Author's Note: So yesterday was a sick day for me, which meant I had plenty of time for writing. One of you lovely reviewers suggested that I should go deeper into having Red and Healy get to know each other some more, so I've taken that suggestion to heart and that's exactly what I'm doing in the next few chapters (with plenty of other drama thrown in, of course). I pretty much have the next couple of chapters ready to go, so I'm probably going to be updating like bam, bam, bam! Hope that's okay with everyone ;)
Breakdown
The months had come and gone since Red and Healy came to their agreement. Summer slipped lazily into autumn, then Thanksgiving came, a rare occasion when the bagged meals were retired and Red, with the cooperation of Gloria and the rest of the kitchen crew, got to prepare an actual dinner. It had been bittersweet for the Russian woman; on the one hand, she had gotten to see people enjoying her food again, food that she made with her own hands. But she also knew that their enjoyment would be short-lived, and that tomorrow it would be back to pre-packaged sludge. Still, just for that one day, Red was happy at her job, and Healy, having volunteered for cafeteria duty that morning, got to see her in all her regal, ecstatic glory as she ordered her underlings about while stirring gravy with one hand and gesturing wildly with the other. Her joy gave him joy, and he couldn't help but grin at her as he left the cafeteria that day.
Christmas came, the annual Litchfield talent show/pageant went forward without a hitch, and then the harsh winter had culminated in a Valentine's Day during which Healy's thoughts had been filled with nothing but Galina. Red had been possessed by the half-hopeful, half-terrified expectation that Healy would attempt some gesture of affection. To her dismay/relief, she hadn't seen him until the end of the day, when they passed each other in the mostly-empty hallway. He greeted her, they spoke for a minute, and then she casually wished him a happy Valentine's Day.
"Happy Valentine's Day to you, too," he said. Just when Red had been ready to dejectedly continue on her way, he had bowed his head towards her slightly and whispered, so softly that she could only hear the ghost of the word, "solnyshka." The simple endearment kept her heart fluttering for weeks. Still, she didn't dare seek him out for any reason, not even to go to his office and have a short conversation, the way that they sometimes did before romantic feelings had ever sprung up between them. Although they had both managed to stay away from each other (Red was actually surprised that Healy hadn't yet broken down), they each felt the absence of the other intensely, and Red had a feeling that eventually, they would come to a tipping point.
That point came when she got sick. She stumbled into Healy's office one morning after her breakfast shift, her skin cold, clammy, and ghostly pale. A look of concern flashed across Healy's face when he saw her.
"Red," he said, standing up and meeting her where she stood at the door, "Are you all right?"
"I don't know," she replied faintly, foggily, "I feel…I don't…my head is so light…"
"Here, come sit down," he guided her towards a chair, holding her hand as she lowered herself into it.
"I don't…don't know what's wrong with me...I can't think…" she said. Her hands shook in her lap, and she shivered for no apparent reason.
"You don't feel nauseous, do you?" Healy asked, ready to grab his trashcan and thrust it into her shaking hands. She shook her head.
"No," she said, "Nothing to throw up anyway. I haven't…haven't eaten…"
"Well, then, there's your problem." Healy opened his desk drawer, pulling out an assortment of granola bars and other snacks, and laying them before her. He expected her to scoff, or to give him one of her panic-inducing scowls, but instead, she grabbed a granola bar and then unwrapped and bit into it. After she had finished, she leaned forward in her chair, resting her forehead in her hands and closing her eyes. She stayed like that for several minutes, as Healy looked on, concerned. Finally, she straightened up, and her gaze was focused.
"Thank you," she said, voice steady as the color returned to her cheeks, "It was stupid of me to skip breakfast. I never do, but I woke up late this morning." Her eyes met his, and she saw the worried look still lingering on his face.
"I'm fine, Sam," she reassured him, "And I should be going; I don't want to take up too much of your time."
"Galina," he said as she stood and walked to the door. She turned around, noting that the room tilted slightly as she did so.
"I think maybe you should take today to rest. You know, Gloria and the rest of the kitchen staff can handle lunch and dinner; you should focus on getting better."
Red scoffed. "Yeah, that's how it starts," she said, "I take a sick day or two, here and there, the Spanish start to see me as weak, they slowly take over all my duties until there's nothing left for me to do in my own kitchen, and then they push me out. I don't think so, Healy. Anyway, I'll be fine now; I just needed to eat."
Healy shook his head as she left, knowing that it would be pointless to argue with her, and downright dangerous to call her back in and order her to stay away from the kitchen.
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Later that day, around 4pm, the silence of Healy's office was interrupted by a shriek. He dropped his pen down onto the desk and ran for the door, opening it to see one of the younger kitchen staff women running from the cafeteria.
"Inmate!" Healy barked, "What in the hell is going on?" The girl looked up at him with panicked eyes.
"Red's…" she said, "Red's dead!"
In a flash, Healy was bolting through the cafeteria doors, into the kitchen. His heart stopped when he saw his Galina lying there on the floor like a broken china doll, her limbs splayed around her and her eyes closed. Norma was on the floor with Red's head in her lap, and Gloria was shouting orders at the younger of the Diaz women.
"What in the hell happened?" Healy asked, more harshly than he had meant to. He joined Norma on the floor, kneeling in front of Red's limp body.
"We don't know, Mr. Healy," Aleida Diaz said, "She got up to go check on a pot of food, and then she just passed out."
"I think she might have low blood sugar, Mr. Healy," Gloria chimed in, "My tia's a diabetic, and this is exactly what happens when she don't eat enough or she ain't taking care of herself right."
Two other guards, Wanda Bell and one of the newer ones whose name wasn't important enough for Healy to remember right now, appeared in the entrance to the kitchen.
"So what…" Healy asked, fighting to keep his voice from wavering and tears from sprouting up in his eyes, "What do we do?"
"I got the honey," Dayanara said, handing the bottle to Gloria.
"When my aunt gets like this, we usually put some honey in her mouth, right under her tongue," the other Litchfield chef explained, and then, with a look of revulsion, she said, "But I ain't sticking my fingers in Red's mouth."
"Oh, for Christ's sake," Healy said, reaching for the bottle. Norma was quicker. The mute woman grabbed the bottle from Gloria's hand, gathered some honey onto two of her fingers, and then opened her friend's mouth, applying the honey as Gloria had instructed.
After a moment of sheer agony for Healy, Red's eyes slowly fluttered open, and she looked around in confusion, first at Healy in front of her, and then up at Norma, who was still supporting her head.
"What…what the hell…?" she asked hazily, tasting the honey under her tongue.
"You're not doing so good, chica," Gloria announced.
"Red," Healy said gently, "You passed out and we had to revive you. Officer Bell is going to call an ambulance," he turned to look at the doorway, and Bell nodded and left, "We're going to take you to the hospital, and figure out what's the matter with you."
"Hospital…no…" Red murmured, "I'm not…not sick."
"Of course not," Healy said, grabbing both of her hands and pulling her up while Norma pushed on her back.
"Seriously, Healy, I'm fine." The assertion was not convincing, considering that her speech was slurred. "Look, I can even walk." She pulled away from the arm that he had put around her waist and stood firmly for about two seconds before she wavered and Healy had to catch her.
"Yep, you're great," Healy told her as Norma came to support her other side and she and Sam led Red out of the kitchen, "Healthy people regularly pass out while preparing dinner."
Red would have shot him a withering glare if she had felt at all normal. Instead, she purposely shrank away from Healy and put her arms around Norma. Although she was annoyed at him for being sarcastic with her, Red couldn't focus much on that, because her head was still spinning, and she could feel her entire body shaking. When Healy and Norma got her up to the front of the prison, to the boundaries that prisoners couldn't cross unaccompanied by a guard, Healy thanked the silent woman for her help, promising to take care of Red from there.
He led her past the curious eyes of the guard in the intake center and the visitors in the waiting room, and out into the chilly March air. Once they were outside, he looked around quickly before bending down to whisper in her ear, "It's all right, lyubov moya; we're going to get you better." Forgetting her anger, and overwhelmed by how heavy her head suddenly felt, Red used her weakness as an excuse to lean against him and let him hold her as the wail of sirens sounded in the distance.
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Red was sent to his office as soon as she was processed back in. When she walked in and closed the door behind her, Healy was pleased to see that she looked like her normal self again. Unfortunately, that sense of normalcy also meant that he was going to have to deal with her wrath over her health having failed her in front of everyone. Not that it was his fault, or anyone's, really, but Red had a way of spreading misery around whenever she herself wasn't feeling well. He knew before even seeing or speaking to her that she would be intensely embarrassed about what happened, and the only way that Red knew to handle humiliation was by turning it into rage.
She sat down in one of the chairs opposite his desk, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her chest.
"Well," Red said sharply, the tone of her voice like distant thunder before a storm, "It looks like you were right. I should have taken the day off work."
"You think I got any joy from being right about your being sick?" he asked. Red pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him.
"Sorry," he quickly apologized. She leaned back in her chair.
"So," she said, looking at the file on his desk, which she recognized as her own, "What exactly is wrong with me? The stupid nurses at the hospital wouldn't tell me anything, and I only caught a fleeting glimpse of a real doctor. I guess felons don't get the right to be informed about what's happening with their own bodies."
Healy heard the bitterness in her voice and felt indignant for her over how she had been treated. Criminal or not, she was a human being, and everyone deserved to be informed about their health. Still, he knew that getting angry at a doctor way on the other side of town would do nothing to help her, and so he opened her file, looking at the newest paper lying on top of all the rest. A useless gesture; he had already memorized every detail of what it said.
"Hypoglycemia is what's wrong with you," Healy replied, "The medical report says you're pre-diabetic. Fasting blood glucose level of 123, A1C at a solid 6. What happened in the kitchen, and here in the office that morning, was that your blood sugar got too low because you didn't eat, so you got sick."
Healy watched Red as she swallowed the news. Her facial expression didn't change, but he saw her eyes become glassy.
"Diabetes…" she whispered, "My mamushka…she died of that. She went blind towards the end, and then she got an infection, and…"
Healy stood up and went to the window overlooking the hallway, briefly glancing around outside to make sure nobody was paying attention, and then closing the blinds and going to her.
"Pre-diabetes, Galina," he said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "There's still plenty that can be done to keep you healthy. I've been up all night, reading everything that I could get my hands on…" Red rolled her eyes. "And that doesn't make you feel any better, I know, but I swear it's going to be all right. You're going to be all right."
Healy took both of her hands in his and knelt before her. "Remember, the DOC has to provide healthcare for you for the next year and a half, which will include monitoring your condition."
"And after that?" she asked, her voice still trembling, "I'll be going out into the world with no job and no prospects. Definitely no insurance. What do I do then?"
"Then, I'll take care of you," Healy said, pressing her hand with his and resisting the urge to kiss her. She tested his will when she slid her arms around his neck, but Healy simply let her rest her head on his shoulder while she steadied her breathing. "It's going to be all right, dorogaya moya," he promised.
"No, it won't," she said, half in earnest and half petulantly, just for the sake of being contrary. Healy almost had to smile at that. Sick or not, she was still the same argumentative, pessimistic woman that he had fallen in love with.
"Yes, love," he whispered, "Yes, it will."