Chapter Text
The first weeks of Beatrix’s recovery were all a fog. She was unconscious for the most part, but she found that much better than waking up to waves of pain, drenched in sweat and still faintly smelling of blood. The injured girl couldn’t move from her spot on the bed, her only source of energy being the IV fluids that were always attached to her.
There was a whole period of time that the redhead could barely remember, the haze of recovery, where she didn't seem to have done anything and hadn't thought about anything in a long, long time. She could only recall flashes of events from that time: Harvey coming to check on her every morning, or evening (she couldn't tell most of the time), Stella usually crying somewhere nearby, and Riven visiting and talking in what seemed like random sounds vaguely representing a sentence, but she felt too weary to even begin to decipher what he would say.
When she did manage to at least feel that she was conscious, Beatrix just lay there, watching the stupid mass of flowers on the windowsill or listening to whoever was nearby, until she was freed from the pain and passed out once again, either from exhaustion or some medicine Harvey made her have. Sleeping felt so natural then, like she’d spent her entire life in her mind rather than awake and alive. And it just kept on going. The day, the weeks, she didn’t really know. It didn't seem to change much and this groggy state didn’t go away for what felt like years, but was in reality probably only a week or so.
By the time she was finally up and conscious for longer than just a few minutes, Harvey insisted on her staying in the room anyway. It felt like torture. It had a bed, some basic surrounding furniture and several plants after Terra had come, believing that plants would get her into the best mindset to heal. She jokingly told Beatrix that she should consider herself lucky to have them, since her recovery process would be quite difficult and there wasn't much to help other than time. The pain was still there, though, and the comment made the dark eyed girl think passive aggressively about the earth fairy.
Each day seemed the same as the last, with Beatrix placed like a camera in the centre of the room, taking in everything but never adding anything to the story. The girl mostly just sat there with her knees up to her chest, staring at nothing and thinking about nothing. Nothing seemed to matter at that point. There were moments when the only thing the redhead looked forward to was Stella or Riven coming back to visit and being able to listen to their voices.
Sometimes Stella would confess that she was worried and that maybe this wasn't the best place for her. What could Beatrix say? That she wanted to go home? She didn’t have one. That she was scared of the things that happened to her? It was all her fault. Beatrix felt like she should say something, like it was her place to do so, but she couldn't. She couldn't speak.
Almost every day Riven could be found sitting in the corner of the room, on his phone, reading a book, anything really, talking to her about his day or ignoring her completely. Sometimes he would leave early or stay a long time. He tried to include her in some of the conversations, asking questions or seeking her opinion, and even though she only replied mentally, Beatrix enjoyed those times the most, feeling like she still had an identity and friends and thoughts.
The nights were the worst, though. Nightmares became a daily routine for Beatrix with nearly every nap ending in her waking up with a pounding heart, sweating and shaking, and with a racing mind. It certainly wasn’t her favourite pastime. Most of them were unclear on where she was, whether she was back in those ruins, in the cage that Dowling threw her into, or being struck by Sebastian's power again. Usually, someone (she assumed it was Stella, but it was difficult to tell) would come and say something to her, murmuring things in a low voice that Beatrix later concluded was trying to comfort her, but her mind was too far gone to give a second thought to what was happening around her. Other times Harvey would appear, handing or injecting Beatrix with something that made her feel numb and helped her sleep, making the night much more bearable. The rest of the time no one came to help her, leaving her gasping for breath and trapped in this tiny square room with very limited insulation and little communication with the outside world. Well, except for the window to her left.
One night, Beatrix awoke not from a nightmare but a rumble, one that was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat, connected to her very veins, and her eyes snapped open as soon as she heard it. The rumble came again, shaking through her entire essence. Thunder.
The redhead sat up with some difficulty and turned to the rectangular window, gazing up intently as though it were a stage. And there, through that tiny gateway into freedom, Beatrix watched the flashes illuminate the room, a small patch of purple brightening a dull world. There was a storm, far away, but she could see it. A tingle crept up her arm as she felt more alive than she had in weeks, if not months.
The storm had a chaotic quality that never failed to take her breath away. Every strike drowned out any other sounds, roaring past, only to disappear and dominate the world into silence again, too frozen in terror to see if it was really done this time. Very few appreciated the storm's savage yet graceful nature, which only cemented her love for it. To her the trees were dancing and the thunder was their joyous melody. She loved the sound, loved the smell of the rain and the feel of it on her skin. The storm brought out fear in some, exhilaration in others, but Beatrix felt only peace, only tranquility. She couldn’t understand why anyone feared storms. They were dazzling and magnificent, and they were something she could control. They were her playground.
In a way, the lightning reminded Beatrix of herself, a wild spirit coming to life only to be shut away and forgotten with the slightest interaction with the outside world. Its light momentarily blinded her in its glory, casting all attention towards it only to disappear barely moments later. It was hers.
Getting up, the dark haired girl slowly got closer to the window, eventually ending up practically pressed against the glass for a better view. It had been so long since she'd been able to feel the tingle in her arm as her powers revelled and regenerated in the height of the storm, letting it wash over her and become her. She didn't even have to stretch out her fingers to feel the primal tingle in her arm.
Beatrix tentatively reached out to open the window just enough to reach her hands out, sending some zaps of her own to transform the grey canvas in front of her. She watched the lightning’s short-lived crackle and the whole room shook. It felt good. The thunder was feral and fierce, immune to destruction and untamed. She was immune to destruction, safe in this small room with hands that could create utter chaos on demand. She closed her eyes and imagined the lightning bolt striking a tree, sending the entire trunk crashing to the ground.
Beatrix stayed there for hours, watching the flashes and swaying sleepily to the deafening thunder, feeling the whole room vibrate with every blast as it lulled her back to sleep.
The next morning Beatrix woke up on the floor, the window still open. The whole room smelled of rain, the sound of it still ringing in her ears. Fuck.
Harvey wasn't pleased to see how she'd spent her night and forbade her from using her powers again without asking him first, stating that expending so much energy so suddenly after such a traumatic event would only cause more distress to her body. They both knew she wouldn’t listen to him. Beatrix didn't care what it made her feel, as long as it wasn't pain.