missingthekeep | [for Meredith]

Entry tags:

[for Meredith]

He’s been hurt worse. That’s what Sean tells himself when he wakes up to the sterile clinic walls instead of his bedroom and feels a wave of frustration wash over him. Relief that he’s still alive is probably buried in there somewhere deep down, but he’s too busy being disgusted with himself for making such rookie mistakes as taking his eyes off his attackers and not having backup escape routes planned in advance. He never trusted that bloody space station from the get-go, but he was still caught unprepared. Not that one can ever really be prepared for robotically animated corpses, but he should have at least been able to put himself in a frame of mind suitable for protecting Meredith without sacrificing the basics.

He got sloppy. Just like the last time something like this happened. He got overly emotional (the emotion may have been different this time around, but the principle remains the same), and he lost his edge, and bad things happened as a result. Which is why, as true as it is, the knowledge that he’s been hurt worse than this doesn’t come as much of a comfort. Maybe he’ll be out of this place sooner, but that doesn’t mean much if he’s just going to screw up again the next time something bad happens.

Besides, at least the last time he found himself laid up somewhere, he was capable of complaining about it.

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Meredith doesn't have the luxury of staying by his bedside at first and she is, guilty though she feels for it, grateful for that. He's told her more than once how strong she is, but she's not, not like this, and she can't still and wait for a sign she can breathe again. There are more than enough doctors to care for the incoming patients without her having to do any of the work herself, but she's desperate for something to do, so she falls to becoming a kind of glorified traffic director, making everything runs in perfect order and everyone is where they're meant to be, which includes getting her own cut cleaned and bandaged. She shouldn't have waited so long, she tells herself later, but it doesn't really feel like something that matters.

She can't lose herself in any of it, the rush and the adrenaline of it. She's perfect and utterly unsatisfied by it, staying in Sean's line of vision at all times, circling back to his side as often as she can, looking over again and again to see if he's awake yet. The second she sees he is, she hands off her paperwork to Lexie and hurries over, taking a seat and leaning over the bed as she reaches to clasp his hand in both of hers. "Don't you ever do that again."

Sean knew Meredith wouldn't be far, by virtue of it being her clinic just as much as his being in it, but having her be the first face he sees still goes a long way toward putting him more at ease right off the bat. It hurts to move, hurts even more to breathe, but he still gives a small, wry smile that disappears when he tries to reply to her only for the pain in his throat to overwhelm him. Wincing, he tightens his hand around one of hers and tries to sit up.

"Don't," Meredith says, "shh, don't, don't. You need to stay put." She stops a moment to steady herself. It's one thing to pull herself together for the job, but when he's in front of her, she has to think about what's happened and it's overwhelming. It's only so long before she falls apart over this, but she's doing her best to save it for when she's on her own. Freeing one of her hands, she smooths it over his cheek, staying close. "I need you to rest and get better, alright? That thing hurt your throat, so talking and breathing might be difficult for a little while. You had some cuts, some damage to your abdomen, your liver. You'll need to give it time, but everything should heal fine if you rest."

Having her placate him like that only makes Sean try to sit up more in some stubborn attempt to prove himself, but she goes on and he feels a cold sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. Or maybe that's just his liver.

Difficult is nothing. Difficult he can handle. But he tries to speak again and he has to grit his teeth just to force a bit of sound out of his throat. This goes beyond difficult. Shaking his head, he takes a deep, raw, painful breath and refuses to allow himself to panic.

He's been hurt worse.

"It's going to take a while," Meredith says, trying to stay focused in face of the urge to cry. She can do this. "The throat is... unpredictable. It could fix itself in a matter of weeks." Otherwise she'll have to talk to Mark about surgery, and even then, that isn't an option for a long time. She's not sure it's an option at all. "You're going to have to stay in here a few days. A week. I'll stay with you." She isn't going back to sleeping in their bed alone. She can't just leave him here. As far as injuries go, it's not really that bad. She just has to keep reminding herself of that.

Sean's eyes go wide at the mention of weeks, and he stares at her like he's going to need some further confirmation of that. It's a big enough deal that he hardly bats an eye at the notion that she actually think she's going to keep him in here for longer than a day or two.

For all Meredith knows, it could be months, but she isn't going to say so, not yet, not until she's a little more sure. That he can make sounds at all, no matter how weak or with how much effort, is a good sign, but that isn't worth the telling either. She can't imagine he'd come even close to agreeing, and it's hard to shake the memory of the last time he couldn't speak. She can't bear that again, not now. The thought of it makes it impossible to go on with the attempt to pretend he's just another patient and anything else has to wait a moment as she drops her head lower, free hand pressed briefly to her mouth. "You're fine," she says, "you'll be fine, I — you scared the hell out of me."

Sean sure as hell doesn't feel fine, but it's hard to think about that when she looks like this. He manages, though, still trying to wrap his mind around the concept of spending weeks like this before he even has a handle on what this is as he squeezes her hand again, reaches over with his free arm to try for a comforting gesture. It all feels so hollow, though, some parody of his real feelings that he's got no way of expressing now. It's daft and he knows it, seeing as he's never been much of a wordsmith, always preferring actions to speech, but that doesn't make it feel any less stifling right now.

Meredith shakes her head, though she doesn't know what she's protesting. The idea she needs comforting, maybe, though she does. She's not the one in the bed this time, he shouldn't have to worry about her. Worrying about her is what got them here. "You shouldn't have been up there," she says, lifting her head with a sudden, sharp breath. She has to be okay now. Her guilt and her worries have to be wait. "I'll get you something to write on if you need it. You're going to have to stick to liquids for a few days. I... I don't know what else. I don't know." She does, somewhere in her head, rattling around with everything else, all the instructions and information she should give, but she can't remember anything.

Sean leans forward, letting go of her to scrub his hands over his face and just stay like that for a few seconds, still torn between trying to comfort her and trying to process his own predicament. Eventually, he forces himself to look up again and nods tersely, unsure as to which part of that he's agreeing to.

Meredith is quiet for a little while before she finds her words. "You promised you'd be careful," she says quietly. She can't hold what just happened against him; neither of them planned or expected that. it still bears mentioning. "For now, that means resting. Not exerting yourself. Listening to me on this. You need to get better. And that's going to take a lot longer if you don't take care of yourself, okay?"

Sean freezes up at that, biting his tongue to keep from trying to answer her. He already broke his promise, he wouldn't be sitting here otherwise. What the hell does it matter now?

It matters because it matters to her, he reminds himself after a moment. There's no way he's going to be staying here for a week, mind, but that doesn't mean he can't do his best to do what she says in other ways. Eventually, he nods again, a tiny, hesitant movement.

"Okay." Even so, Meredith intends to keep a close eye on him to be sure. Back in the clinic, away from that spaceship, some of the damage, at least, is straightforward, but she's not chancing complications, least of all ones he causes himself. "Do you think you can drink something? You should have some water or something." She almost asks another question, then bites it back. One thing at a time. That's all he can answer right now.

Sean waves the offer off automatically, shaking his head with a scowl. His throat hurts like hell every time he so much as breathes in, but it's nothing a glass of water is going to fix and he'd rather not feel like a complete invalid.

"You'll have to drink something eventually," Meredith says, "or if you can't, I'll have to set something up." She doesn't want to hook him up to an IV anymore than she guesses he'd want it, though. She'll do whatever's best for him, but she doesn't want to see him like that if he doesn't need it. "You lost a lot of blood out there. I wish you hadn't come with me."

Sean's pretty much decided that the only way he's going to be drinking anything is if he goes to get it himself, but letting her know as much is going to have to wait because she goes and says that. He doesn't even bother shaking his head this time, just takes her by the wrist (his grip nowhere near as firm as he'd like) and stares, eyes narrowed, trusting that she can read him well enough to see just how wrong she is. He can't even fathom her being up there amongst all that madness without him.

Meredith sits back, looking away. His disagreeing doesn't change her mind any, but she feels stupid now for saying it aloud. "I just wish this hadn't happened," she says. "You could have died up there. You saved me, you..." She shakes her head. It wouldn't have mattered if she'd lost him for his efforts. She's not entirely sure she was lying about walking back on board if she had. "Dying is, is another thing you are not allowed to do, do you hear me? I can't do this without you, I can't, I just can't."

Sean draws back from her, lost in thought. There's so much he wants to say to her, to that, and without a means to express any of what he's feeling, he can't help but retreat into himself. Absolutely hating himself for what he's about to do, mostly because it means acknowledging that this is suddenly his new reality, he grits his teeth and makes the quick, vague motion of moving a pen across paper.

It takes Meredith a moment to realize what he means, lost in her own thoughts and emotions as she is, and then she nods, getting up. Heading across the room, she finds a clipboard, paper and pen and brings it back over, holding it out to him as she takes a seat again. As much as she'd like just to take his hand again and not put up with whatever counter-arguments he's probably planning to make, she can't do that to him. Instead she waits.

All those things he wants to say to her go swiftly out of his head the instant the pen is in his hand. It's so inadequate. There's no possible way for him get all that he's thinking onto the sheet of paper, so why bother trying? He stares at it for a good, long while, finally scratching out all of three short words before he passes it back to Meredith.

How's your leg?

Meredith looks at it longer than necessary, lips pressed flat as she shakes her head. "Fine," she says, a little too high, unsteady. She's almost forgotten the injury herself; that he remembers, that he asks, at a time like this makes something in her chest ache. "It hurts, but it's not that bad. Don't worry about me." It's a pointless request, she knows that, but she isn't going to stop making it.

As if that's going to happen. That's just what they do, they worry about each other. They worry about each other, because neither is willing to worry about themselves. Figuring that they can both use as much of a break as fate will allow them, though, he takes the clipboard back and starts writing again, his expression impassive.

Do we know what happened up there yet?

Meredith shakes her head, though only because she still doesn't entirely understand it. She's kept herself running in circles to avoid thinking. It makes putting the pieces together difficult. "I don't know," she says, "I... I don't know why it happened. They got people off, though. Brought them back down. The ship still crashed." She reaches for his wrist as she speaks, wanting some tether to him, some way of keeping him here.

It doesn't tell him much, but maybe there's just not a whole lot to tell yet. Sean doesn't even know how long he's been out. Balancing the clipboard on his knees to keep from having to disengage from her grip, he goes on.

But everyone's all right?

"I don't know," Meredith admits. "There's a lot of information flying around. I doubt I've heard it all. There were a lot of injuries, but no casualties yet that I know of." She's not convinced that won't prove to be a temporary thing. There was too much happening up there and too many close calls. Not everyone could have pulled through that and there are patients they have to watch carefully for a while, him included. She's not calling anything yet.

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