be six hours out of a coma. "Thirsty. If you upped that dosage, I wouldn't be mad, either." Emily chuckles at that, even if Newt's only half-joking. The pain is manageable right now; just on the verge of being too uncomfortable but still, it's manageable. He wonders if that laugh is supposed to mean that this it, this is what he's going to have to deal with for the foreseeable future, just this almost-too-much pain always lingering not too far behind, a constant reminder of what had happened to accompany his new scar.

"You're at the right dosage," Emily promises, setting the chart aside and placing her hands on her hips, "and I can get you some ice water. But while I'm here, I might as well check your vitals."

Newt shifts so he can sit up a little more for her, giving her a pointed look. "If you're going to use the heart phone, can you at least make it feel less like you got it straight from the Antarctic?" He doesn't miss the look Emily shoots ate Kate, though she keeps her easy smile on her face, and he wants to ask why the hell everyone's acting like this but something in the back of his mind is telling him that he really doesn't want to know.

The more Newt speaks, the more Kate's starting to worry all over again. From the second she'd heard the doctor telling her he was awake, she'd assumed everything would just be easy from here on out. He has to heal, she knows that, and it's not like that's going to be a stroll in the park or whatever, but healing still implies that things get better, that they improve, and suddenly she's wondering just how much things are going to have to improve. The doctor had said something about repressed memories, but she'd barely been listening at that point, too close to having a total fucking fit over the fact that Newt was awake to really pay attention.

Now she's wishing she had. The nurse has given her this look, like there's something she's supposed to know and Kate shifts on the bed, glancing first at the woman's name tag, then at her hands as she warms the stethoscope for Newt. He'd called it a heart phone, which is kind of funny, but obviously not what it's called and not the sort of thing she's ever heard him say before. It's not the same as being in that alley, not nearly, but the fear that suddenly grips her is startling and kind of painful and she reaches for his hand without thinking, because he's always a comfort to her.

At the same time she slips her hand into his, she realizes she has to be the responsible one now. She's never had to do this, she's never had to step up, and pressing her sweater to his bloody stomach is a hell of a lot different -- and weirdly easier -- than taking responsibility for the aftermath, but she has to. If there's something wrong, something more than just the repressed memories, she has the be the one who's there for him, the one who talks to the doctors, who asks the hard, scary questions, because that's what she's signed on for with him. It's not just the good stuff, of which there's been so much, it's the bad stuff, too. She's committed herself to that without even realizing it, but there isn't any other option. She can't just not be here, she can't bail no matter how hard something might get.

"I'll get you that water," Emily says when she's done, then smiles at Kate again. It's an easy expression, but there's something else in there, something that makes Kate sit up a little and pay attention. "The doctor wanted to see you when you have a chance, but take your time in here, he's on duty until this afternoon. I'm sure Newt wants you around for at least a little while longer."

"Yeah," Kate says, squeezing his hand as she forces a laugh. "Of course. I'll be here all day, so... he can come find me whenever."

Newt wants to ask why the hell shit feels like it suddenly just got real. He wants to ask why the doctor wants to see Kate, wants to see her away from Newt, because what could he possibly have to say about his condition that Newt shouldn't hear anyway? He's frustrated as hell right now, and he knows it's showing because his shoulders are tense and his lips are pressed into a firm line and he won't quite make eye contact with Emily or Kate anymore. He hates feeling like he's being treated like a kid, like glass, like any mention that something is wrong is going to break him. He'd been mugged, he'd been stabbed, he'd been in a coma, how much more broken can a guy possibly get?

He watches Emily pick up the chart and quietly seethes as she jots some notes down, desperately wanting to know what she's writing because if something's going on, he really feels like he should know about it. Y'know, since he's the patient and all, it only seems right. As soon as the door shuts behind the nurse, he turns to Kate, though he looks anywhere but directly at her. "Something's wrong isn't it?" he asks and even though he's upset, even though he needs someone to satisfy his burning curiosity and tell him the truth about why the room had gotten considerably more somber, his grip on her hand still tightens. In spite of everything, he still knows that if there's one person in this entire city that he can trust more than anyone, it's Kate. She'll be straight with him, he knows she will; besides, she's never been afraid to tell him what's on her mind before, especially when it comes to his general health and well-being.

Before she can say anything, he starts to ramble. He's not sure why, maybe it's a sudden fear of the answer to his question being yes, there absolutely is something wrong and nobody really knows what to do about it. He doesn't think he could handle that, being unfixable, he needs to be fixed because if one thing has been consistent in his life, it's been himself. If he loses himself, what makes Newt Geiszler Newt Geiszler, he won't know what to do. "If something's wrong, just-- Y'know, just tell me, okay? Because I can't stand not knowing things, you know that, I hate it. I don't know what I did or what I said but whatever it was, I'll try not to do it again, I promise, I'm fine. I'm going to be fine, whatever it was, I'll make it stop."

"I don't know," she says honestly, staring after the nurse for a moment, and that's entirely the truth. Things seem off, she knows that much, and the doctor wants to talk to her which could mean anything. It could just be a general update or he could want to tell her that something isn't healing properly or that something really is wrong, but Newt seems fine if a little rattled, and she can't figure out what it might be. She's about to say as much when he starts to speak again and she tears her gaze away from the door to look at him, her eyes searching his face for the fear she knows he must be feeling. There's something about the way he promises to fix himself that kind of breaks her heart a little and she shakes her head, then tucks her knees under her body, shifting so she can face him straight on.

"Whatever the doctor wants to talk to me about, I'll tell you, okay?" she asks, reaching for his face with her free hand, cupping his cheek so she can hold his gaze steadily. She's a good liar with everyone but a very few select people and he's one of them, he's right at the top of the list, she's never been able to be anything but honest with him and she can't imagine that changing now. "It has to be the medication they're giving you, that's all, and the memories you're repressing. It's just... you're recovering, right?" And for a moment she thinks it's possible she's in serious denial, that something might actually be really wrong, but it can't be. "You didn't do anything. You've only been awake for a couple of hours." She's making excuses for the things he's said, which is the opposite of what she'd said she would do. It's specifically going out of her way to not tell him and for a few seconds there's a fierce internal battle between the part of her that wants to remain in denial and the part that wants her to be honest with him like she's already promised to be.

"I think... you've just said some things that don't seem like you," she admits. "Just like, the heart phone thing. And the water store stuff. I thought maybe you were just messing around, but it seems like maybe you weren't." She's trying to be gentle as she says it, but she's never been great at that and being honest doesn't come all that naturally do her, so being honest and tactful is something she's not sure she's even close to being capable of. Not even for Newt, as much as she would like to.

He doesn't get it.

He doesn't get why it's weird to call things by what they are, why it's cause for concern. Maybe that's the problem, that he's not understanding it, and he knows Kate's not a doctor, he knows she doesn't have all the answers, but he's desperate to ask her so many questions. What does it mean, is there permanent damage, how long will it be like this? He doesn't ask, though, there's no point. He keeps his mouth shut, chooses instead to trust that Kate will do right by him like she always does. He leans his cheek into her head, nodding as he presses his forehead against hers. "It's fine," he says, and he doesn't know whether it's more for her benefit or his own. "It's just like, one of those things that block the roads. Except in my head. You know what I mean."

Maybe she doesn't. Maybe it doesn't matter right now. He's recovering, just like she says, he's bound to have a few problems here and there considering he's gone through just a tiny bit of trauma. It's no big deal, not really, or that's what he'll keep telling himself until it becomes true and the doctors clear him to get out of here. He really needs to get out of here, he thinks that would probably help a lot, to get back to an environment he knows like back home. It's going to be even better since Kate will be there, it's not like he'll be alone; he's got a solid argument there, right? Except it would put a hell of a lot of pressure on her, to turn her into a caretaker for his sorry ass, and he deflates a little in her arms at the thought of her having to shoulder that responsibility.

He can tell she's struggling, saying these things to him, and he doesn't blame her. He knows he's be the same, would find it really difficult to have to gently break something like this to her, and he wants to give her a break from all the shit she must have been going through while he was out and even up until now. "We don't worry about it," he tells her firmly, "not now. We can't worry about it right now, I just-- Let's just pretend for a second that everything's normal."

Whatever the doctor has to say to her, unless it somehow derails her plans to be with Newt, she figures they'll just deal with it. There's nothing he could say short of telling her Newt has to stay in the hospital forever that might really devastate her, because he's awake and he's alive and clearly people are expecting him to recover, so Kate can't imagine it'll be anything too serious. It won't be anything she can't deal with anyway, she's convinced herself of that, because for awhile there she'd been wondering if he would even wake up at all. For awhile, even though she hadn't told anyone, she'd wondered if this was going to be her life for the rest of whatever time she has in Darrow. If she would go to work and then go to the hospital and talk to her unconscious boyfriend until this place decided to get rid of her or until she died. In comparison to that, whatever the doctor wants to tell her about Newt can't possibly be so bad.

"You're never normal," she points out with a laugh, but she settles back on the bed again, resting on her side, her head propped up on one hand so she can look at him. "I guess neither am I. If we're pretending everything is normal we have to do away with giant monsters and crazy mothers and the whole cross-dimensional jumping stuff that brought us here.. I kind of like all that stuff." Maybe she'd like giant monsters a little less if they showed up in Darrow and she's not sure she's supposed to like crazy mothers, but the other part she definitely likes. Without it, neither of them would be here and even though Newt's been hurt, she'll take that over not knowing him at all.

"But I love you," she says, her smile softening a little. "And you'll get to come home soon and I'll be there and Jeff will be there, she misses you so much, dude. And I won't offer to do anything for you because I know how well that shit goes over, but I'll just... be there." Because it's her apartment now, too, it's where she'll go from now on when she talks about going home and even with Newt still in the hospital, there's something undeniably wonderful about that, about knowing she'll be going home to him soon enough.

He rolls his eyes, though it's good-natured, and he makes a mental note not to do that again because it kind of makes his head hurt, which he supposes is fair considering his brain hasn't been getting much cardio lately. Not just his brain, his entire body's still out of gas and even though the meds are helping to make it bearable, he can feel the strain of it all even in the smallest kinds of movements. Comas should come with a warning label, he thinks, there should totally be some kind of Dummies' Guide to Comas and Stabbings available to patients who wake up and have no fucking clue what to do next or how to handle much of anything, especially when he can't even remember going through what had made him suffer in the first place.

The pressure in his head fades into a dull ache fairly quickly, though, so he offers a smirk with his reply. "Okay, normal for us, then. I totally want to keep the giant monsters around, play Operation on them and shit, y'know? Hannibal Chau had this awesome collection, like whoa, it was crazy cool. Cubicles in winterfresh condition and skin lice and all kind of stuff, he was awesome." He pauses, frowning because there had been that other less awesome side of him, too. "Tried to feed me to a kaiju but hey, forgive and forget, right?" Dude's dead, after all, and this is a totally different world so there's really no sense in holding grudges.

He leans into her, which isn't difficult because they're so close to each other in this bed already, and just repeats her words in his mind for a moment. It's a comfort to know that he won't have to have that occasional wonder of whether she'll ever move everything down to his place--not that he'd ever have pressured her and he hadn't taken issue with the arrangement that had already been in place; he's just been rolling the term 'our apartment' off his tongue for awhile now and knowing that he'll finally get to use it officially feels so important and moreover, it feels so right. "That sounds like the best thing to come home to," he tells her honestly. He can't think of anything better, other than coming home to her without a fresh scar. "I appreciate that part, though, the not offering to do anything part. It'll save you so much stress." He suspects the opposite is true but she doesn't need to be reminded of how terrible a patient he'd been after the car accident. He can only imagine what he'll be like a week from now.

About half of what he's saying goes right over her head, but she doesn't know if that's due to the fact that he's talking about giant monster stuff she doesn't understand to begin with or that he's just not making sense, but she just lets it go for now. The doctor is coming to talk to her and for now she figures there's not much point in stressing him out about it more by drawing attention to all the weird stuff he's saying. And she tries not to let on how much it worries her, because worrying about it will only freak him out more and that's not going to help either of them. It sure as hell won't help him heal and that's kind of the only thing she cares about right now.

"Yeah, don't worry, I learned my lesson last time," she says with a snort of laughter, shifting to brush her lips over his temple. The last few times she'd kissed him, he's been unconscious, which sounds way creepier than it actually was, but she remembers his skin feeling weird. Not like it was supposed to. Dry and cool and she hadn't liked it much at all, but she'd kept kissing him goodbye anyway, because there was no way in hell she was leaving him at the end of the day, not knowing what she might return to the next without kissing him goodbye. Maybe she was imagining it, because he feels normal now, just like he's supposed to and she smiles against his skin, her eyes closing briefly, just letting herself lean against him.

"Although that whole thing was kind of fun in the long run," she points out, still smiling. It's not like she loves fighting with him by any means, but the memory of how the rest of the day had gone has always been a good one. "And what's a stab wound compared to a broken leg, right? We could shout at each other, then I could totally distract you. It'd be fun."

"Hey, I'm a model patient." He says it with a smirk because that claim is the very definition of a lie. He's never been very good at being told what to do; being told what to do and being limited in movement is and had been the absolute worst. He'd felt freer at the 'Dome than he does in a hospital, there'd been a hell of a lot less people keeping constant tabs on him there. He'd been spoiled by the free reign, by the rules not always applying to him or at least knowing that if he'd defied them, there wouldn't really be severe consequences.

She's right, though, that day they'd gotten into the fight over the whole chair-climbing had given them the gift--curse?--of Sexy Chicken so it hadn't been all that bad. He laughs at the memory, leaning in to give her a soft kiss. "Stab wound is like, way less bad, obviously. At least, in terms of working around it. Maybe." They could find out at some point, he doesn't suspect that experiment will take much convincing once he gets her past the probably but-it'll-hurt-you stage of arguing.

He's at least glad the conversation has shifted to something lighter. Knowing that there's something wrong in that brain he so highly values is fucking frightening. The idea that he might be burying what had happened to him so deep that it affects the rest of the way he thinks is so far beyond what he'd ever thought possible for him. He'd always thought of himself as someone who could handle whatever life throws at him; he'd lived through a decade of kaiju attacks, after all, and had studied them so closely and so intimately that he'd gotten them inked all over his body. That something so comparatively boring as a stabbing could affect him this much... Well, he doesn't want to think about it and maybe that's part of the problem but he can't bear to care right now.

"So, um. How's everyone else doing?" he asks, desperate to go back to actively not think about the Thing. "Kurt, Carla Jean, they good?"

She's in the middle of totally ignoring his question and leaning in for another kiss when the nurse comes back into the room with a plastic cup and a jug of water and Kate just barely has time to divert her kiss to his cheek instead of his mouth, doing her best to look totally innocent. Because he hasn't even been awake for a full day and as much as she's worried about him and missed being close to him, she figures the medical professionals around the hospital might ask them to hold off on making out until he's home. Not that she'll listen if they suggest that, she'll just be sure to make sure none of them are around when she goes for it.

"You know you might want to be careful with him for a little while," Emily says as she pours some water in the cup and sets it down on the little table beside Newt's bed. She looks amused as she's speaking, though, shooting at glance at Newt with both her eyebrows lifted, as if in warning.

"Yeah, he doesn't like that," Kate answers and she's aware she's being a total smart-ass, but it's mostly aimed at Newt anyway, because she knows she needs to be careful with him, but he's the one who doesn't want her to treat him like he's going to break. It's sort of nice having a nurse on her side, but at the same time, she thinks she's gotten pretty good at helping him without making it seem like she's doing everything. At least she hopes she has, because she knows they have a couple weeks ahead of them of the same thing and she's really not in a place where she can fight with him over it. The worry and the fear have taken a toll on her and she's tired. She's exhausted, totally wrung out, incapable of gathering enough energy to have a real fight with Newt. Someone else she can still totally take on, but all she wants is for him to be okay.

"Mmhmm," Emily hums, then casts one more glance at the two of them before she leaves the room.

"You're gonna get me in trouble," she says, pointing at Newt playfully before she leans in for that kiss that had been rudely interrupted. She'll answer his question after she's done and her eyes slip closed as she reaches out, cupping his face with her hand.

"I'm actually right here, believe it or not."

The reminder him gets him an eye roll from the nurse and a smirk from the girlfriend and oh, that's just great. He purses his lips, shifting a squinty gaze between Emily and Kate. He can see it now, an epic team-up between these two just to get him to do things that are like, good for him or whatever. He totally knows what's good for himself because he is himself and he knows stuff and things that he can't really place right now but they're totally up there somewhere. Or something. His head hurts. "You're both the worst," he announces dramatically, though he eagerly takes the water from the table and gulps it down until Emily scolds him for having too much too fast. Emily takes the cup back from him and he crosses his arms over his chest, pushing his lip out into a pout, but her heart is clearly made of steel because she ignores him completely. "The nice thing was totally just an act, I knew it."

The bravado quickly fades, though, when Emily leaves--looking infurtiatingly pleased with herself--and Kate is kissing him because as far as he's concerned, the rest of the world can go to hell as long as those lips are on his. Recovery won't be so bad, he thinks, if there's promise of lots of this in his future. It's strange to think it's been so long since he's kissed her. He's lost so much time with her, so much time living, and even though in the big picture, two weeks is obviously not the worst it could have been, he still feels like there's a lot to make up for. This is a good start. "You are a way better nurse," he tells her, smiling cheekily. "You know all the right ways to heal."

"Tons of making out," she murmurs against his mouth, which actually sounds like a super good plan. It's probably not what the doctors would recommend and they'll probably still demand a bunch of tests and physical therapy, but she figures her hand in it can just be making sure he rests and since they kind of have to be sitting down in order to fool around while he's healing, she thinks it's probably the most fun way to go about it. At least it'll probably serve to distract him from the fact that she's trying to keep him off his feet.

The next few weeks as he heals aren't going to be fun for either of them, but she's pretty sure she can handle it. All she'll have to do is think back to how difficult it's been not knowing if he would even wake up and she thinks she'll be fine. In the face of that, she can handle just about anything, because walking in here and seeing him awake, she's not sure she remembers ever feeling that happy.

"Plus once you're home, I can do all the regular nurse stuff but like, in a sexy nurse costume," she adds, even though she doesn't actually have one of those. But if he wants, she'll totally get one. "I can get you water and pretend to check your vitals and give you that sponge bath." The truth is, no matter what, she just really wants him to be home with her. She knows she can't just take him home right now, but now that he's awake, it's all she wants.

"You don't have a sexy nurse costume," he says, though that doesn't stop the fantasy from getting some good air time in his head. "You can totally do all those things naked, though, I promise I won't even be mad." They're teasing each other, he knows that, and he knows that it's not fair to shift responsibility of taking care of him from the nurses to her but he just wants so badly to be back home. Being home had been better for him last time, he's pretty sure of that; it had given him a sense of normalcy, not like the stark white sheets and the too-clean smell of the room here. He hates how clean everything is, even though it's a hospital, it's supposed to be fucking clean and he should be ecstatic about it; but he's used to clutter and mess and things being where they shouldn't be but it's still right because he'd put them there for a reason that maybe nobody else would understand but he understands and really, that's all that matters.

Anyway. He doesn't want to be here but he knows there's not really any way around it, at least not for a little while because coma and stabbing and all that. If this is how it's going to be, though, if he's going to have Kate crawl into this bed with him when she comes to visit and kiss him like this and just generally be here with him, he thinks he'll be able to deal until he feels like he's in good enough shape to break himself out. "How am I supposed to go back to sleep tonight without you next to me? I'll actually be like, aware this time or whatever."

Even though she knows the next few weeks are probably going to be hard on both of them, all she wants right now is to be able to take him home. Most of her stuff is in his apartment now and it won't take her long to get the rest down there. As far as she's concerned now, it's home for the both of them and she wants him to be there. Even with Jeff in the apartment it's been kind of hard and she's spent a lot of nights upstairs just for the comfort of another person being nearby.

"Seriously, it's the worst," she says with a breath of laughter, resting her head against his shoulder and looking at the TV that's apparently been on this whole time and she hasn't even noticed until now. "Maybe I can just stay here and no one will notice." Someone will notice eventually, it's just a matter or whether or not they kick her out. There are a few nurses who've taken pity on her and let her stay much longer than she's supposed to, but there's also that one who seems to hate that she comes by at all. She's certain he'd kick her out in a second. In fact, she's certain he'd probably drag her bodily out of the bed if he were to catch her right now.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

i guess we'll just have to adjust

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