#*takes drag from spirometer*

[girltakovic]

godddd i hate being mentally ill. i hate even admitting that i am because it makes me sound and feel like a fifteen year old faker and yet here i am at 24 years old and i cant go to the doctor while sober because ten years ago i had my own apocalypse now moment in the hospital

[chestcongestion]

I don't want to distract you from all your writing and stuff, so only if you have the time: snzcanons for Fizzarolli?

No worries, I deeply appreciate the interaction and these are so fun to write!! Fi//zzy time!

Sneezes in a 3-2-1 format, first a triple, then if he's still itchy, a double, then if he's still itchy, a single, and by then he's usually relieved... or else the cycle begins again.

Because of his new bendy elbows and strange coordination with his phantom limbs, covering properly is hard, often ends up just covering with a tissue.

Sneezes are wet and tend to drag a bit, lots of "Hh-hah'PkkSsHhEW! Heh'PktSHHEW! H-heh'PpSshHEW!" followed by a few dense sniffles.

Very dramatic buildup, "Ahh...a-ahh... Hahh! H-hahh! HhHh-!" while tilting his head back.

Photic motherfucker, cannot stare at the ceiling lights in the penthouse.

Allergic to dust, Oz sometimes uses him as a quality tester for housekeeping staff when they go on vacation, if he doesn't start hitching after 40 seconds in the room, it's been thoroughly cleaned.

Pretty decent immune system that was decimated by stress, while he was still working it felt like he was fighting something once a month, sometimes more, but after quitting he's only sick once or twice a year.

Very nervous about being vulnerable when he isn't feeling well, tries to shove it down and pretend like everything's okay until he collapses.

Sometimes gets flareups of intense phantom limb pain when he's feverish, ends up writhing in agony and biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood unless he's given painkillers.

Snores when he's congested, a low rumbling snore that almost sounds like purring.

Hates drinking tea, so when he's sick he just mixes mint, lemon, and ginger into some honey and eats it with a spoon.

Can't wear his prosthetics when he has a fever because his skin conflicts with the metal and the fatigue from the fever makes it hard for him to stay in control, so he'll often be bundled up in a sling across Oz's torso, napping next to the comforting sounds of his heartbeat.

Has some residual lung damage from heavy smoke inhalation during the fire/explosion, so every time he gets a cold he ends up having to use an incentive spirometer to make sure he doesn't end up with pneumonia. He has fun with it, though.

Loves reclining on the sofa and watching trashy reality TV when he's sick, he ends up taking notes on different plot points to see if he can piece it all together when he's feeling better.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Crisis Redo Pt 19

Elizabeth doesn't leave Lena's side again.

About a week into their stay, Josie the bar owner arrives with a pair of homecooked meals and an offer to take Kara back into town. She doesn't ask to see Lena.

"I imagine the last thing she needs to worry about is entertaining my sorry ass," Josie confides in the waiting room. It turns out she's been running interference with the townsfolk as well, ensuring the hospital wasn't overrun with well wishers.

"But hey, if you ever feel like sharing an update, just send it my way and I'll make sure it gets around. She sure got a lot of people worried about her."

The care and compassion nearly makes Kara cry. But she holds herself together long enough for Josie to drive her back to the clinic to collect her car. The crime scene tape is still up, but the police are long gone.

Only when Kara has parked back in the hospital lot does the week catch up to her. She sobs against the steering wheel, letting the helplessness wash through her, pouring out until she feels empty. Empty, but also light enough to dry her eyes and step out of her car with her shoulders square.

She may not be able to help Lena heal, but she can help her feel comfortable.

Armed with a duffel full of clothes and books for Elizabeth, the knitted blanket off Lena's bed, and video evidence that Maisie and Duke haven't starved to death, Kara re-enters the hospital feeling reinvigorated. The room is quiet when Kara enters. Lena blinks slowly at her from her position curled around her pillow, and one eyebrow ticks upwards when she sees Kara's haul.

"I come bearing gifts!" Kara announces. She hands the duffel to Elizabeth. "For you, madame."

She makes a show of pulling the blanket from its tote bag, like a magician pulling on a neverending scarf.

"For the lovely patient."

Lena's lips quirk upwards, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes until she spots Kara's next item: a large brown teddy bear wearing a plaid bowtie.

"Miss Pizzly," Lena murmurs, still beaming. Kara relinquishes the bear, who soon takes up residence against Lena's chest in place of the pillow.

Kara watches Lena bury her nose in Miss Pizzly's fur, and cherishes the warmth that spreads through her own chest.

"She was looking at me so forlornly when I was collecting your blanket," Kara explains softly. "I couldn't leave her on her shelf all alone."

Lena's smile turns to Kara. "Thank you," she says, her voice quiet. "She's perfect."

And so it becomes Miss Pizzly who braces Lena's chest when she coughs after using her spirometer, Miss Pizzly who Lena hugs in her fitful sleep, Miss Pizzly who absorbs who hides Lena's face when she needs to shut out the world.

Kara continues her role as the go-between, ferrying food from the commissary to Elizabeth, fetching items from the house as requested, and communicating with Josie as Lena creeps her way towards discharge.

First it's the removal of the chest tubes, allowing Lena to finally rest comfortably. Then the cessation of the supplemental oxygen when Lena's lungs are strong enough to normalize her oxygen saturation levels. And soon it's Lena's first steps around the unit floor, supported and monitored and dragging her IV pole along with her.

When Lena's discharge date is finally announced, Josie sends a video of what looks to be all of Willow Creek crowded into the pub around her, grinning and cheering at the camera.

Kara crouches between Lena's bed and Lizzie's chair, so that both of them can watch.

"We miss you, Lena!" Josie talks over the hubbub. "We'll see you soon!"

---

Lena's sent home a few days later. She lets her mother sit in front while Kara drives, relegating herself to the spacious, hastily cleared back seat. She hugs Miss Pizzly to her chest still-- it's not exactly the look of a former CEO, but all Lena cares about is easing the ache of her ribs and chest as the car jolts and jostles over every bump in the road.

She's relieved to be out of the hospital. Despite receiving spectacular care during her stay, there's little doctors and nurses can do to offset the clinical atmosphere. Breathing the fresh air had nearly frozen her sore lungs, but it had cleared away the cobwebs that had begun to take shape in the corners of her mind. Already she can think a little clearer, her thoughts a little sharper as she begins to wake up, little by little.

When Kara pulls up outside her home, Lena almost begins to cry at the sight of it. The green of their wild front yard, the faded blue paint of the facing, even the dirty picket fence all seemed to welcome her home.

Accepting her mother's help to get out of the car, Lena leans heavily against her as her bones seem to rearrange themselves back to standing. Elizabeth doesn't rush her.

Kara clears the way ahead of them, her feet getting lost in the landscape as she opens the gate for them, then scurries to open the front door. As soon as they step inside the fence Lena can feel the tug on her magic, like finding like in the energy that's leeched into their home over the years. At the threshold of the house itself it spreads through her entire body, flooding her from head to toe, and for a moment Lena forgets her injuries.

She breathes the scent of cinnamon and fresh earth a little too deeply. Her ribs protest, and she coughs, grimacing.

"Let's get you to bed," her mom urges, gently nudging her towards her bedroom.

"I'm not an invalid," Lena mutters, even as she allows herself to be guided down the hall.

"I know that," Elizabeth agrees readily, "but you are exhausted."

Lena can't deny it. Despite the clear head and envigorating return to her place of power, fatigue is already stealing over her. She lets her mother pull back the covers on the bed and then tug them back over her after she's comfortable on the mattress.

For a long moment, Lena watches her mother fuss. There's tension in her frame, uncharacteristic for a woman who has always been the picture of calm, for as long as Lena can remember.

"Mom?" Lena issues quietly. With a hum, Elizabeth glances at her in question. Lena waits, until her mother stills completely.

"Yes, honey?"

Lena swallows thickly. "Kara told you. Didn't she."

It's not a question. Lena knows that Elizabeth has more information than she should because Lillian's presence that first day in the stepdown unit hasn't been mentioned. At all. There's been no questions, no confusion, and no curiosity. Her mother had simply read to her from the books Kara had brought from home, or discussed the news they watched every evening on the television.

Elizabeth's meet Lena's, her gaze heavy. "Yes, sweetheart. She did."

Guilt fills Lena up, bringing a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I should have told you..."

"Why didn't you?" There's no condemnation in the question, no accusation. Just a presupposed understanding, and a promise of love that Lena doesn't deserve.

Lena blinks, and tears drip over the bridge of her nose. "I was scared," she confesses, the words strangling in her throat, "and selfish..."

Elizabeth waits patiently for her to continue.

"I didn't-- I didn't want you to look at me, and see someone else. I--" Lena hiccups quietly, hiding her face behind her hand. "I didn't want you to love me any different."

The mattress dips as Lena's mother perches on the edge of it, stroking Lena's hair soothingly.

"There is nothing in this world or any other that could make me love you any different... any less." Elizabeth cups her daughter's heated, tearstained cheek. "We can talk more, when you're feeling better," she promises. "But for now, know that you are mine, baby girl. No matter who raised you."

Lena hugs Miss Pizzly tight as her ribs threaten to burst at the seams, unprepared for the pressure of the sobs that wrack her chest. As she cries, Lena feels her mother slip around to lay behind her, wrapping her arms loose but firm around her, Miss Pizzly and all.

"I'm sorry," Lena gasps. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"I know," her mother says, pressing a kiss to Lena's shoulder before resting their heads together. "So am I."