I talked my options over with the medical professionals that seemed to come and go like waves. The bulking machine that was being used to clean my blood of the impurity of whatever variation was added to me without my permission wasn't something I planned on installing in my house, or any home I ended up in. Since my specialty wasn't in physical medicine, I asked, hoping against hope that there was a portable option. One that would allow me to have a life, maybe not the one I'd gotten used to, but one that I could settle into and live a life that was my own, at least until the inevitable.
Billy had gone, once he realized that I was certain of the outcome and of my answer to it. It hurt worse to see the pain on his face, than it did to know that I was right about what I told him. To see how hard he took the idea that I knew how he felt about supes, regardless of their origin, wasn't something I took pleasure in. I wished- No, I couldn't do that, dwell on what could have been.
Instead, I spoke to the doctors and lab rats. How could I get back to the real world, but keep the possible fallout of my new additions at bay? They tossed out ideas, having tried a few times to see how long I could go without my blood being cleansed on a constant loop. The longest, and it was touch and go, was twenty-four hours. Then the fever hit hard and fast, the vertigo came rushing over me, and the spots in my vision made me almost wish for blindness. I even began bleeding again, but not from the same place that erupted in my former office. Knowing this particular weakness, and the possibility that it wouldn't end well for me or anyone near me, they discussed it for days and then came back with an option, but one I would have to test in the clinic first.
There were two forms of more portable, so to speak, dialysis. Both meant that I would have to learn to be hands on, literally, in my own treatment and both used my own body as part of it. They warned that given how my body reacted to attempts to neutralize the foreign agent that had been introduced either could be a long shot. After all, one of them reminded me, my own body seemed focused on destroying itself.
Both utilized a catheter, much like one that I already had, but while one necessitated me using gravity to push a fluid that would do basically the same work as the huge machine that I was rarely allowed a break from, the other was a machine version, smaller but same principal. Both were contingent on my participation and both required me being on a strict schedule, stricter than a usual patient of either form.
I agreed to try both, but there was another issue. Even with the pull of being home, they wanted me to understand that I'd still need to come into one of the Vought labs for treatment. The goal remained to neutralize if not remove the dangerous mixture from me, and that wouldn't change when I left. Telling them I understood had two doctors exchanging a look which I asked about.
"Do you know how far this clinic is from your home?" I shook my head, feeling a wave of nerves. When they told me I nearly fell over to cry, too far of a commute, especially if I had to keep the blood cleanse going on such a strict schedule. "It's the closest, but there is another option." They told me about a community, NOT the same as where Becca had raised Ryan, but an actual regular community that happened to be close. I nodded, it was another thing to consider. "Let's do this a step at a time. We'll schedule a test for each of the portable dialysis options, then we'll discuss the next step if it's something viable." Another nod from me and they offered one more thing to think about, "there are medical detection dogs, with the signs that occur before you become less stable, that might me something we'll have to discuss further as well."
With food for thought, I sat down with a book instead of my laptop. While I tried to get comfortable and push the idea that I was planning on leaving the care of round the clock health professionals and worse turn my back on everything I'd worked so hard for, it wasn't nearly as simple as when Sherlock Holmes worked through a mystery.
What would anyone else do if they were sure that they were looking at limited time, not only because of a condition that didn't seem to be fixable, but because they weren't completely sure that they could trust the person they loved to NOT help the end along?
Billy came back the next day, and I felt my heart skip a beat when he ignored the doctors and rushed to me to kiss me completely senseless. "You listen to me, Veronica Taylor," his breath was hot against my damp lips. "I fucking love you and I could give a shit what's swimming around in your fucking bloodstream. I could give a fuck if you develop laser eyes and can lift my fucking car with your pinkie." I swallowed at how fierce he sounded. "I told you before, Ronnie, I CAN'T lose you and I fucking won't." And then his lips met mine again, and instead of the hot hunger he started with, this time it was such a slow sweet kiss that I felt like my heart stopped, and when the beeping of the machine took a pause I realized it had, but then the beep returned, strong and steady, just like Billy fucking Butcher.
He held me, fully clothed of course, in my hospital bed and we talked about the options I'd discussed with the doctors. He listened, his fingers idly stroking my arms while his arms were cradling me to his chest.
"I want to be here when you try it," I started to remind him of work, but he shushed me. "If one works, Ronnie, I want to know how to do it too, that way I can pick up the slack and it won't all be on you." I smiled, feeling a peace that hadn't come for too long. "And a dog?" I nodded and could tell he was excited, since he had his own dog out there somewhere. "What kind?"
We got my laptop out, and unlike the hopelessness I'd given in to the day before, we searched the internet for more information on dogs who were medically trained to detect chronic illness symptoms, nipping the likelihood of further trauma or worse case scenario in the bud with their ability to alert patient or caretaker to a problem before it got out of hand.
"They're a bit bigger than Terror," his dog, I remembered him telling me about him. His lips pressed against my temple as he reached down and used the touchpad to scroll down. "If they can help me keep you healthy, Ronnie, I think we should put in a request." I smiled, his fingers hitting the contact button on the site we'd found for a group closeby. "Give 'em a bit of time to make sure they can train it up for your particular needs."
I put in the information requested and hit send, while reminding Billy that it was all contingent on the treatment from home option working. And he smiled and turned me carefully so our faces were close enough for our noses to touch.
"You are one of the strongest women I've EVER met, Veronica," his hands cupped my face so carefully that I felt more fragile than the thinnest glass. "If anyone can make this work, it's you."
The doctors scheduled my next experiment with Billy's request to be present in mind. Over the weekend, with a cot in my room just for the man who kept surprising me to use while he both learned along with me and watched me like a hawk to be sure I was alright, we began. I held his hand while they walked us through the first option. The non-machine one, since it was the lowest tech version, and smiled when I saw how intensely he was watching them walk us through the steps.
"The three step process," our instructor explained, " takes around thirty to thirty-five minutes total and you'll have to do it throughout the day. If this option is viable for you, then you'll also have to wake up to perform it, or it can be paired with the second treatment. How long between treatments will be something we have to work on as well, but first let's see if it works?"
Billy stopped the doctor before we could get started by asking questions I forgot or missed in my yearning to go home. How would the supplies need to be kept? What were the worst case scenarios if something went wrong while we were home? How long did he have to get me help if the treatment stopped working? Would it be more dangerous for me, to my health, to do this rather than keep coming in for the treatment that I was doing now?
Once his concerns were addressed, in complete detail, the doctor then took me off the whirling machine that I only had minimal breaks from, telling me that unlike someone on dialysis for kidney issues or failure, since mine was simply to circulate and cleanse the blood to keep the foreign bodies at bay and ineffective, that made my complete focus necessary. He didn't just mean that he wanted to me to learn the steps, he meant that I had to focus on precisely how my body felt. All those questions I hated to answer daily? Those were my gauge for how I was supposed to determine if the treatment was working or not. Whether I felt my temperature going up, the spots returned to my vision, or the vertigo hit me at the wrong moment, it would be up to me to know whether this was still working or not. And it was paramount, given how my body could go supernova and kill not just myself, but who knew how many others, since the range of my area of destruction couldn't be measured without it happening.
Taking a deep breath and nodding, we got to take a break before the first round of my possible path to escaping the room I'd spent far more time in than I cared to think about. While we waited, Billy asked me if I thought my mom should learn how to perform the treatment too, and like she'd been conjured, she was in the doorway smiling at the two of us.
"You're not hooked up to that dreadful machine," her eyes widened with hope, but I shook my head causing her smile to drop and fear to replace her joy. "It's not-"
Billy told her to take a seat and explained that I hadn't been cured, but that we were trying something new to see if I could go home. He didn't mention, and neither did I, that home might be further from the city, and closer to the clinic. One thing at a time.
"Of course I want to learn," she set her purse down and folded her hands in her lap before she seemed to remember something. "Your father is parking the car," she sighed, knowing that it was already hard for him to see me sick, but she took a deep breath and straightened her spine and I knew she was about to assert her will. "He should learn too, just in case."
"And what am I learning, precisely?" My father walked into the room and this time, instead of Billy, Mom explained what was coming.
My parents and Billy watched as the doctor, hours later when I felt the first twinge that my body was rebelling against me, walked me through the first trial. The bag of fluid, the connection to the accessory that Billy's agreement during my unconsciousness had given me, and the power of gravity while my family watched and took notes, both mental and physical.
The first trial, actually walking me through it and showing me how to hold the bag up and wait while it utilized gravity to work its medical magic, took longer than it would if it became the option that I'd use at home the doctor promised.
"First time is always longer," she smiled, reassuring me as the fluid dripped into me. "We chose the lighter, more flexible catheter hoping it wouldn't be permanent, which makes this transition easier." My mom and dad asked their own questions, knowing that Billy wouldn't be available constantly, even if he wanted to since I would push him back to work. As the doctor answered, showing them step by step again, while Billy took the bag from my hand to give my arm a rest.
"You're doing great, Ronnie," he whispered, giving me a soft kiss. "Just think, this could be our new foreplay." He was teasing and I knew it.
"Gotta say, Butcher, this is a very fucked up way to get me wet." I winked at him as he chuckled quietly. "I love you, and I'm sorry about-"
"Nothing to be sorry for, love." Our eyes met and everyone heard the change in my heart rhythm. We ignored the soft laughter of our audience, so focused on our little bubble. "You wrote the book on me, Ronnie, but you missed a chapter." I raised my eyebrow, knowing I was wrong, so wrong about his love for me, but I was curious as to what I'd missed. "You missed the part where I am single fucking minded in my love for you. Not a moment goes by that I want whatever that caped cunt forced into your body purged, but never a thought of destroying YOU or your body." He sounded as fierce as I knew he was and I felt far more confident in him and us. "Until you get sick of me."
"Never," I promised, and we kissed again, less soft and sweet and more hungry that we'd allowed ourselves since I woke up from the first hit of the second phase of Homelander's interference.
It turned out, after two weekends of further trial and error, that I would be doing a combined effort with peritoneal dialysis. Both the manual and the machine, and as an added bonus I'd get to make at least two trips to the clinic a week for further testing and at least one date with my favorite machine. My parents had come to every single training exercise, shocking me with their commitment to keeping me healthy and when Billy and I, more certain that going home was possible told them that we'd have to move, they took that in stride as well.
"I can hire movers and have them pack up the house," Mom offered, knowing that Billy would rather be at my side than dealing with those details. "And, if you'd like, I could take a look at that community they told you about-"
The uncertainty in her voice made me realize how much our relationship had changed. Before, she would have gone and chosen the house, put the down payment down and had the paperwork ready before I'd fully made the choice to move. Now she was asking permission. Wow.
"What if we went together?" I think I surprised her as much as she did me. "The doctors have been talking to me about more trials, shorter but to make sure that I can handle it on my own, why not a trip out to have a look? It would make me feel more productive-" I sighed, and Billy's fingers linked with mine.
"You are productive," his lips were against my temple in the soothing gesture that he knew helped me the most. "Told you that the others have nearly cleared the list of unknowns. Done more sit downs with supes than I ever wanted to contend with, and you were there virtually for most of them."
I'd started, once I was feeling more hopeful about getting released back to some normalcy, joining Billy during his meetings with supes via video chat. While the supes didn't see me, I didn't feel up to fixing myself up to that point while wearing my attractive nightgowns, Billy could and I kept him even keeled and soothed the more frazzled nerves of some of those supes that hadn't wanted to be found. And I'd gone back to researching both Homelander's misdeeds, and the mysterious head popper's true identity.
"Of course you are," my dad kicked in. "You're still the head of that office, Veronica, this is all just a little hiccup." His reassurance was welcome and just as shocking as my mom's uncertainty in helping us relocate. Who knew it would take the possibility of dying to bring us all together?