Disclaimer: The show and its characters belong to its creator. I own nothing.

Note: My apologies for the incredible delay (Happy 2014, however!). Between graduating, moving, getting married, and starting two new jobs, life has been hectic. But I am back, and I am so, so grateful for all of the reviews/messages. Also thanks so much to The Mighty Duck for pointing out my misspellings in the last chapter (shame!).

"Would it save you a lot of time if I
just gave up and went mad now?"
-Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

PART II

CHAPTER SEVEN

They said I slept for a week after I said I was dead. I guessed it must be true – couldn't really argue with a calendar – but it was still hard to wrap my mind around it. It felt like I've aged a year, and I was not talking about maturity, even though Mallory always said I could use a bit of that. Everything just ached like I grew a whole new body over the week I was missing. Tanya said that was normal for the healing process, and that the majority of the overall feeling of ugh was because my kidneys were still recuperating; the last bit of my serious injuries, thank God. She called it "acute renal failure" which I definitely thought meant something a bit different, maybe a little further south, but no, just the kidneys.

Tanya said there's not much chance my right hand would ever fully improve, but that with practice I should be able to get its strength up enough. As long as I could hold a hockey stick, I'd take it. Luckily, if that was even the right word to use in this context, the problem was with straightening my fingers out rather than grasping. I think she called it a boutonnière deformity, but somehow that doesn't sound right. A bit too floral. I had been doing stretching exercises and trying to remember to keep it splinted, and, hey, maybe it would be fine. I could only hope, anyway, and my mind would not dare touch upon the alternative.

I didn't remember much, especially not the stuff they were saying I said and did, and if it had not five-versus-one, I doubt think I ever would have. It was embarrassing enough that I was in the situation to being with, but the freaking out and screaming was all a bit much to take. A head injury was a pretty good excuse, as far as excuses go, but being branded "hysterical" was never on my bucket list.

The team walking on eggshells around me was only making it worse, too.

It was the tone. The "Hey, Dive, how are you feeling?" accompanied by a forced smile. I guessed they didn't know what to say to me anymore, and…okay, fair. I wouldn't know what to say to me, either, but if they knew how hard I was struggling to be normal, maybe they would have changed their tunes a little.

Unfortunately there was not a whole lot to do at the Pond, and my brother was looking to become the next dictator, apparently, because every time Drake One sounded, there was a new rule in place. "Not yet, Dive, your stitches are still in." "Not with Tanya saying how badly your kidneys are doing." "If you think I'm letting you come when you've barely been on your feet in a month, you're crazy."

Truthfully, I was relieved. Just the thought of going out there and playing superhero again scared me to death – maybe literally. I pouted at bit at every "no", then darted to the bathroom once they left and dry-heaved until the fear was expelled. Something told me it was not the healthiest system to have, but I didn't know what else to do.

Usually Tanya had assignments for me to complete, anyway. Writing, reading, playing around with some computer applications that tested my reflexes, memory, all that jazz. She wanted to make sure that everything was all good in my brain. I tried to joke around with her, saying delightfully hilarious quips such as "I think it was always a little broken", and she would give me a sad smile. How was I supposed to heal with that going on around me? She would find something else to dwell on, like how my hands would keep shaking and my heart rate would increase. She would ask me if I felt okay, and, yes, I do. I felt good, aside from the aches and pains that she has assured me are normal after such an ordeal.

Physically, I felt fine.

I was just…I was not sure what the word would have been. I was nervous; every unexpected sound or touch sent me flying out of my skin. I didn't like them standing behind me – any of them. Not that they would have hurt me, I supposed that's not what I meant.

Hell, I didn't even know what I meant anymore.

I tried explaining it to Wildwing one night after he touched me on the back and I hadn't seen him coming. Sent me into all sorts of fits – couldn't catch my breath, felt like my heart was going to explode. You know, all those awesome symptoms that you love to have happen after your brother pats you on the back. I tried telling him that it happened because he had come up behind me, but he got this look – so betrayed and hurt – that I dropped it right there. And the guilt makes me feel even more anxious.

Around and around we went.

The other day, Wildwing tried to raise my spirits. Either that, or he was trying to get me to shut up; I had been hounding him for hours to let me get back out on the ice. I had scored one-hundreds across the board on Tanya's weird tests, and, come on, that was totally deserving of some rewards. Some normalcy.

Regardless of the reason, he finally caved. Some hockey practice and just the two of us; he had insisted on this and I did not argue. Everyone at once would have been way too much for me to handle, not that I would have admitted it out loud.

Everything was good until I stepped inside the arena. Wildwing was grinning. I think he was more excited than I was, and maybe that was why he ended up giving into my pleads. He was talking a mile a minute about plays, about where I should be and what I should be doing, like he had been up all night sketching them out in his diary.

It's hard to follow directions and orders when you can hardly trust yourself. Every step I took made my heart jump into my throat and it kept me from breathing. I couldn't stand it (can't stand it). It's like I've lost everything, if I don't have my courage and my trust and my whole goddamn personality.

My brain is full of what-ifs now. What if I hurt myself, what if I fuck up and get someone hurt, what if I never feel myself again, what if what if what if what if…?

Listen, I told myself, because I'm the type to listen to reason, there's no sense in feeling this way. Well, there is, and it's called being tortured by the Saurians, but I'm safe now, so it's okay. It's just like a factory reset. I know what to do, it's just about getting the information back in there.

I slipped my skates on, struggling to lace them up with one bum hand and one non-dominant hand. Eventually I had to concede defeat and ask my brother for help, which was humiliating. I pondered, for a moment, whether Velcro ice skates existed and if it would be worth the investment.

My fingers attempted to mime gripping a hockey stick and I slid onto the ice for the first time in over a month. I forced a smile, for Wildwing's sake, and hoped it would sooth my pounding heart. Fake it until you make it, as they say, but that fake smile still felt uncomfortable, too snug or too tight or something.

Wildwing was saying something about running a play and I tried to hear him – I really did – but my nerves were far too interested in mind control, and I just nodded, smiling. I inhaled, exhaled, and yelled at myself to STOP THAT.

After that, the practice went pretty well. Not great, but well enough. Well enough that there was a glimmer of hope for my brother and myself that, hey, I'm getting better. I'm not totally messed up. Even though he'd never admit it, I know it was something he worried about…I sure as hell did.

It took a bit of time before the team was comfortable leaving me alone. For the first five-or-so days, it was a total 1984 scenario. Big Brother is always watching, emphasis on "brother." Every time they had to head on for a bank robbery or heist, someone, usually Tanya, was forced to stay behind, just in case I were to suddenly go comatose. Turns out, Tanya's a pretty valuable part of the team (no surprise there), and they had needed her amazing technological prowess. I was then able to convince Wildwing that they needed her there, rather than cooped up with me.

It had been a week, since they had felt comfortable leaving me there by myself while they ventured out in search of the Saurians. Wildwing was still enraged, I could tell. Every time someone mentioned them by name, he gritted his teeth and his eyes wen dark. It was flattering to have someone looking out for you, but it was also unnerving when he was angrier than I was. I tried talking to Grin about it, since he's the resident intellect on the Mind, and he said that since my mind cannot recall the horrors I faced, it was only natural that I felt no anger. "Can there be anger when it feels as though there was no wrongdoing?"

Evidentially not.

The majority of what I felt was tired and confused. Tanya let me read my chart, so I was able to piece together enough that I have a basic understanding of what happened, but it's like looking at photographs of yourself as a child and being able to remember that exact moment. Not so much real as constructed. Fuzzy.

I napped a lot, soaking up every second of sleep that I could stand. Tanya said she suspected there was sleep deprivation. Made sense to me. Usually I would dream, but it had become such a hard, deep sleep that there was nothing, at least nothing that I could remember when I woke up. I kind of missed it.

"Nosedive?" Someone was shaking me awake and I opened my eyes and bolted up, jerking away from the touch. "Whoa, kid, it's all right. Just us." Duke took a step back, hands in front of him, and that sad smile on his face. Apologetic and piteous all at once.

I waved my hand. "It's all good."

"Sleeping again?" Wildwing tried to hide his concern beneath a chuckle.

"What can I say, I can't get enough of it," I replied, standing up and stretching. "How'd it go? Please tell me you kicked some serious reptilian ass."

"Dive."

"...butt? Tail? Bottom." I grinned. Normalcy. I liked normalcy.

Wildwing rolled his eyes but I saw the shadow of a smile pass over his face. "I wish. Same as usual: they teleported before we had a chance to nab them." His eyes narrowed and I swallowed.

"Lucky for them," Mallory said, fingers ghosting over the gun holstered to her hip. "It would've been a seriously bad day if they hadn't booked it out of there." Of them all, Mal was the one who had been pretty good at treating me as she usually would. She had backed off quite a bit – I hadn't gotten a lecture in…I could not remember how long – but the joking and the teasing were still there. She had no idea how badly I needed it.

I felt like Wildwing had gotten onto her a few times, which was why she had toned it down. Most likely after what she said a few nights ago. It wasn't even that bad of a jab; the Mal I know could really rear back and give it to you. She had been musing about something or other, and I offered my own brand of advice: simple and filled to the brim with sarcasm. She replied with, "Right, Nosedive, like I'm going to take grownup advice from your idiot brain. Talk to me when I ask a question about screwing around or pizza—" And you should have seen Wing's eyes snap toward her, burning down into her soul. I had laughed it off and agreed with her but even that hadn't stopped Wildwing from scowling. I was sure he said something to her later that night.

I wished he wouldn't. My sense of humor, in both giving and taking, was pretty much the biggest part of my personality, which I was quite proud of, by the way. Through all this, it felt like it was slipping away, and the constant fear was only making it worse.

What she had said, it had counted, to me. Being treated like a person, rather than some broken duckling. It was weird to crave the jokes and the mocking, but it was a step toward normalcy. Normalcy.

What's the word of the day? All together now.

I should have just talked to him about it. I knew it. But it was so difficult when all he was trying to do was watch out for me, make sure I was happy, that I was okay, that I was healing. I knew that, too. I could not fault him for that, especially when there were so many things that had not improved yet. The jumpiness, the panic attacks, the constant sleeping...maybe he was right to be a bit overprotective.

I still wished he would back off, but that would just stay between me and myself.

Duke and Mallory were explaining the battle to me, how Dragaunus had created a new type of super-robot. Incredibly powerful, battle-ready, but slow as hell. Too much had gone into the offensive that the defensive was through-the-floor awful. Duke mimed the decapitations with his sword and the room erupted with laughter - real laughter - for the first time in weeks. I could feel the tension in my chest give way into calm.

Could I just pause this feeling and keep on going?

To be continued...