TW: Medical, blood and medical malpractice
A/N: I'm sorry for making this so sad but this is something I suffer with so I wanted to write it- and also yes, I know the term fibromyalgia wasn't around until 1977 but I wrote it this way.
May 19th, 1963
Things were going well, Christine and Indigo had settled into their little routine and they absolutely loved it. Christine went to work most nights, which suited Indigo fine, she made dinner ready for her return. They went to college for lectures and studio space- although Indigo had started working more at home- only going in to use equipment as their front room had become an art studio with a soft, patched couch. The couch had become Christine's favourite place in the flat on the account that she sat; more often than not, half-dressed, as she watched her paint.
However, everything seemed to be out of place when Christine returned home from a long shift. The lights weren't on, which didn't worry her until she couldn't see the faint glint of candles from the outside window; she checked that the door was locked several times before she unlocked it, walking into the kitchen. She shrugged off the fact that dinner wasn't ready- she was her own person, she didn't owe her anything like that, but as she walked into the bedroom, her eyes fell on the most pitiful sight she had ever seen.
Indigo was curled up in bed, clutching Christine's pillow to her chest, legs wrapped around it. She looked to the side table, finding an open pack of painkillers and a glass of water. When she got closer, she could see tears streaming down her face as she winced in pain.
"Hey," she murmured, "You don't feel good?"
"No," she choked out, "I'm scared, I don't know what's happening to me."
"Where does it hurt?" she asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed and reaching across with one hand, Indigo took it and held onto it tightly, making her wince.
"I have a migraine and my elbows and my hips are throbbing- they hurt so bad, Chris."
"That doesn't sound normal," Christine said, "Can I take your temperature?"
"Do we even have a thermometer?"
"Shit- no, we don't," she said, pressing a hand to her sweaty forehead, "How long's it been hurting?"
"Hours," Indigo said, "I've had migraines before but never with pain elsewhere."
She squeezed her hand until Christine thought her bones would crack, and bit her lip, drawing blood.
"Do you want to go to the Emergency Room?"
"No," Indigo looked panicked.
"Sorry honey, I didn't mean to scare you," she said quickly, stroking her hair, "I just don't know what else to suggest. How about I go make you some toast and some tea and tomorrow we go to the doctors?"
"Okay," she buried her face in the pillow, "But only if you can come in with me."
"I will," Christine said gently, leaning down to peck her forehead, "Don't worry. I'll be back in a minute, shout if you need anything."
She quickly went into the kitchen, rushing to make Indigo some toast and put together some dinner for herself, wanting to return back to her as soon as possible. When she returned to the bedroom, Indigo was sobbing into her pillow, little screams escaping her mouth.
"Hey, can you sit?"
"I don't know," Indigo hauled herself up to rest against the headboard, wincing, "I'm sorry dinner wasn't ready for you tonight, I was going to start making it but the pain got too bad."
