If she could just – yep. Yep. Nope. No. Shite.
Tracer hissed through her teeth, clutching her left arm into it’s socket. The pain was unbearable; hot, searing pain shooting through it – enough to make it feel numb and hang limp at her side. She couldn’t even move her fingers no matter how hard she tried. Panic rose in her chest and she was beginning to feel herself drown, barely able to steady her own breathing.
( It would be better if – she chopped it off herself. )
“Mercy, love,” she grimaced, digging her nails into her shoulder; the words stuck in her throat and what came out was muffled by her gritted teeth, “I just.” She exhaled shakily, sweat beading down her forehead. “I need something. Painkillers.” Morphine. “For the pain.”
She knew the request was ridiculous. Anyone who looked at her would see there was nothing wrong. That she was alright. Except she wasn’t, and she didn’t know how to explain it. How was she supposed to explain the pain of a lost limb when technically it was still attached to your body?
( The explosion caught her off guard; she tried to Blink away, but she wasn’t fast enough – a metal sheet had sliced her arm off and she screamed and Recalled and – )
EYES RAISED SLOWLY from her work, previously glued to screens displaying schematics & assorted analyses of work. research was never over; she was engulfed in her thoughts ( she searched for improvements, any to be found anywhere --- to move a little faster, more smoothly, to ease the repair process ) but the pleading voice so quiet & known to her stirred her from the haze. angela stared silently, observing the way lena clings to her own arm; the stance she took could not hide the nerves. the doctor was astute, & knew the former pilot too well.
HER HEAD SHAKES as she listened to the request. painkillers, not something she often gave. there had to be nothing else that could help, & it was rare she was left with so few options. in the case of lena, she knew why they were requested --- ghosts of injuries, severe & life-threatening, haunting her of events narrowly avoided to be never forgotten.
❝ no, ❞ she started slow, gaze disapproving yet concern colours her brow. angela turned from her station as a sigh escaped her. phantom pain would not be fixed by what she could offer; even if it would ease the pain, it was no solution. such was not her area of expertise, but she knew enough --- & lena was certainly a special case with deep-seated emotional scars from tragedy experienced & reversed. she couldn’t begin to imagine psychological repercussions. she was no psychologist.
❝ we both know that isn’t what you need. ❞
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