AN - I wrote this in four days... and had major issues updating. FF was being a pain. But still, this is a week update! Hope you guys weren't waiting too long.. =]

Chapter Seven
About Falling
I
Why won't you wait for me?

I woke up without opening my eyes. I felt pleasantly numb, with a gentle rushing noise of the edge of my hearing. There were blurry shapes just beyond my vision, I noticed vaguely, realizing that my eyes were cracked open.

What is that? I thought, that shape. I want to see it.

And, suddenly, it was the most important thing to figure out what that fuzzy shape was. I concentrated and blinked, my vision determined to ignore me.

Slowly, painstakingly, the shape came clear. Oliver.

He was slumped in a chair, wearing his quidditch robes.

(Quidditch? There's something important there… but what?)

His eyes were closed, and I smiled slightly at his sleeping face. There was a tuft of hair falling messily into his eyes, I noticed. I sat up to brush it away.

Suddenly, my world was on fire. My back, my neck, my legs – each screaming out in pain. Oliver sprang up, rushing to me, as I was bombarded.

My leg was spasming.

Farrow. His sneaky little grin.

My back was crackling, sparks flooding up and down.

My broom. Sliding out of my grasp.

My ribs were crying out a thousand hurts.

The ground. Rushing up to meet me.

Every breath ripped into my lungs.

Bones breaking. And screaming… so much screaming.

"Katie – Katie – oh, god, Katie – Shhh, shh, it's okay, it's okay. Fuck, Katie, shhh. It's gonna be okay. We'll get a healer," Oliver was whispering, hands fluttering uselessly around me, trying to find somewhere I wasn't writhing.

It was then that I realized the voice shrieking in pain was my own.

xoxox

Healers' voices were a blur around me, rapidly discussing whether I ought to be put back to sleep as I cried weakly into Oliver's chest, fingernails ripping into his shirt.

"Shhh, shhh," he whispered, eyes helplessly searching out Healers.

"Sweetheart?" a woman's low voice whispered, "This is going to pinch for just a second." And she injected something into my arm.

"A numbing charm, maybe?" Oliver rumbled over my head.

"Those have uncontrollable durations – I don't want her numb longer than we know – it'll skew test results. That potion should kick in within five minutes – just keep her still. Sweetheart?" that last one directed towards me, "Would it be okay if we put you back to sleep?"

"No-" I gasped, fear filling me. "No – I – I want to know what's wrong with me. I don't want to go back to sleep."

The healers whispered things behind me. Another voice, male this time.

"We'll be back – keep her quiet and call us immediately if the pain doesn't go away. We're running some tests."

"Honey?" The female Healer again. "I need you to lie back."

"N-" my breath caught.

"Just… let go of Mr. Wood's shirt, please."

Strong hands gently, but inarguably, pulled me off of Oliver as the Healer, a youngish, curly haired woman, firmly pushed me onto the pillow.

"I'm just putting you on a drip. This is going to stay in your arm, just – here –" the needle broke skin, "and it'll help manage your pain, long-term." She smiled at me, and briskly taped up the IV, which dripped electric-blue potion.

And just as soon as it had all started, the room was empty save for Oliver and I. I closed my eyes, feeling the pain begin to ebb away, such sweet, sweet numbness flooding my veins.

My eyes flickered open, and focused in on Oliver, still perched on my bed, looking more haggard than I had seen him in years. He was chewing his lip, and his face covered in stubble. He hadn't been home in a while, that was clear.

"How long have I been out?" my voice sounded hoarse and weak. I winced at it.

"About three days," he said softly, zoning in on my face.

I nodded, feeling my vertebrae shift, but not hurt. That could be worse. I'd been out for longer. But Oliver's face was like a death knell.

"How bad is it?"

"It's – it's not – "

"Oliver."

He sighed shakily.

"Bad. You – you fractured your spine in two places, and you dislocated your knee. Your broke your left leg, and three ribs, and your right wrist."

He looked back up at me.

"And… you fractured a part of your skull. They fixed that first, but they had to put you on all sorts of things to stop your brain from swelling and – and – god, Kat, it was so scary." His breath caught, and he turned away, running a hand through his hair.

I bit my lip. I had never had such extensive injuries, save for 7th year – but that was magic, not gravity. Oliver's shoulders were hitching and, with shock, I realized that he was crying.

Oliver Wood, crying.

Oliver hasn't cried for years – not even when we lost that match to Hufflepuff, when he retreated into himself for a week, utterly wrecked. I saw him, tight-lipped and dry-eyed at Dumbledore's funeral, neck tense and eyes blank, carrying Colin Creevey's lifeless body into the Great Hall.

Oliver Wood does not cry.

"…Ol?"

He inhaled sharply, and glanced at me – were his eyes wet? Yes, yes I think so –

"Come here." I help open my arms. "You're too far away." Obediently, like a child, he scooched closer, sitting so I could rest a hand on his arm, wishing I could pull him closer.

"Hey… Ol – I'm gonna be fine." I smiled weakly, and rested a hand on his cheek, pulling his face up. "Come on – you know me. I bounce back. If anyone, it's Farrow who should be worried – he's the one who'll really get busted up."

Oliver sighed down at me. "Nah, he's really cut up about it, apparently. That's what Charlotte's been saying. And the team-"

I dropped my hand.

"Really cut up? Fuck him-" Oliver blinked.

"Katie – I mean, you know I don't – don't ever – want to see you like this but well – it's Quidditch. Accidents happen."

I stared at him, speechless.

"A- accident? You thought that was an accident? Oliver! It was no goddamn accident! He fucking pushed me! He – he – didn't you see? He hit my wrist! He –" realization hit me – "He fucking broke my wrist, didn't he! Because everything else is on my left, isn't it? I landed on my left side and – and I bet the doctors were a little surprised at my wrist, weren't they?"

Oliver stared at me, processing.

"He wouldn't."

"Who are you going to believe?" I snapped, angrier than I have been in years. "Him, or me? I saw his face, Ol. He knocked into me, and he hit my wrist. How else would I have fallen? One hand on the broom at all times. That's what you taught me. Shoot and grab. Legs locked and hand on. No matter your balance – your glove will keep you. Dammit, Oliver!" I could feel tears threatening, "I didn't just fall!"

Oliver sat there for another three seconds, before straightening up.

"I'll fucking kill him."

His face was something I'd never seen before, set in stone and angry, angry, angry and I suddenly realized just how big Oliver was. He was nearly six and a half feet of muscle and he was scary-angry. And suddenly he was pulling his wand from his pocket, cold fury in the set of his shoulders and stomp of his feet.

"No-" and I cringed at weak my voice sounded, how pathetic and quiet. "No, please, Oliver."

He froze, one hand on the doorknob, waiting.

"Please don't leave me here alone."

All the fight went out of him. His shoulder slumped, his wand dropped, and he turned to me, face ashen. Wordlessly, he pulled his chair back to my bed, sat and, gently, took my hand, holding it like an eggshell, a cobweb, fragile and delicate and all too breakable.

About Falling - Say Anything

This chapter comes to you in two parts. Sorry for the darkness! I swear we will be back to your scheduled fluff very soon. =]