2019-07-23 - I'm Not Okay

The private hospital room has all the markings that make it identifiable for what it is, the heavy plastic guard-rail around the room at bed height, the beeping machines that feed her a passive stream of oxygen and keep her hydrated, and monitor her vitals with that steady monotony of beeps. The bed and the room are all made up in bland coloring somewhere near cyan or tan in color, and the place smells properly sterilized.

When Lilith finally stirs, or rather, many times as she passes in and out of consciousness, Mike is there. In fact, a passage of the time since she was put into the private room can be charted by the passage of time in his clothing, from uniform to plain-clothes. He's wearing a tan fleece over a tee-shirt and a pair of jeans and sits near at hand, near the bed. At his hip is his sidearm. Also near at hand is her food tray which he seems to have co-opted for use with his laptop, and where he seems to be watching Netflix idly. Something sedate and calm. In case the sounds leak into her dreams, because he's always vigilant of that now.

Lifting his milkshake, he sips at it a little.

While Lilith is lying there, unbeknownst to Michael, she's in and out of dreams that she doesn't have the mental or physical capacity to really rally against like she started to on the ER floor. She just has to lie and accept that things are awful when her eyes are closed, they're awful when she's awake. For a while, though, she's been awake enough on the sly, but pretending to sleep or woozily drowse, and at some point, she takes to watching Michael.

She never moves. She never stirs. Her breathing stays monitored steady. There's just the slit of the eyes opening that gradually widens to full, half-lidded viewing. She seems to be trying to work out whether or not he's real because he changed clothes. Was she seeing him in his uniform too, or? She doesn't know. Mostly she just stares. He might feel that eventually.

Eventually, of course, Mike looks to Lilith and seeing her eyes, quietly rises to his feet and sets down his shake. Taking up her hand, he gently strokes the back of it with his and just stands watch over her, not wanting to disturb her rest. He looks down on her and only when her eyes don't drift off again as they had in at least one other instance, does he lean forward a little and stroke the hair from her face. "Hey there Lil," he says quietly, his eyes tracing her face. She looks better than she had at the bridge by a long stretch, if only because the blood isn't on her anymore. But he's respectful not to jostle her too much.

Lilith is paler than natural, but her face, unlike the last time he found her in a way for an ambulance, it's unmarked. So is most of her body aside from those two bandaged places, one hand (the one he's not holding), one at her side under her gown. Except... those horrible garish purple and black and blue bruises around her pretty little neck are still there with tiny scuffs of rope burn.

The hospital crew may be unnaturally good here and there depending on who you get, but the ones that can make certain things go away in a faster hurry... they're generally smart enough not to mess with the injuries the police can actually see and use as a clue for whatever investigation.

Violent marks to sing of the noose that ringed her. Thankfully, she can't see them.

Her voice, however, sounds hoarse and wounded until she adjusts it to more of a whispery rush and grate, looking up at Michael through a bit of a haze. Her question makes sense, though, "What're you watching?"

"Parks and Rec," Mike answers, it was sedate and calm, and wasn't prone to give her nightmares, and also resulted in the occasional laugh from him, a win all around for the duty he'd given himself. He doesn't look at her bruises, and almost certainly isn't here in a police capacity, he's just there to be with her. "Have you seen it?" he asks, his hand still stroking up and down her arm gently, comforting. His eyes on hers.

When an opportunity presents itself, he asks, "Do you need anything?" in offer to get her ice, water, whatever she might want. Jell-o was likely on the menu, given her throat.

Pulling his chair a touch closer with his foot, he brings the laptop a bit closer so that she can watch it a bit more closely. In fact, he parks it where she can watch more than he can.

"Yes. I have. And I don't... no. No." Lilith doesn't want anything, not ice, not jello, not a thing in her mouth from the look of her suddenly after trying to swallow down without the mere reminder of why it hurts. How it hurt so much more for...

In fact, she even starts to turn her face a little like Michael is going to make her have ice or something, which he no doubt isn't. She's hooked to IVs. Her mouth is probably dry and it'd probably feel nice, yes, but she's apparently digging into either suffering or avoidance right at this moment.

Instead of throwing an anxious fit about it, beyond that bare movement that signifies enough, she looks back and at Mike's adjusted laptop to just watch the show for a while, letting him touch and stroke her arm and hair.

As always, Mike is patient, doting and a damn good anchor if Lilith lets him be. He just sits there and quietly watches the show, laughing lightly. He doesn't try to hold it in, he knows she might not feel like laughing, and is seemingly conscientious if a laugh leaks and causes her any discomfort, and reaches out to pause the show for a moment to give her a chance to recover, and seems to be thinking about whether to keep going or not.

In the end, however he might adjust things for her comfort, he remains quiet and doesn't bother her about the last few days. He doesn't get on her case. Not one bit. He's just quiet and supportive, his hands on her, gently stroking her. Trying to give her a touch of comfort.

Lilith doesn't laugh or even really react to the show, she just watches it and sometimes she seems to actually be following, other times, her eyes are very far away and she's just staring. She also doesn't seem to be bothered by Michael's own light laughter, nor does she react to it much. But eventually, she wonders of the man after a very long span of watching silence...

"... did you find me...?" She doesn't say it. It's thick on the tone. (Did you find me broken and noosed?) She doesn't know how bad it was to find, but she's remembering enough to know it was bad. She knows what she had around her neck, she felt the blood hot and spilling all over her for the split second where her wits started to come back before lights out.

She won't even think about her hand. She can't right now. (Is it really gone, the ring?)

"I was there, yes," Mike answers softly and turns slightly to look at her, standing up again to sit on the edge of the bed with her. There could be more to say, but he doesn't say it, not because he wants her to have to ask, but because the way he looks at her isn't disturbed, doesn't pass judgment, he doesn't even look overly curious. He looks like someone who has been through enough to know that sometimes what someone needs is the rock. He can leave the questions for later.

Turning slightly, he picks up the big styrofoam cup and sips at it, having some of his milkshake. Giving it a little shake with his hand, he offers.

"Want some?" he asks. "Milkshake."

Lilith doesn't like that answer from Mike. And she doesn't want a milkshake from the way her chin kind of tips downward with tuck and silent gestures that's close to a toddler-like nuh uh when someone's trying to feed them. She visibly resigns more, knowing pieces of what he probably saw, the very whole of her body drawing back and into the bedding with posture shift of more limp slump. It looks like she got hit with some kind of final coup de gras, knowing what other damages she feels to have wrought.

She comes around a tiny bit after a spell of that, though, because her good hand lifts to reach for the milkshake even though she doesn't -seem- to want it. Maybe she's trying to make him happy considering he just saw her fucking noosed. Also her mouth is dry and her throat is killing her, so... she'll try it. "Who else was there? Besides Byron?"

She honestly has no clue and she needs to know who else she was attacking-- Magnolia and Alexander were just presences and threats at the time, there was no real registering with her eyes what was familiar at that point.

When she asks, Mike reaches out and strokes the hair from her face, watching her with the milkshake, he answers, "Besides Mr. Thorne? There were the two in the emergency room with you," he begins and reaches into his pocket and pulls out his little cop notepad, he'd taken notes, for his own report. "Mr. Clayton and Ms. Jones, Alexander and Magnolia--is that who you wanted to know about? The four of you are alive, there were also two bodies," he begins and finally actually squeezes her hand a little. He doesn't immediately say names, he just sort of looks at her, to see if he needs to say them, or if he can spare her needing to hear them.

His eyes not leaving hers, he watches her carefully.

This part gets confusing for Lilith. It comes like a progression arc as she stares at Michael once she's had at the milkshake for a sip with effort. It's cold, it hurts, it feels good, she doesn't want it, she doesn't deserve it. She's pushing it his way suddenly like she's tainting it. Take it, take it, take it.

In that moment of shoving the cup back at Michael, she might as well been trying to force off the memories and take the conflicts and panic of the imagined, instead, with panic. She remembers. She doesn't remember. Michael sees her struggling with that, when she's not playing cool, her fine features and eyes are expressive as hell.

Wouldn't she have realized she saw Mags? Wouldn't she have recognized Alexander in the moment? He's alive. She dimly remembers the OR waiting corridor. Mags is alive, she told her her hair glowed like angels. Who did she kill? Who did she...?!

Her monitors all start to beep with the slow creep of panic and head-shaking, then she starts to say no at Michael. She starts to say 'no' at Michael a lot.

Did Hank really die while she watched him plummet and break? Was Jack really there? Did she kill other people she doesn't know were at the scene? The way she was lashing out, she knows, she knows she was too much for everyone.

Watching Lilith, Mike gently takes back the cup from her and rests it against his thigh. In reach, but not in her hand. He isn't about to start a reverse-tug of war with her over it, and risk making a mess that'd only make her feel worse. Instead, he takes a sip from it and reaches out and strokes the hair from her face as she starts to process things.

Taking her hand, he holds on to it and waits for some of that panic and pain to pass through her, moving the cup out of the way he moves to gently enfolding her in his arms, and says. "It was your dad, Lil, and another guy, a Mr. Michael," he explains softly.

Then he goes on, trying to soothe, maybe with a touch of a word. Some abstract thought from his time /over there/.

"When I was over there, people died. There are all sorts of ways people cope, nobody has a right way, no one definitive way to just stow your shit and move on, you know? It's hard. It's the fact that it's hard though, that tells us we're human. You know? What you're feeling, is human. It's okay to hurt."

It's complicated. Lilith shudders with the relief of not having killed anybody directly, and... the horror of realization that comes when her fractured perception of watching Hank fall and snap at the neck with odd angle clicks into place from a dreamlike place. She remembers being -proud- and she feels sick, sick, sick.

She doesn't cry, but she chokes a little like she's going to. In fact, it might be part of a downright retch, but she doesn't get sick either. Instead, she clutches to Michael with her good arm and hand with more strength than she should have for the moment while so drugged, her desperation showing when she's drawn in. And she doesn't say a goddamn thing. She just listens to him and focuses on the rumble of him talking. But when he's done, there's a space where there's too much silence suddenly, the rumble in his chest gone. So she whispers, "Keep talking. Anything. Keep talking."

Spooning against her, Mike ends up sort of laying on the hospital bed against her, holding her against him. His chest vibrating with his words, the warmth of his body there, ever present. He talks evenly and smoothly, his eyes focused on her face.

"Let's see, so I had a few friends over there," he goes on softly, "Buggs. So named because he had a habit of drawing Loony Tunes characters on /everything./ The Sergeant would find these fuckin' doodles everywhere, and he'd have to clean it up, but he kept drawing anyway. Our unit medic was called uh.. Doc, we weren't very creative with that one. His dad is some sort of inventor, invented a filter in those water pitchers? The uh.. Britta ones? Like, that's him," he goes on. "Oh, so during training they keep telling you to keep your mouth open when you fire a shoulder mounted rocket? You know the one?" he asks rhetorically, because he keeps talking.. "Well, the guys in my training regimen begin to split into two groups. The first group things that, 'okay, good advice,' but the second group is certain that this is all just a joke. The first guy to stand there with his mouth open like an idiot is going to be ridiculed by the instructor.."

"So a friend, Nick, he goes out there and he's like, 'Guys, this is just them messing with us,' and he goes out, and comes back and his face is just messed up. And yeah, it turns out the rocket creates some sort of vaccuum that sucks all the air out, and if your mouth isn't open it messes with your nasal cavities.." he drones on.

More stores of bootcamp follow. Some of them are gross, some of them are funny, lots of guys and lots of hijinks. Drinking, stupid stuff no sane person should do with dangerous stuff..

For as long as she needs.

"Why didn't... he just draw dicks on things... like a normal person?" It's so quiet. So soft. But that's what eventually comes out of Lilith, probably concerning ol' Buggs and his wascally wabbit drawings on things. And something about the general way of a 'thing' working (a shoulder mounted rocket in this case, then later other cases of other 'things') during Michael's continued talk seems to rouse her, no matter how, you know, terrible the moral of the story is as to how those things work.

Gradually, Lilith starts to come out of the violent cling against Michael's body while listening to and feeling his voice reverb through his chest. She stops clinging and moves to burrow into his huge frame instead for some of the rest. Then she draws back enough to actually look at him again before speaking the most ridiculous question known to man after going what she went through. It's pretty classic Lilith, but her eyes are too big and sober and her mouth doesn't give that familiar twitch that threatens smile when she asks, the dry lacing of warm tone absent.

But... it's something. And it gives him a damn break on trying to figure out things to talk about when someone says 'just talk'.

"I don't really know, should I ask him?" Mike asks and fusses around on his laptop for a moment and clicks on the page for Facebook and sort of half-turns just a touch so that he can type on his keyboard. Clicking a few times, he goes through his contacts and ends up finding a slightly portly man in his early thirties maybe with a small beard.

"Hey Buggs, why did you always draw cartoons, and not other stuff, like dicks and stuff? I was telling her a story and my girl wants to know." The message reads. Tapping on his keyboard one handed he sends a private message over and then starts the show again at low volume. Cupping her against him. Letting her define how they are spooning, he does take another moment to sip from his milkshake again.

"Want some more milkshake?" he asks, sipping again.

"No. ... did you really just ask or were you pretend typing?" Either is possible, really, and props due, 'cause Mike was pretty smooth about slipping in that 'my girl' bit where Lilith could see him typing just fine. But her senses right now are kind of addled and they're laid out together on the bed. And she's kind of more focused on him and him moving around and just being... natural moreso than she actually focused to read. It's kind of a strange hyperfixation to watch considering he's not doing a while lot.

Then she wonders, seeming genuinely curious in that raw partial whisper of hoarseness from being choked off, then screaming after, at length...

"How are you so calm and... normal right now?"

She almost seems fascinated. It's not just that he's being calm, it's the combined just... air of everything that's goddamn impressive given what he unloaded out of his car to while on duty. That and... she hasn't been natural or normal in days. No, multiple weeks at this point, overall, really.

"I really asked," Mike answers, not aware he was being smooth, or slipping something in there. Though maybe he was. He moves with her a touch, and suddenly realizing something, she can feel him kicking off his shoes so that they drop beside the bed, though he does his best to steady their fall so that they make as little noise as possible.

Stroking the hair back from her face again, he leans in to kiss her on the forehead at her question and seems to be mulling it over.

".. because you're more important than questions or answers, and you're certainly more important than me being shaken. It was a bit rough when I first saw everything, and when you were in the ER and they were pulling you back together, I was a bit out of my mind," he answers slowly, dragging his hand along her back softly. Holding her. "Then I had a chance to sit here with you, reflect, calm, see that you were okay," he answers.

"Oh." Lilith's return to Michael is small and quiet, but it's as heavy as a stone at the same time, weighted with some sense of understanding on her own front, it seems. The noise of his shoes dropping doesn't even seem to make her radar, and probably wouldn't even if he wasn't such a considerate guy about it, naturally.

Then she draws back a little more to really look at the man in close quarters after taking a moment where she actually seems to feel his hair-brushing affection this time. And the following kiss at the forehead gets the barest nudge upward with meeting and taking, spine flexing some to let the drag of hand over her back pull a little of the tension free.

Her mouth turns up after a moment of staring study, the hint of smile familiar self-deprecation for a moment before it's just kind of empty and apologetic instead, "I'm not okay. But..." Lilith pauses and theorizes, "We can pretend. And maybe one day, I will be."

"I know, I wish I had a secret to a calm heart, to still the pain and help you move past it. But there is no mantra. No fear is the mind-killer, but things will get better. Every day, a little better, one foot in front of the other. Never maybe, totally out of mind, but less and less on your mind--and I'll be here for you," Michael says quietly, and watches her every response to his contact. He recognizes some of what she feels. She isn't some lone person experiencing something new. Even if her experience was a unique one, the pain had a half-life.

Kissing her gently on the forehead again, he continues to stroke her back, distracting her for a moment or two.

"I think the nurse and doctor will want to look at you soon, think you're up for that?" he asks and glances over her at the call button. "Maybe we can get some Jell-o? Ice cream?" he proposes like this is some great success.

Lilith did just say they were going to pretend because... right now she doesn't have anything else she can do. Fake it til you make it, baby, right? Right. Under normal circumstances that's exactly how she tends to make things work. But all of this inside now... she can't touch it too much. It's inefficient for the long run, surely, but for right now?

"Jell-O." Not red. Not blood. Alexander's blood? Shhh. "Green." Lilith pauses, "Ice." Not ice cream. Probably ice chips.

Then after saying her piece of agreement while he's no doubt already thinking about reaching for the call button to get things done whipsnap fashion, she shifts some under his hand and tips her face up to brush a kiss tentative and delicate over his bottom lip and chin before pulling back to murmur, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to..." Pause, "Be like this." Whatever 'this' is. But he gets the idea enough, even without all the pieces.

Watching the thoughts playing out on her face, Mike doesn't flinch from her looks, and just watches with compassion. "Green Jell-O and ice chips, yessum," he confirm and pushes the call button. While they are waiting for the nurse, he returns the kiss and listens with a small smile, reflecting on her concern about being herself: "I've got your back, Lil," he says and starts to rise to his feet so that he can answer the door and talk to the nurse.

He says a few words quietly, and there is seemingly an agreement, and the nurse departs for a half a minute before she comes back and starts to check on Lilith's vitals, explains the medication they're giving her for her, her name, etc. Basically the standard Nurse on duty explanation, as well as the orderly and others who will be coming when she needs them.

About midway through, an orderly brings in a tray with the requested items and they are put on the tray for her.

When they take off again, he takes a seat with her on the bed and opens the Jell-O for her, and picks up the spoon and scoops a bit for her, holding it out for her to either take or eat like a babybird. Her call.

Lilith watches Michael rise and seems to be thinking a little longer as if she wants to say something else. But words are so hard right now, it's why she just wanted to hear his for a little while like she did prior. The contemplating expression whittles away back into that somewhat shell shocked lack of expression she's had a lot of the time since the guy's been at sentinel watch and then some.

She is a little (quiet) champion through pretending like she's listening and nodding along with the nurse when Mike has had his words-- she hears 'drugs' and that's fine by her. Her head is already starting to kind of lull with heaviness back against the pillows by the time the orderly comes. But when Michael tries to feed her, just... nope. Nope. Nope. She reaches for the spoon and takes her own bite while letting him hold the cup because she can't use her other hand. And she clears the whole thing out to let it dissolve and run down in silence after asking for another episode of Parks and Rec.

For all she knows, she's going to fucking jail soon. How can she explain the violent and utterly mad things that happened, what she did?

She should probably learn to eat jello. She heard they have that in prison.

Mike has no such reservations about Lilith going to jail, but he puts on the next episode and settles in for as long as she wants, keeping her company until the hospital kicks him out or his boss or a detective shows up to talk to her. At which point he quietly whispers that he can't be here, but he'd be nearby.

At some point in the evening, assuming things go well, he might offer to help her shower and clean up a bit better, but he doesn't try to make her deal with the feelings any more than she wants to, and provides that ongoing comfort as much as she needs.