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Waking up for the first time after her surgery was one of the worst-- and best things Lena had ever done.
The dull ache at her sternum was the first thing that roused her. Something in her head told her not to try to sit up, thankfully-- instead, she raised a hand (not the one with the IVs and heart rate monitor, thankfully) to rub the soreness away.
Considering she hardly had a memory of what had happened until her fingers brushed the chronal accelerator under her hospital gown, it was a shock to feel… well, not her own skin.
No wonder her chest hurt.
With a stifled groan she used her free hand to lift the top of her gown, taking a peak down at her own chest. It was a little odd, to say the least, to have her face illuminated by a bright blue glow from the shiny piece of tech centered between her tits. The cylindrical device’s light spun slowly, and the skin around it was bandaged, but she imagined it was red and sore. Seeing it there brought back the memory of when she first saw it, set on a table next to Winston and Mercy, before she was being pinned down.
“Oh!”
The exclamation startled her slightly, and out of habit she tried to sit up more, immediately regretting that decision as pain shot through her chest. With a hiss she settled back immediately, gaze flicking up to the figure in the doorway.
Dr. Ziegler. Mercy. She looked tired-- more so than usual, at least. Relief was clear in her features, and briefly Lena asked herself why, only to remember that it had been the doctor’s doing that had put the accelerator in her chest.
The pilot had never seen anybody look so apologetic as Mercy had when she forced the nurses to pin her shoulders down, asking her to stay as calm as possible as she grabbed her forearm and stuck her with a needle. She had cried out, asked her what she was doing-- those hands weren’t gentle, and definitely not what she had expected when she’d reappeared back in their plane of existence again.
“Oxton?” came the voice again, and she snapped her attention back to reality. The blonde was moving inside the room now, her clipboard set to the side as she came over to the edge of the bed.
“Yes, ma’am-- doctor,” she corrected herself, trying her best to weakly clear her throat, suddenly aware of how fuzzy and large her tongue seemed in her own mouth. The effort was enough to make her cringe, and she glanced around for water, hopefully.
As if reading her mind, or maybe it was a normal desire post-op, Mercy went to the table next to Lena’s bed and took the bottle of water there, pouring a smaller amount into a paper cup. Leaning over, she held the cup to the pilot’s lips-- for the better, because if she had had it herself she probably would have dumped the whole mess right down her chest.
“Better?” the doctor asked with a smile.
“Much, thanks,” she replied, taking a slightly deeper breath to test her own limits. It was nice to see people smiling around her-- it had been awhile since she had seen true, sincere smiles. Months. Nearly a year. Seeing Dr. Ziegler smile so genuinely, so full of relief, made her feel....
Safe. Angela didn’t seem worried, anymore. There wasn’t the fear, that Lena knew was whether or not they’d see her again.
“So this is… what Winston came up with?” she asked hesitantly, gesturing to her chest.
Angela nodded, picking her clipboard back up to start taking notes. “Well, we did. He did the anchoring part. I worked on the getting it to cooperate with your body part,” she said, sounding a bit amused.
“It’s… connected to me, then? What is it doing, exactly?” Lena questioned.
Mercy raised a high brow. “Maybe wait for Winston to explain that part to you. I can explain how it’s connected to your body, but the exact science of the chronal accelerator itself is more his half of the device.”
The younger female nodded, taking another look down at her own chest.
A look of concern flashed across Angela’s features, and Lena didn’t miss it. The grip on her pen tightened-- she didn’t miss that either.
“I hope you’re not in too much discomfort, now, Oxton,” she said-- Lena could hear the remorse in her voice. “We couldn’t… risk you fading away. We had to do the surgery quickly.”
She almost wished Angela wouldn’t speak of it, because when she did it made her think of it.
It went by so fast-- she appeared, and suddenly she was being pinned down and drugged. The straps that had held her shoulders and legs down had scared her-- terrified her, even. She hadn’t known what was going on, and when she was told by Mercy they could only wait five minutes at the most for the anesthesia to kick in, she had just known something very bad was about to happen. Her frantic glances to the side showed her tools that near gave her a heart attacked. Saws and drills-- things she most definitely never wanted near her body, like this.
The drugs she had been injected with had made her start to get woozy-- but it wasn’t until Mercy was making the first incision along her sternum, cutting away skin to bone and raising the saw to the bone did she pass out, sure she would have bitten her own tongue off had it not been for the gag they’d forced into her mouth, though it did keep her teeth separated while she screamed, and screamed, and screamed.
She remembered the way tears had fallen so freely from her face and all she had begged was for them to stop, please stop hurting me, please don’t--
“I’m just dandy, doc,” she said chipperly, forcing a smile and a soft enough laugh it didn’t disturb her chest. “Never felt better!”
Angela looked a little suspicious, guilt still lingering in her eyes, but she still smiled back, again.
“I’m glad to hear that, Oxton,” she told her, blue eyes lowering to her clipboard as she continued taking notes, gaze flickering between the machines her patient was hooked up to and her sheets. “I have a few questions for you, if you think you’re ready to talk?”
Lena glanced to the water bottle first, and then back to Mercy. “Maybe a bit more water first, doc-- then fire away.”
_________________________________
Most of the questions Dr. Ziegler had to ask concerned how she felt post-op-- how was her chest, did it hurt to breathe, did she feel like herself… Lena answered them to her best ability, trying to take them seriously and not deflect her pain and fears into comedy relief.
It didn’t take long for word to spread, apparently-- Winston came by within the hour of her waking up, and explained to her the chronal accelerator in more detail. The gorilla hardly fit in her recovery room, but he managed. Barely.
Others came and went-- friends from Overwatch, mostly, more than she thought would care. It warmed her heart, made her smile to the point her cheeks ached from the use of the muscles from grinning. Visiting hours came to a close, eventually, and one of the male nurses (awfully convincing in his stature and disapproving glower, despite the puppy imprinted scrubs) herded those left in her room out, leaving her alone with the TV and with her dinner.
She ate slowly, keeping the muscles across her shoulders and chest as slow moving and as loose as possible to keep the tension off the sore skin surrounding her new anchor. The task kept her preoccupied, and the day quickly caught up with her-- the amount of painkillers and antibiotics still being pumped into her small body coupled with the amount of socializing she did drained her normally overflowing surplus of energy.
“Oxton?”
Lena had hardly noticed she was dozing until she perked at her name, inhaling deeper than intended and opening her eyes. The slight twitch of a grimace at her lip betrayed the pain, and she could see the slight regret for startling her in Dr. Ziegler’s eyes.
“My apologies,” she murmured as she strode in with a slight smile, coming to the edge of her bed and moving the sliding tray holding the remnants of her meal to the side. “The sensitivity will subside soon, I promise.”
“Don’t apologize, doc.” Lena smiled sleepily at the blonde, visibly assuaging the older woman.
Angela hummed a sound of amusement before leaning over her to take a closer look at the numbers flashing across her various monitors.
“I’ll keep you up for just a few more moments, Oxton. I need to check the surgery site,” she said softly, her voice matching the gentle lighting of the room now that night had fallen.
“That why you give me a fancy slip with the buttons on the front?” Lena inquired, brown eyes watching as those nimble fingers fell to the top button of her hospital gown.
“I think ahead, occasionally,” Angela teased, lashes low as she smirked a bit, noting briefly the way Lena’s cheeks reddened and her heart rate teased higher across the screen. Hard to keep her thoughts a secret when they were right there in the numbers. She pulled the warm cotton of the gown apart once it was open enough to reveal the glowing device, preserving the integrity of her patient by keeping the fabric closed enough to conceal her breasts, mostly.
“Minimal redness, stitches look sound…” she mumbled, mostly to herself after peeling back the bandages to look closely, fingertips gingerly brushing across the skin fused with the metal of the accelerator. Lena inhaled sharply, her nerves singing in response to the touch. The doctor pulled her hand away, not saying anything more as she replaced the bandages delicately and took it upon herself to rebutton the gown..
“You do good work, doc,” Lena said, filling the air with her voice instead of leaving her beeping machines performing solo. “I’ll be better than new in no time!”
“While I am glad you think so, I’m certain you were perfect as you were before, Oxton,” Angela replied with a smile as she picked up the clipboard next to the bed and wrote another string of notes, playing blissful ignorance to the way Lena’s cheeks flushed red.
After a moment, she cleared her throat as she straightened again, putting the clipboard down where she got it from. Angela gestured to the keypad attached to the side of her bed.
“Call me if you need anything,” she told her, the red call button the largest one on the pad. Lena looked down at it, glad for the distraction to look down. “Anything at all, alright?”
“Of course, doc. I got everything I need-- and I’m ready to pass out anyway,” Lena jested, but her weariness showed in the sleepy narrowing of her eyes, and the doofy smile she offered as convincing for her doctor. Worrying nature sated, Angela nodded and headed towards the door.
“Sleep well, Oxton. I’ll see you in the morning, first thing.”
When she looked over, she was only a little surprised to see that the Brit was already dozing, her head turned to the side against her pillow and features relaxed, mouth parted slightly and hair just as wild as ever, down around her closed eyes.
For a long moment she watched her, the steady rise and fall of her chest that shifted the gentle blue haze across her face from the chronal accelerator thinly covered by her gown. She had saved that-- put it in that bed, and it was the end result of a woman anchored in her own time that justified the borderline torturous, traumatic procedure she had to put her through to get her there.
Sighing softly she walked back to the bed, acquiescing to her mothering nature as she pulled her blanket up high enough to cover her chest and eliminate the glow before switching off the lamp next to her, leaving the young woman in darkness to rest.
____________________________________
Nothing.
She was nothing.
Her body felt transparent, her edges blurred. No substance-- undefined, empty, she was a ghost. She saw everything-- experienced none of it. Too much-- nothing enough.
How long had it been? Days-- no, no it was months. Years? Too long, no, longer-- what was time? She was time-- no, lost, lost in time. Never her, always her, never together.
Falling, losing herself, gone, gone, gone--!
Lena didn’t realize she was screaming until she had to take a breath, a broken attempt to suck oxygen into her lungs past the terror strangling her. Pain-- it blazed across her chest, blinded her, made it even harder to breathe. Tears-- she could feel them down her face, but hardly noticed them when every inhale and exhale, too large for her healing chest, tearing at her skin the way her fear shredded her ability to keep her hold on her own reality.
She was sobbing now-- it hurt, God did it hurt-- at least it hurt, though, because that meant maybe she was there. Maybe she wasn’t fading, maybe she wasn’t a ghost again-- waiting to dissipate, become nothing--
The hands grabbing her shoulders nearly made her scream on their own, but at least they snapped her out of her hysteria-- mostly.
“Hey! Hey, hey now,” came a female voice, loud enough to overpower her gasps for air. The hands moved from her shoulders to her face-- they forced her to look forward, to hold still, for her eyes to get sucked in by wide pale blue, full of concern and fear.
“ Lena.”
That’s me. I’m Lena.
“ That’s me,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and raspy, vision blurry and she doesn’t know when her hands closed on top of Angela’s, but they’re holding on like nothing else on this planet could possibly keep her rooted there.
“That’s you,” she repeated, confirmed her. “You’re Lena Oxton-- you are here.” The words were soft, but firm-- urgent and close and carrying a tone that demanded they were listened to. And Lena did-- her frantic eyes were held by Angela’s alarmed ones. “I’m touching you-- I’ve got you, Lena. You’re here with me, see?” she continued, her thumbs brushing over her cheeks, sliding across wet skin.
Lena could feel her hands-- could feel the person holding her, could hear those words and those eyes-- they didn’t see through her. They saw her, they cared for her, and they made her feel real.
“Breathe, Lena. In…. Out…. In…. Come on, Lena, breathe with me. Watch me, alright?”
The relief that settled over her panic like a blanket was slow-- but the words she couldn’t quite catch and the doctor, with one knee on the bed to lean close, they helped. Her breathing slowed to match her instructions, and the stabs of pain across her chest faded, subsiding into aches. Still, she held onto Angela’s hands, fingers clamped so tight, Lena was afraid she might be hurting her.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” Angela asked her, sitting back onto the leg curled up under her now, the other still touching the ground to keep her balanced. She smiled reassuringly at her, and Lena tried to reciprocate. Loosened her hold on Angela’s hands, letting her lower them but keeping a death grip on one, letting it fall to her side so the doctor could sit more comfortably.
“I’m-- I’m sorry…” she sniffed, raising her free hand to wipe her face, scrubbing at the tears and red of her cheeks and eyes.
“Don’t be,” came the stern and quick response. A long moment passed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
The question was gentle, but Lena shook her head aggressively, eyes flickering away from Angela for the first time since she’d been captured between those nimble hands.
“I can’t.”
“That’s fine, too, liebe. We can just talk. Is that better?”
“... I think so.”
Lena was slow to talk in response, but Angela didn’t make her. Mostly, she spoke softly about things. Things that were happening now, things that were going on in her life, events and weddings and holidays that were coming up. She eventually stood up to stretch and pulled one of the plush chairs over to the edge of the bed, sitting down and without asking, giving her hand back to Lena. The idle chatter was good for her, and she used a lot of the beginning conversation to examine Angela.
She had to have just woken up from somewhere. She couldn’t have been home, no, but the doctor was in pyjamas of soft yellow and she was missing her lab coat, though her hair was pulled (albeit sloppily) back into a ponytail, as usual, though missing far more of the bulk, letting it hang loose from the confines of the elastic. Bags lined heavily under her eyes-- a brief instance of guilt struck Lena, but she tried her best to dismiss it.
Eventually, Lena could feel her eyes closing, but she doesn’t remember exactly when she fell back asleep. Just that she was listening to Angela speak, leaning as much on her side as possible to hold the blonde’s hand in her own, and then everything grew hazy and she swore she had replied-- apparently not.
She didn’t have dreams she remembered, after that. Thankfully. Lena rested and rested well.
When she woke, it was to dawn creeping slowly across her room from the far windows. Pale and soft, the light was soothing. She cracked open her eyes with a soft sound, and was thoroughly surprised when she saw Dr. Ziegler sitting next to her bed still. Not just sitting, though-- no, the blonde woman was leaned over, head turned to the side to face Lena, resting on the crook of her own arm while the other was still extended to keep her hand in Lena’s.
For a long moment, Lena just watched her-- watched the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders while she breathed, admired the way her lashes fell across her skin, the messy hair splayed across her sheets, and finally, the delicate articulation of her hand between Lena’s own.
She had not expected Angela to stay-- but as she settled back in, still holding on, she was more than happy she had.