The Conductor {Black Lightning}{Wattys2018}

Ch. 20: Doctor's Orders

A/N: Another hospital chapter, so just a trigger warning if that's not your thing.

***

Eugene woke up seconds after going under. But it couldn't have been seconds. No surgery took seconds. Unless they had found a way to get an entire harpoon out of her shoulder in seconds. No. It couldn't have been seconds. It couldn't have been.

But what if the surgery had gone wrong and that's why it felt like seconds? What if she had eaten before the surgery and that word they had said before happened to her? Death time was always weird, right?

Suddenly a nurse came to the bedside and Eugene's catastrophic thoughts came to a halt. Well, they didn't stop. She just didn't say them. She didn't want to sound like those people in angel movies stupidly asking, "Am I dead?" like a drunk.

Although, she might as well have been drunk if this was what drunk felt like. Her stomach churned as though it was about to come up her throat any minute and her throat felt like it had just been through a cheese grater.

"No complications," said the nurse. "I'm gonna move you to another room, okay?"

Eugene forced a smile, shame gnawing at her stomach. All that worry about dying seemed silly now. Why was she like this?

As the nursed moved her to another room, Eugene caught sight of a clock, her heart sinking as she realized that it was almost ten.

What was she supposed to do about Anissa? The stabbed shoulder she could explain by saying it was sprained, but the lateness would be harder. The latest Eugene usually got home was nine.

Time sprawled out even longer as Eugene waited for the doctor to come in. When Dr. Jones finally arrived, he felt like her head might explode with anxiety. What had taken him so long The more minutes she wasted, the less acceptable whatever bullshit excuse she came up with for Anissa would be.

She couldn't tell him this, though. If she did, she'd start yelling and if she started yelling, she'd start crying. And if she started crying, everything else would come out too and she couldn't let that happen.

"Hey, Eugene, how are you holding up?"

She went to sign to him but then realized her arm was in a brace. Dammit. How was she supposed to do anything if her dominant arm was injured?

"Um. Well..." Eugene cringed at the sound of her broken, raspy voice. "Sorry. My...my, uh--"

"Your throat, I know," he said. "That'd be from the tube they put in your throat. That'll probably go away in a few days. Ambrosia should help but don't use the high dose because you'll want to use the ambrosia for your wound and if you take too much--"

"I'll burn up," she croaked.

"Yeah." Dr. Jones cracked a grin. "Those pesky mortal genes. Don't you wish you were a full god sometimes?"

Eugene returned his smile, shaking her head. Living forever would be unbearable.

"Anyway, let's talk about your wound. Your stitches can come out in five days, so once that happens, come back in and we'll take them out for you."

Her eyelids started drooping as he explained how she would need to take care of her wound. Knowing her luck, she'd probably get an infection later because she didn't listen to his instructions, but right now, her bed was the only thing on her mind.

"You're..." Eugene cleared her throat before rubbing her eyes. "You're gonna write this down, right?"

Dr. Jones raised an eyebrow. "You got nothing I just said, didn't you?"

She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry," she signed with her good hand.

"It's okay," he said, smiling slightly. "We'll give you a handout with everything you need to do."

"Thank you."

"Now, let's see if you can walk."

Eugene groaned as she tried to push herself up with her elbow and utterly failed, falling onto her back in her debate. Getting out of bed every morning was going to be so much fun.

"I usually use my injured arm to get up," she explained.

"That's alright. Just lean on your other one," said Dr. Jones. She tried to follow his instructions, but the sudden sensation that she was going to roll off the bed pushed her back again. "Don't worry, I won't let you fall off."

"Oh, fucking hell, now I'm dizzy," Eugene groaned when she finally sat up. When would the struggle ever end?

Dr. Jones grabbed a cup of water from the bedside table. "Here, this should help."

"Now, since you obviously can't use a walker or two poles with your arm in that brace, I got you a quad cane that should give you plenty of support," he continued. "Can you stand and walk with that?"

Eugene gripped to Dr. Jones' arm for dear life as she stood up. The quad cane was more like an unnecessary foot than anything else.

"How's that feel?" he asked.

"It's fine."

Dr. Jones narrowed his eyes skeptically and pushed his long black hair behind his ear. "Really? Then ease up on my arm and we'll see how fine you are."

"I'm fine," she insisted. She had to lie. She had to get home to Anissa tonight. She couldn't explain all of this otherwise.

"Look," he said, inhaling sharply, "I know your situation and it's crappy. But I can't discharge you if you can't walk."

"Okay," she signed, lips pursed tightly. "Then I'll walk."

"Your life would be so much easier if you just told people the truth - oh, get that look off your face. I don't mean everyone. I meant a few people. Your roommate, your mother..."

Eugene scoffed. Those were the two people she couldn't tell the most. What was she supposed to tell Anissa? That she was the shooter at the bar and she had also almost killed Mr. Pierce? She couldn't bombard Anissa with all of that.

"I can't." Her voice cracked slightly. "I can't. I'd rather walk."

"You'd better hope you can walk."