dipping my toes back into fanfiction. just an idea that has been bouncing around in my head for the past day or two. if you don't like the idea of being aware of your surroundings while in a coma, I suggest you maybe don't read. rated t for brief language. title comes from the song "recovery" by frank turner. enjoy~

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the first thing she hears is a steady beeping. it doesn't take her sharp mind long to realize that it has the rhythm of a heart monitor.

or, perhaps, it's a machine controlling her breathing, which she suddenly finds that she can no longer regulate. her chest rises and falls steadily, and as hard as she tries, she can't change the tempo.

she can't do anything.

she can't move.

can't open her mouth.

can't flutter an eyelid.

her arms and legs are lead, her lips are sealed shut, and her eyelashes carry the weight of worlds.

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the next time she hears the beeping, she is aware that, wherever she is, it is bright. she can't open her eyes, she can only see darkness, but somehow she can tell that there is light close by. something cold and sharp touches her skin, and in her mind she winces, although her body doesn't react.

can't react.

and then the light disappears.

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at some point she becomes aware of a breeze blowing gently across her face. it is light and consistent, and eventually she hones in on the mechanical sound that accompanies it.

an air conditioner.

her mind tries to latch on to anything else that could help her understand what's happening to her, but all she hears is the beeping, and all she feels is the cool moving air.

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she sometimes wonders if she is dead. if she is, well then, she has a few choice things to say to the man in charge upstairs. the steady beeping never ends, and it both penetrates and dominates her thoughts.

she wants to scream.

she needs to scream.

the pressure inside her head is driving her mad, and the overwhelming need to scream is only making things worse.

but her lips won't part.

and her vocal chords are choked by plastic tubing.

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eventually she becomes aware of voices. she tries as hard as she can to focus on them, to understand what they're saying, but it's as if she's underwater, and the voices are distorted beyond comprehension. sometimes they sound almost familiar, but her mind can't find a match amid her broken memories.

and then she hears his voice.

his voice.

she doesn't even know who he is, can't even understand what he's saying, but she gets the sense that he is apologizing, over and over and over.

"I'm sorry, Lydia."

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his voice comes more frequently, and every time she hears it, she strains her damaged mind to its limits, trying to remember something. his words come more clearly now, and she can sometimes make out their meaning. he talks to her, he talks to her for hours on end, and most of the time she can't focus long enough to pay attention to it all, but his voice is something safe, something comforting.

something that reminds her of fireflies and cold bleachers and cheap macy's brand perfume.

and he talks for hours.

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she hears the door open.

she's come to associate the door opening with his voice, and so she waits patiently for it, the gears of her mind beginning to turn. but instead of hearing his voice, she feels a weight press into one of her arms.

she can't tell which one.

all she can tell is that the weight is warm and small and it moves.

and then it is gone, and her arms ache for something that she can't remember.

"This was a stupid idea."

his voice is low, as though he doesn't want anyone to hear him.

"Melissa thought it might help if I brought her here, let you hold her, but it's just weird."

her.

the moving bundle is a her.

and her mind suddenly floods with flashes of images and sounds.

laughter, as she tries to keep a dozen pink balloons from floating out of the door of a jeep.

camera shutters clicking, and a voice yelling for someone to kiss her rounded belly.

soft crying, mixed with the chirp of crickets and a cool summer breeze.

raindrops.

baby powder.

tires squealing.

"I'm just- gonna go, I guess."

her mind pleads with him to stay, begs for him to put the bundle back in her arms. maybe, maybe she could remember more, maybe it could trigger more memories.

she needs to remember.

the door opens again, closes, and she screams in her mind.

please don't take the baby away.

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You know, you're a really good liar."

hearing his voice, she struggles to drag herself back up to surface of her mind. it's so simple to let gentle waves of nothing wash over her, to let them pull her down into the dark depths of unconsciousness. she stays down there more often now, the tide building pressure above her, until it feels as if she might be crushed under its weight.

until she hears his voice.

"You always bragged about how good I was with her."

he's still talking when she breaks through to the more rational part of her brain, the part that she has trained to understand words again. she hears what he's saying, she's just not sure what he's talking about.

"I- I can't do anything. She cries, all the time, and I don't know what to do."

the baby.

he's talking about the baby.

"Your mom thinks she misses you, but I think she's just upset that she got stuck with such a lousy dad, who can't even make a frickin' bottle without burning down the kitchen."

she wants to laugh. she wants to say something, she needs to say something.

"I thought I needed you to be okay, you know, for me. But I need to you to be okay for her. So, please be okay."

she is trying.

"Please."

she is trying so hard to be okay.

but the water begins to lap at the edges of her thoughts, and she can't stop it from pulling her under.

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it's getting harder and harder to focus on his words. by the time she is able to make sense of them, he's already been talking for eons.

"And in the back of my mind, in the part that was freaking the fuck out, or praying my ass off for you, I was praying that it would be Jordan, or Clarke, anybody but my dad."

he pauses.

"'Course it was him. It's always him. He can't say no to a wreck like that. And I didn't think I could handle it, to have to tell my dad that I almost got myself, and my daughter, and- you, killed."

she hears the sound of hands being run through hair. she can almost see him, sitting somewhere nearby, folded over at the waist, elbows digging into thighs.

she wants to see him, so badly.

just a glimpse, to make sure he's okay.

"But I'm glad it was him. I-I couldn't even explain what happened, I couldn't stop shaking, and he just- he took control and calmed me down, told me things would be alright. And he's my dad, you know, so I had to believe him. That's what you do when you're the kid, and your dad says it's gonna be okay. You just accept it."

a knock sounds on wood. voices whisper, and she hears chair legs scrape against waxed tile. and then it is silent.

and the silence pains her just as much as the fractured ribs and torn insides.

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"See, my dad always talked to me about not waiting to do something, because you never know how long you're gonna be around, or how long other people will be here. Too bad we didn't listen."

she is listening.

"You know how we used to always say we'd do it next year? Every New Years, we'd say 'this, this is the year we're gonna get married.' And things would always come up, and we just kept putting it off, remember?"

she wants to remember.

she wants to remember so much.

"It's New Years again."

of course it is.

"I just want you to wake up."

she just wants to wake up.

instead, she slips back under the water.

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she is jolted by a sharp pain behind her head, and the sense that someone else is in her mind, calling to her. she tries to yell back, tries to scream, tries to do anything. but as quickly as the feeling comes, it goes.

and then she hears his voice.

"I don't think it worked."

what didn't work, she screams.

"There was nothing, it was just, dark. And heavy, like the gravity was bumped up to eleven."

another voice is there, lower, quieter, and she recognizes it, although she can't place it. the other voice poses a different point of view, that maybe it did work, and that there's simply nothing left.

left of what?

"I really wish you hadn't convinced me to do this, Scott."

there is so much to remember about that name, so many memories, but she doesn't have the strength to search for them.

"And, FYI, your claws hurt a hell of a lot more than you said they were going to."

and then the voices leave, and she is left alone to sink back into blissful oblivion.

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his voice is soft, bitter, defeated.

"Why am I even doing this?"

she can't remember the last time she has allowed herself to come up from under the water, but it seems important that she does so.

she hears another voice, and, try as she might, she can't make sense of it. it is a small voice, high pitched, and there seems to be no rhyme or reason to the sounds it makes. nothing makes sense.

maybe there's nothing to make sense of.

and then his voice again, solid and familiar, but different somehow.

the tone is changed.

"Talking to your mom, huh?"

but he is not talking to her, he is talking to the other voice, and the other voice does not answer, it only whimpers.

"Hey, shhhh, it's okay."

she hears him shushing the smaller voice, whispering softly.

"Everything's okay."

and his breath hitches and his voice breaks as he repeats himself.

"Everything is gonna be okay."

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for the first time ever, the beeping stops. it is both disconcerting and wonderful all at once, but she can only focus on it for so long before she realizes that her chest is no longer moving.

she isn't breathing.

she

can't

breathe.

she is panicking, trying to force her body to exhale or inhale or do something. her chest is burning, burning, burning, and she is drowning above water.

"I'm sorry."

he is there, and his voice is cracking right alongside her lungs. she can't move, she can't speak, she can't open her eyes. she needs to screams, she needs to scream, she needs to scream.

and she can't even remember why.

she can only suffocate.

"I- I wish-"

time and life rush past her, and she tries to hold on to them, to hold on to anything, but it's been an eternity since her last breath, and her brain can't hold onto anything except the realization that she is dying.

"It's gonna be okay."

his words are fading farther and farther away, as her thoughts grow more and more scattered. her heart feels as though it might beat right out of her ribcage, until it screeches to halt, and a blessed dark haze begins to settle over her mind.

"I'm sorry, Lydia."

and then she drowns, surrounded by cool, clean air.

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