Disclaimer: I don't own the host. This is simply a fanfic.
One
Waking up had been painful, especially once Wanda became conscious of the ache in her chest.
"Are you alright sweetie?" the nurse said, stroking her hair in a strangely maternal gesture.
Wanda tried to speak, but only a raspy echo of words came out of her mouth.
"It's okay, just nod, if you can," the nurse said. "It will be a while before you can talk properly. You were under for a while. It's natural that you're going to take a while to recover.
Everything felt fuzzy and the ache in her chest throbbed uncomfortably. She wanted to sit up and move, but it felt like there was some kind of lost connection between her body and her brain.
"We'll take you in for a chest x-ray soon. We're just waiting for you to feel a little better. It's quite a shock," the nurse said. "But you will feel better; after all, it's a good, strong heart you've got now."
Wanda nodded, her head feeling heavy, but she did feel almost better. The pain in her chest was still there, but she could also feel her heartbeat, which made her smile. It was better than the pacemaker she'd had and so much more alive.
She closed her eyes for a moment, exalting in the feeling of being healthy again. She knew how lucky she was to have this chance at a transplant; that they'd found a match for her.
It was a true stroke of luck, something she'd remember for the rest of her life, however long that was. Wanda knew there were risks with this, but she was ready to take that chance. It was better than living with a 'maybe until the spring'.
Her life had mostly been until this point one, long painful 'maybe' but now there was some kind of certainty to stand on, something she could know rather that guess.
o0o
The first night, after her scans and check up and all sorts of other medical things she didn't understand, Wanda dreamed.
She walked down her usual street, watching out for empty houses. Tonight, she knew the lovely pair of seniors who forgot to lock their door, Mr and Mrs Jameson, were out somewhere and it gave her ample time to get what she needed.
Tugging her wig nervously, she walked closer to the house looking as causal as possible. Checking the front window, she saw no one in and went around the back to open the door.
Once again, it swung open quietly and she sought out the kitchen. Places like this always made her remember what she was missing, the comfort of a full cupboard and readily available foods; and not to mention a place to stay for good.
She was about to grab an extra can of buttered corn when someone grabbed her. Her first instinct was to kick and scream, but her attacker had her pinned against the cupboard door.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked. It was a guy, perhaps a few years older than her, looking at her with an expression that would have made her old, non-street-hardened self, cower.
"Get off me," she said. Time was running out. She had to get back home and maybe if she could just hit him once, there'd be time to make her getaway.
"Tell me who you are," he said. "Or I'll call the cops."
"Melanie," she said curtly. "Now let me go."
"Well, Melanie, why are you stealing"—he looked down at her stash—"food?"
Melanie didn't want to answer him, because answers led to proper inquiries and that lead to back there, a place she never wanted to see again.
"Just let me go, please," she begged. It wasn't real, but she hoped it'd be enough for him to relax just enough so she could really get away.
"I just want to know why you're stealing from my great aunt," he said.
She resisted the urge to swear. Of course there was going to be someone in the house on a night where she knew the owners weren't there.
"I'm hungry, so what?" she spat.
He softened a little, but only in his expression. "Well, then sit down."
His words shocked her. "You're not calling the police?" she said, warily.
"No," he said. "I'm just going to get you something to eat."
Wanda woke up with a start. The dream had felt real, almost too real, like she'd been there herself. In fact, she could almost feel the stranger's grip on her now.
Impossible, she told herself. It was just a dream.
It didn't change how real it felt though. In fact she almost didn't feel like herself, not until she felt the heartbeat in her chest, reminding her of where and who she was.
"Are you okay sweetie?" the nurse asked. Wanda had forgotten she was there. There was always someone there at this stage.
She gave a small nod, satisfying the nurse. Besides, how could she tell anyone about that dream? No one had told her anything about strange life-like dreams.
Wanda wanted to sleep again, but she didn't want another of those dreams. It felt too different, like she was suddenly someone else. The sensation unnerved her and thanks to all the medicine she was on, she felt pretty out of it most of the time, but this was worse.
Part of her wanted to call the nurse, but she had the feeling this wasn't something a few more meds could fix, but still, she was tempted to see if she could get some kind of sleep-inducing drug, something to stop her from dreaming.
o0o
"How are you feeling?" the doctor asked, her pen poised over a notepad.
"Alright," Wanda replied, noting the way the doctor scribbled down her response. "It's taking some getting used to, though."
"Have you had any side-effects to the medication?"
"Only what's expected," she replied, looking down at her arms. She'd noticed the changes, the strange panicky feelings, the weight, cramps and all the rest. The first few days had been hard, but she'd eventually been put on the right dosages.
"Good, but let me know if it's getting serious. We need to be sure you're okay," the doctor said, scribbling on her notepad. Wanda nodded numbly. It was all about her now, all about these questions and a whole team of people making sure she was adjusting. It wasn't what she was used to. Before, there weren't that many people, just a few who monitored her condition, now there were all these people, day and night, watching her and caring.
However, despite all the talk about her physical condition, she'd told no one of these strangely vivid dreams and even emotions. Sometimes she'd catch herself longing for things that she'd never really experienced or done. Her usual television preferences had changed too. No longer did she feel like watching endless documentaries about earth, but rather more of the crime shows she used to avoid.
Not to mention the dreams, most of which contained the boy, who somehow had a name now: Jared Howe. She wasn't sure where that came from or why, but still she found herself attached to him and even thinking about him, which always made her feel this ache in her chest, like something had been ripped out. She wanted to see him, to know he was real and there, but she felt foolish to even think it. Jared Howe was just a dream person, someone she'd invented.
0o0
The days after Jared lost Melanie were hard, but as time had gone by, he felt it reduced to a dull ache in his chest, like part of him had been lost with her. He wished it hadn't been like this, however futile. But that was the way the world was, things happened.
She'd died so suddenly, ripped out of his life in that one moment. But the worst of it was there wasn't even a body to mourn. No physical remains left.
Her body had been used for science, as most where these days in a rapidly changing world in dire need of organs. Nothing had been wasted, said the nurses when he'd asked. Her body was going to save a lot of lives.
Still, it made him angry. He knew it shouldn't, but the bitterness of this reality lingered with him. He knew it was for the best, but he hated how it was and he knew how she'd left about it.
"They take everything from you," she'd told him once. "I don't want to die just another body."
He didn't really understand it at the time, but now he saw it all so clearly. It seemed everyone these days had a brand new heart, a brand new set of lungs to breathe with. It was supposed to be fair, but what they didn't tell you is where the organs came from, or how many there actually were.
The truth was they were from the kids, the 'leftover' ones, the orphans like Melanie was. Not that anyone really knew that. Most people just assumed they were from people who'd just died, that they got lucky enough to find a match. What a lie it was, people always wanted to believe they got lucky, that the right organ match came along at the right time. But the truth was far from it, luck had nothing to do with it.
Mel, he though, the ache making his chest constrict. How angry she would have been to know her fate. And to think she'd tried jumping out a window to avoid it!
They'd come for her one day, all smiles and sweet promises, but he saw the fear in her eyes and knew everything they said to be a lie. He couldn't stop it and for that he'd always feel guilty about, but he had to do something.
Jared could only hope it would be enough.
o0o
A/N: Wow. This fic has been rattling around in my head for a long time now and after all this time I've finally got it written. I even researched a few things to try and put some accuracy to Wanda's recovery. The whole idea of these dreams is based on the idea of the cellular memory phenomenon. I did take a few liberties, especially with the dreams, but it's all for a larger purpose.
I also didn't intend to make it dystopic, but I suppose since this is based on the Host, then why not?
Comments? Crit? Let me know what you think!