She knows the moment she hits the ground, pain lancing up her spine and then nothing, that something has gone horribly wrong. Almost every rider who has taken a fall goes through a similar mixture of emotions: shock, confusion, and the paralyzing fear that this is it - your last ride. And god, what about—
"Charles," she feels herself croak out, eyes shut tight against the possibility that something's wrong with him, too. It's the first thing she thinks of when she regains consciousness in the hospital. "Charles, is he.."
Almost immediately, a voice - calm and soothing and so, so sweet - reassures her.
"He's fine. He's fine - not a scratch on him - and eating dinner in his stall. He's fine. He's alright, and you're going to be alright." It's Myka, and of course she knows exactly what to say to ease the rising fear in Helena's heart when she can't feel Charles' concerned snuffling against her shoulder. ("Where is she? Christina - where is she? Please, please — Christina!") It's not her first fall on him. He usually ambles up to her prone form, reins tangled on his ears, nudging at his owner in confusion.
Helena relaxes back against the mattress, eyelashes fluttering as she takes in her surroundings. Myka, still wearing breeches and dirt-streaked boots, is leaning toward her, hands knotted up in Helena's bedsheets and face wet but sporting a tentative smile. She glances beyond Myka, and sees Pete at Myka's shoulder, grinning openly at her. And just behind Pete, she can see a hint of scruffy graying hair, and concern lurking behind wire-rimmed glasses - Artie.
Artie clears his throat, startling Myka out of her frozen position over Helena. A little flustered, Myka sits back down on a chair next to the bed.
"Well," Artie says gruffly, "It's good to know you really are as hard-headed as you act."
Helena hears a strangled laugh, and she turns her head to see Claudia and Leena in the doorway, leaning against each other. The young working student raises a hand in greeting, the guilt and hesitation written all over her body preventing her from coming closer.
"Claudia," Helena beckons with a tired smile. When Claudia approaches the hospital bed, Helena reaches out and grasps the working student's trembling hands in hers. "It's not your fault, darling."
The young girl swallows hard, jaw tensing as she bites out her response. "I let Tesla get away from me. I let go of the lead rope."
"You know as well as I that an animal ten times your weight in muscle, bone, and fear will do whatever it wishes when perceiving a threat. You can't control that, Claudia, any more than I could control Charles' reaction to Tesla." Helena feels Claudia's hands gently squeeze hers, and she knows Claudia understands, but is unwilling to let go of her guilt. It will take time. It always does.
Artie coughs uncomfortably, bringing the focus of conversation back to Helena. "And in case you were wondering, the doctor said you have a compression fracture. Bed rest for ten weeks and physical therapy. No riding."
"I've heard great things about hippotherapy," Helena airily replies. Artie glares sternly at the smirk forming at the corners of her mouth.
"Bed rest. Ten weeks. No riding, and definitely no horses." He sounds so much like a disgruntled, worried father that Myka can't help but crack a fond smile before rising to Helena's defense.
"You know, Artie," Myka interjects, "Equestrians don't tend to, um, fare well when there's a lack of horses in their lives. I'd say it would be more detrimental to Helena's healing if she were to be kept away from Barn 13."
When Artie looks fit to protest, Myka hurriedly adds, "Besides riding, the doctor didn't say anything about not spending time with horses in general. Isn't there a guest-house next to Leena's overlooking the pastures? The one that's been empty since Claudia moved into Leena's place?"
Artie concedes with a sharp wave of his hand. "Fine, fine. Just as long as she's not riding. And she's not there alone."
Pete's snort practically echoes. He backs away with raised hands when he's met with a roomful of pointed looks. "What? Whaaat? We all know HG isn't going to be alone," he says, waggling his eyebrows in what he feels is in Myka's direction.
When Helena looks questioningly at Myka, she sees a faint blush tinging the younger woman's fair cheeks. Ah. "The guest house, as I recall, is a two-bedroom," Pete's snort is quieter this time, but still earns him a cuff on the shoulder from Myka, "And I certainly wouldn't object to your company, Myka. If you're interested."
Myka murmurs, "Maybe," but her charmed smile, Helena knows, is just as good as a "yes." Judging from the smirks on Pete and Claudia's faces, they know it, too. Even Artie rolls his eyes.
And suddenly, Helena is flooded with a deep sense of satisfaction. Despite the constant ache in her body and the knowledge that she will be kept from the saddle for more weeks than she's comfortable thinking about, she's.. glad. She's surrounded by people, once distrustful of her character and motives, who are now gathered at her bedside, easing her fear and giving her hope in turns.
Artie disguises his worry with defensive grumbling. Pete cracks jokes, but he can't hide the concerned furrow between his eyebrows. For once, his jokes are not at her expense. Leena's calm presence feels forced, tense; more like she's exuding reassurance for Helena's benefit than feeling it herself. Dear, young Claudia fidgets and looks at Helena with a plea for forgiveness that she knows Helena has already given.
And Myka - beautiful, kind, strong Myka - her smile speaks both of relief and fear not yet fully assuaged, her hands clenched white-knuckled with the desire to grasp onto something solid - something certain.
Helena reaches out and covers Myka's hands, their fingers interlacing. In her touch, she promises Myka a future of something whole.
And it feels like home. (Again.)