2019-07-25 - Dr. Glass, the Fixer

The procedure went well, the injured wrist is still bandaged and braced and Byron is left in a groggy state. He's been floating in and out of consciousness for a while now. Sometimes he might ask a random question or ask what time it is before is pulled back deeply into sedation. His heart rate and his vitals all appear normal and it was said that he would likely be released soon. If not today then the next. In truth, his bone was perfectly healed due to a glimmering doctor, but that didn't mean that he wasn't in a bad place mentally and emotionally.

He shifts in his bed, his head turning to the side almost as if he expects to see someone there. Another bed, perhaps? Was he here alone? His eyes slowly start to open, though that's the furthest that he'll move for the time being, still remaining fully rested against his pillow.

Since the second that she hit the parking lot outside with Isabella, Vivian's been there, a few brief arguments with nurses and calls to lawyers, but she's not left. A lot of coffee has been consumed to keep her going, but even that only lasts so long so that by the time he starts to open his eyes this time around she's sitting in a chair next to the bed.

It's clear that she's asleep, despite the fact she can't possibly be comfortable, her elbow on the arm of the chair and her head cradled in her hand. Her cellphone is there on the edge of the bedside table, her clothes the same ones that she was wearing when she turned up at the house boat, jeans, t-shirt, boots. The only light still on in the room is the low light bar over the bed, everything else is off, the curtains are closed, and the television is on, but the volume muted.

There was no one in the empty bed beside him. Perhaps Byron was lucky enough to get a room of his own. When his head turns in the other direction, that's when he spots the sleeping Vivian all curled up a chair. She looked exhausted, as exhausted as he felt right now, with the drugs. His lips part and he tries to call her out her name, but his throat was like a desert so only a hoarse sound is heard at first.

The room was dark and peaceful, almost too peaceful. He could easily slip back into a deep slumber before too long. That's when he catches sight of the television, staring with blank eyes at the images on the screen. While he didn't hurt as much as someone should be after having their wrist snapped with protruding bone, his body felt heavy, his mind clouded.

He decides to try again, head turned back to Vivian, eyes studying her sleeping form. How long has she been here? This time a parched, "Viv." comes out and he reaches a hand in her direction to try to brush a strand of hair away from her face.

The hoarse sound isn't loud enough, but when he gets out her name, and she feels the brush of his fingers against her face she startles awake. It's the sudden movement of someone who has been waiting for something to happen, but was unable to not drift off. Body and mind still on high alert that it's a shock to the system. There's a rapid blink, eyes refocusing here, on the bed, "Byron!"

There is relief, worry, exasperation, and probably ten other unnamable emotions that flood her face and voice as she gets to her feet, "You're awake." Brilliant observation, Dr. Glass. One hand catches his, fingers tightening around it as she leans over the bed to rest her forehead against his, "I was so worried..."

Gone was his suit as he's only dressed in this patient gown with a blanket thrown over him for warmth. He looked comfortable, his movements sluggish, but Byron seems pleased when he's able to stir Vivian awake. Taking a really hard, parched swallow in a poor attempt to clear his throat, he tries to speak up again, "Vivian, I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking." There's a pause as he wets his lips, eyes slowly closing when she rests her forehead against him. She can feel a heavy breath being exhaled from his flared nostrils. He attempts another swallow. "I didn't know what I was doing. I almost-- I tried," He starts again, "I could've killed Lilith."

"It's fine. Fine..." Vivian gives his hand a squeeze, remaining in place for a little while, then she starts to carefully lean up, reaching for one of the little plastic cups with water and a straw in it. "Here..." She brings the straw up to his mouth so that he can sip from the water, holding it steady for him.

"It's not your fault, Byron. It's not your fault." She seems to be quietly firm on this regard, easing herself onto the edge of the bed, the hand not holding the cup of water moves into his hair, trying to fix it. It's not the way he likes it, and it seems to be some strangely important point that she makes sure it's the way he likes it. Or as close to it as she can get.

Byron was a mess. His hair was slightly disheveled and he could use a little trim of his beard. It's been days since he really took care of his appearance and the only thing that he did normally was thrown on a suit to keep up the illusion that he wasn't corrupted by this ring. Despite this blessing of sleep that he's been given due to the various medications to help ease his pain, he still looked a little weary.

An unsteady hand reaches for the cup, but it's Vivian's careful hold on it that allows him to sip from the straw without spilling anything over. It was cooling in his mouth, the liquid soothing that dry irritation within his throat. "If you knew everything that I did to reach that point, you wouldn't..." There's comfort brought when he feels her fingers brushing through his hair, pushing the bangs from out of his face. "I can't even remember everything that I've said or done."

The water is held there for as long as he might want it, or need it, only moved back to the table when it seems like he is done with it. "I don't care." She shakes her head faintly, even as she recognizes the fact that what she says is just careless maybe. She might really care if she knew, right? But there's conviction in her voice. "I wouldn't anything, I don't care what you did." Reckless, that.

Once she's got his hair smoothed out as much as she'll possibly be able to get it under the circumstances she moves her hand to his face, smoothing it against his cheek, "Whatever happened, we'll figure it out, and we'll fix it. I've already called mother, had her send over a few names of lawyers that we can contact. The cops were already here, in the ER, but they weren't able to talk to any of you yet, and then you were all taken to the OR...so I'm sure they'll be here as soon as they hear you're awake."

Despite the exhaustion and the trauma that Byron had gone through, it slowly begins to dawn on him just how easily everything that he's built up could suddenly crumble around him. He'd been so careful with his dealings all this time. It didn't help that the cops were snooping around his apartment complex due to the murders that happened there and now this. Whatever he did on the stone bridge or to the pawn shop... all of that may very well come back to bite him on the ass.

It's on his mind now, though he's silent when he continues to drink from the cup. Soon enough he lays back, head pressed against his pillow, his eyes looking contemplative as they stare forward, looking at nothing in particular. "Good. I probably will need a lawyer." He sounds a little better now, the soothing liquid doing the trick. "I shot her." His voice grows quiet when he says this. "They'll know." He had left his gun at the crime scene. It was probably picked up by now.

"Depending on things you can claim self-defense." Vivian is quick to offer that defense, because that's what they are talking about. The legal issues that are spread out in front of them. "Potentially accidental, depends on how you spin the story. But whatever it is, you're not going to jail, Byron." She gets up off the bed, turning around to check the blankets, but also a hand nudges at his hip, "Scoot over a little."

Assuming that he obliges her, she moves back onto the bed, this time to stretch out on the edge of the bed, "You don't need to tell me what happened the past few days, I don't need to know. But I'm not letting another bad thing happen to you, and you're not going to jail for this, or anything else you've done. Or will do."

Byron does scoot over, giving Vivian some space at the edge of his bed, but he cannot help but be troubled by some of this. His brow creases and he has this worried cast to his features, "I almost killed her, Vivian. She had a noose around her neck and was teetering on the rail of the bridge and I... I shot her. I /hit/ her as far as I know. I saw her struggle to maintain her balance. If she'd fallen." That same good hand now lifts to pinch at the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut closed.

This is the sort of thing Vivian is good at, processing things, helping people through traumatic experiences. But it's different when her own emotions are involved, and Byron is a giant blindspot for her in a lot of ways. Her first reaction is to brush it all aside, continue to tell him it's fine, that he won't be in trouble for it. But there's more than that, and she knows. She sighs faintly, moving to rest her head against his shoulder, "But she didn't, and I know that's a small comfort right now. But she didn't fall, and you didn't kill her. You can't live in a world of what ifs, it'll slowly drive you insane if you keep circling around them." A hand reaches up, curling against his chest, a frown settling on her face, "I'm sorry that you shot your friend, but I am sure...at the time, you thought you had no choice. She's alive, you're alive, everyone is alive. Hold on to that."

"Her father died." Byron says, barely remembering hearing about that when they were all set out in the hallway outside of the OR. "One of the hanged men. I... I should have found another way to stop her but I wanted... I /needed/.." That GOD DAMN RING. She can feel the tension knotting up at his back, making his shoulder stiffen. There's so much turmoil within him, darkening his thoughts and forcing him to remember that moment on the bridge.

He almost breaks down right then and there, too consumed by his own guilt. Soon she can feel his head leaning against hers, tilted to the side. "It was Lilith." Not just any old friend. "But yes, she's alive. And I didn't do a damn thing to keep her alive." In fact, from what he can tell, it was the others who had tracked them down. "If it wasn't for--" Does he have to say Clayton's name? "Alexander," This is the first that he'd called the many by his first name and only first name, "And Maggie, I think... who knows what would've happened." Byron may be dead right now, but that's not how he sees the outcome in his eyes.

"I'm sorry to hear that her father died." Vivian hasn't met Lilith, but she still sounds honest in her sympathy for the woman's loss. "She'll need her friends around her to deal with the grief." Probably. Unless she's one of those people that shuts down. It happens a whole lot, but Vivian isn't going to tell him that right now. The hand against his chest moves, sliding up to his shoulder to gentle start to rub at the tension, quiet for a little while as she absorbs the rest. Not just the rest, but everything.

"If you hadn't gone looking for her, Alexander Clayton wouldn't have gone looking, and he wouldn't have had me call Magnolia Jones to go find you. I know that it doesn't seem like this right now, but if you hadn't been on the bridge, no one else would have either. Then she'd have been dead, either way. I don't want to say God works in mysterious ways, because...I'm not a believer. I don't have faith. But what I do know is that things played out the way the did, and everyone is alive because of it." Except her father. And that other person. But that's really not her point.

There's some ease to the muscles in his back and shoulders when Vivian tends to them with careful kneading. Listening as she speaks, Byron slowly lifts his once-injured arm, a curious look in his eyes when he seems to be examining the bandages wrapped there and the brace to keep his wrist stabilized. Lilith blamed herself for what had happened to him and at the time, he didn't realize that the break in his wrist was caused by her.

It brings back memories of his childhood, something which he was reminded of once he heard (and felt) that loud snap, but it comes to the forefront of his mind now. Whatever it reminds him of, it isn't a pleasant memory. Those inquisitive dark eyes harden as do his features. With a slow motion, he squeezes his hand into a fist, feeling the ghost of his wounds being strained in the process.

"I never thought about it that way. But I don't know how it would've played out if I didn't follow her. If I didn't chase her away." His gaze lingers on his arm for a long moment longer before he finally lowers it to settle at his side. "You may be right, but.." And there's always a but. There's many buts that could follow this sentence, but he decides not to utter any of one of them.

Soon his eyes flicker in Vivian's direction, a weak smile crossing his lips, "I'm just glad that you're here." He's been through a lot, including having his mind taken over by a ring, and right now he's keeping it together which could eventually lead to a great breakdown in the near future.

"I'm always going to be here for you." Vivian assures him, her fingers continuing to rub against his shoulders, the movements slow, working her way inwards towards the center of the knots. "No matter what the future holds, I'm not going to go anywhere."

The memories, the guilt she can probably make guesses of at least half the turmoil that he's feeling. But she doesn't push and prod, doesn't force him to work through any steps towards resolution of them. Instead she is just there, helping him to hold it together long enough to get to a position to face it head on in the future. "You should try to rest, though. I'm not going anywhere, now or in the future." She glances upwards at him, then she pushes herself up onto her elbow so that she can lean up to give him a kiss.

Though they've dated off and on for several years, Byron's never considered going to see a therapist himself. If he did, of course, it wouldn't be Vivian. That would've been some conflict right there. Now, however, being confronted with the guilt of what he's done among other things, there's a part of him that felt lost. It was a relief that Vivian was so willing to forgive him, and though the others also like to say that they do not put blame on him, not everyone knew what he had done. Or what he would've done if the circumstances were right.

With a lift of his chin, he leans into her kiss, relishing in its warmth and intimacy. It's been a long while since he felt normal, no longer feeling that compelling force that was the ring. "You're right. Like always." He really could use the sleep. The trauma (Physically, mentally and emotionally), the surgery and all the drugs to keep the pain away really has taken a toll on him. Still leaving that space for Vivian, he resettles back down, his eyes already closing beneath heavy lids, "I must look like shit."

"You're the best looking thing I've ever seen before in my life." Which might say more about her relief at him being alive and in one piece than how he actually looks. Once he settles back down, closing his eyes, she tucks her head against his shoulder again, falling silent as she lifts her hand up, fingers sliding into his hair again. This time it isn't to fix it, it is instead to simply soothe him until he's fallen asleep, and even then after he falls asleep she continues until she falls back asleep.