CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, CONDITIONED WHUMPEE, LIVING WEAPON WHUMPEE, OVEREXERTION, EXHAUSTION, COLLAPSE
Taglist/General Writing: @flowersarefreetherapy @oddsconvert @siren-of-agony @gottawhump @winedark-whump, @bbu-whump-reblogs
The world was upside down. She was alive. Her title as a Shield was useless. She was useless. The Wickhams should’ve been preparing for a funeral but instead they were footing a hospital bill and hours of physical therapy to get her back in fighting shape.
She was a disappointment.
He’d rescued her. He’d rescued her. Her principal had rescued her.
The shame of that…She clenched her fists. She was fine. She was alive and she’d spend the rest of her life, however long that was, repaying the debt. Her muscles numbed a little as they got used to the pain of more running. The exercise chased the sleep from her system. Good. She needed to be more awake. She put in her earbuds, music blaring and chasing away the shame for a minute.
Her breaths came out heavy, her muscles tense and lungs aching. Sweat slicked her skin, leaving her uncomfortably wet but she paid it no mind. Instead, her eyes hardened as she glared at the little red number on the treadmill. Too low. It disgusted her more than the sweat . Frustration had her punching the plus sign on the datapad as she forced herself to go faster.
Her knee twinged in pain. She ignored it. It seemed to creak as she moved, almost as if bone was rubbing against bone.The pain flared, shooting down her leg, wrapping around her ankle until she buckled, almost falling.
She gripped the bar on the machine and propelled herself forward, movements sloppy from fatigue and frustration. She was alive. She needed to work harder, regain her strength, her speed, and return to Wick’s side. She was *alive* and that meant she had to keep going. She couldn't afford to fall behind. Her lungs felt like they were being ripped apart by the air inside them but she knew she had to keep going.
It was her job. It was what she was made for.
There was no pause, no slowing them down, and Kestrel grit her teeth. She had to focus, had to keep working. No matter how much her lungs screamed at her. No matter how much her head spun.
She gripped the bars of the machine to keep herself from falling again but her knee was on fire and she could barely shift without spots dancing across her eyes. Flames licked up and down her body, leaving her hot then cold then hot again. It throbbed and ached with every beat of her heart, every pump of blood. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her body and finally, clumsily, brought her to the floor.
This was fine. It was fine. Pain was temporary. She could breathe through it and get back to work but her lungs hurt. They felt congested, as heavy as the rest of her body, like something was sitting on her chest. Her lungs hurt. Every breath came with a shard of broken glass that raked through her lungs and cut up her insides. She tried to take a deep breath, intending to cough and clear her airway, but that only made it worse. The coughs got caught in her chest, producing an alarming wheeze, the force of them made her ribs ache.
She couldn't breathe. This was less fine.
She grit her teeth again, hard enough it felt as though they would break as well but that was the least of her pain. Then there was air, a sudden burst of it down her throat, some restricting mass over her face forcing air through her body. Kestrel tried to shake it off, but it was too firmly tightened. She could do nothing but feel her lungs expanding, sending a whole new spike of pain through her body. She tried to scream. Instead, she blacked out.
The first thing that she noticed when she woke up - still alive, still alive, still alive - was that her body was in agony. Through the veil of sleepiness, the pain wrung out loud and clear. Pins and pricks assaulted her side.
Her mind woke up slowly, trying to recollect the memories from before, when nothing hurt or was painfully throbbing. She tried to move her leg, waking herself up quicker through the pain that lanced through her body. She grit her teeth, sucking air through them.
Shit.
When she opened her eyes, the first thing she noted was the muted, dull colors surrounding her. Light pale green walls, tan covers, white ceiling-- not the hospital.
Before she could take a moment to really try and get under wraps why she was in so much pain, there was a knock at the door. She didn’t respond. Her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, throat ran dry like the desert sand had whipped it bare.
The door opened up and a man stepped in, holding a tray. The man barely paid attention to her, setting the tray down on the nightstand.
“Mi…Midas?” she finally asked, voice scratchy.
His head turned to her, shoulders tensing. “Leigh. You’re awake.”
“Yes,” she murmured. She lifted herself in the bed, just enough to sit up. Sharp, shooting pains stabbed through her side. She clenched her teeth.
“You overworked yourself again,” Midas explained, “Took in more pain than you could handle and fainted in the gym. The Wickhams were not pleased. Per their orders, you’re confined to bed rest. The Chamberlains have allowed Christopher to borrow one of their Shields.”
She lay back down, trying not to let the panic and frustration overwhelm her. Replaced. She was being replaced.