bambi ʚɞ

you tell him in a choked up voice that you’re not driving and that you’re not alone— being at work is not alone, right? you have plenty of people around you, it didn’t matter, because you didn’t have time to get caught up in the semantics of safety check protocol, not now, not when you needed to know what was wrong with your wife. you needed to know if vi was okay, you needed to know if she was alive, if she was breathing, if today would be the last time you ever got a call saying that she’s injured, or worse…

you can hear captain vander prepping his voice on the other side of the call, clearing his throat and breathing hard through his nose, the dual combination of sound told you that he, himself was getting caught up in his head, that remaining impartial and stoic and following proper procedure was almost as painful for him as it was for you. it’s never easy when a firefighter is down, it’s harder when it’s your favourite. “this is deputy chief vander from station 19.” he continues, following protocol to a t, maybe because it was the only thing he could do at the moment, but the waiver in his voice gave him away, and it ended up making you even more worried, whatever happened was serious, whatever happened was real, whatever happened wasn’t good. “i’m calling to inform you that violet was involved in an incident during a structure fire twenty minutes ago, she’s being transported to piltover general hospital, she’s unconscious but her breathing is stable, so are her vitals” he reassures. who? you don’t know, because it’s certainly not you.

you lean back against the closest wall of the hospital that you can find, your breathing shallow and your eyes stinging with unshed tears. twenty minutes, for some reason your brain is fixated on that one detail, twenty minutes where vi has been unconscious, twenty minutes where she has been in the back of a cold ambulance, alone, possibly fighting for her life.

you feel sick.

until— the unexpected happens, you hear commotion near the main entrance of the hospital, near the er— right, you are still working, and the sick and the dying don’t wait for your internal turmoil to be over, you signed up for this after all, but it was in moments like these where you wish that you hadn’t— wait did captain vander say that vi was being transported to piltover general?— you walk towards the scene in quick, rapid steps, only to be met with hot pink hair and pale skin laying flat on a gurney.

vi, your vi.

you feel your heart stop and everything resembling heat leaving your body when you see her, laying down like a patient because that was what she was— a patient, someone who’s hurt, someone who had the possibility of not walking out of the front door with her life intact, but she wasn’t just someone she was your someone, and that detail alone rendered your brain useless and unable to process the gravity of the situation, let alone anything else, because it couldn’t possibly be true, it couldn’t possibly comprehend that the person laying on the stretcher was vi, your vi, the same vi that called you in the middle of her shift to say that she misses you, the same vi who pouts if you don’t kiss her before leaving the house— now rendered, unresponsive, in a hospital bed.

it was unthinkable.

it was too much.

so much so that you let go of whatever professionalism was still coursing through your veins and immediately make your way to her, only to be pushed back— only personnel is allowed— you argue that you are personnel only to be shut down again, you couldn’t work on family, you knew that, but the rational side of your brain was currently shut off for the moment.

hours passed while vi was in surgery— crush injuries, they said— captain vander had come in to explain it to you, explain how the roof had given out from the building she was in and how she was stuck underneath, no vital organs were damaged, that should be a comfort. but it wasn’t because she wasn’t awake, she wasn’t speaking and she still wasn’t cleared for visitors.

when the nurse finally came out of her room and started walking in your direction your knees almost gave out under you, you’re sure that if you weren’t sitting down you would be on the floor right about now. you try to focus on what the nurse is currently saying to you, you really do. but it’s like you have earmuffs covering your ears and you’re only able to string together bits and pieces of her dialogue. “the surgery went well, we have violet stabilised in her room…” but you’re more interested in the next thing that comes out of her mouth. “she hasn’t woken up from surgery yet, but she has been cleared for visitors.”

you rush down the hall and immediately open the door of the antiseptic smelling-like room, getting in quickly and closing the door behind you only to be met with the pale, beat up image of your wife.

you feel tears start to well up in your eyes, again, you hated seeing her like this, so unresponsive, so fragile, so vulnerable. you pull out a plastic chair from the side of the room and sit next to the hospital bed, her hospital bed, grabbing her hand and stroking your fingers over the callouses of her otherwise soft skin, you pull her hand to your lips and press a feather light kiss against each of her knuckles.

“hey… cupcake don’t you think it’s a little bit unprofessional to be kissing your unconscious patients like that?” vi’s otherwise playful voice sounds out, startling you in the process— vi’s voice… she’s awake!— so much so that you let go of her hand, which causes her to let out a discontented grunt from her chapped lips.

you roll your eyes affectionately at her joke, only to stop yourself from crying further, deciding instead to debate her previous statement, just to fill in the silence. “i wasn’t kissing you, you asshole.” you rebuke. “and you’re not my patient.”

vi rolls her eyes right back at you, before hitting her chest in a mock offended way. “still counts.” she debates, moving to sit up, in order to be able to argue with you properly, only to plop back down on the stretcher, her body burning with pain. “ouch, I feel like i got run over by a firetruck.” she plays it off, laughing— painfully, but you know better.

“worse.” you remind her.

vi splutters. “yea, yea, sure feels like it.” she groans, moving her arm up to cover her eyes only to be met with more pain, from her harsh movements.

you can’t take it, seeing her being so careless, even now, while laying in a stretcher, bruised, burned and beaten. “what is wrong with you?” you snap, but your voice is wavering and your eyes are filled with unspilled tears, your head or your heart are working overtime due to the fact that she could’ve died but is now awake— utterly unable to process whether to be relieved at her unbelievable luck or angry at her unbearable stupidity.

“what do you mean, baby?” vi asks back, turning her head in your direction, her movements stiff, due to the heavy cocktail of pain relief medication and left over pain she’s currently on.

“you’re so stupid, you could have died, do you know that and then what?” you argue or rather cry out, your eyes stinging with tears that are threatening to come out and make their way down your cheeks. “i hate you.” a lie, and you had the waterworks to prove it.

vi only manages a smile at your outburst, loving and sweet, god she’s infuriating. “i love you too.” she rebukes, like she hadn’t heard a word of what you just said. “you know that?” she continues. “more than anything in this world.”

you don’t respond, you can’t, too fixated on her forehead, specially on the crease in between her eyebrows— a tell-tale sign that she’s downplaying the amount of pain that she’s currently on— in order to prevent yourself from crying— it isn’t working.

vi frowns, and grabs your hand, running her mouth over your knuckles the way you had done earlier to her unconscious form. “i’m. sorry. baby. it. won’t. happen. again.” she punctuates each word with a kiss on your skin.

“no you’re not, and yes it will.” you admonish, because of course it will, vi wasn’t the kind of person to run away from danger to save her own skin, it was what had attracted you to her in the first place, how selfless she was, how inclined she was to to the right thing, what you hadn’t taken into account was how hard it would be to be in a long term relationship with someone like that, the constant worry, the phone calls saying she’s been injured and is currently fighting for her life.

“come here.” vi commands, voice impossibly soft while patting the space next to her on the hospital bed.

you almost go to her, out of reflex more than anything else, before remembering the state that she’s currently in. “you’re hurt.” you point out, looking at her defiantly, but the look on your wife’s face tells you that it’s not coming across as you had anticipated.

“i’m fine.” she reassures, liar.

“you’re not.”

“cupcake.” vi says, in that strong, grave voice of hers, the one that leaves no room for argument. “come keep me company.” she says, again, her light coloured eyes trained on your figure, defiant as ever, even after surgery, she was still the most stubborn woman in all of zaun and possibly the world.

you move to the right side of the hospital bed, accessing her injuries and deciding that that was her safest side— or at least the side that was less damaged, and lay down next to her, careful not to put too much pressure on her tender skin, but once you do, once you feel her body against your own, it’s like all your defences shatter and your walls fall down, because she was here, she was okay. you swallow down hard but that doesn’t stop the tears from flowing down free from your eyes to your cheeks. “i was so scared.” you confess, your voice small and vulnerable before hiding your tear stained face in the crook of her neck.

vi smiles, sadly, she hates seeing you upset, especially over her, the corners of her mouth turning up almost imperceptibly while her calloused hands move on top of your head. “i know.” she reassures. “but you’re strong, okay? you are a superstar.”

that makes you laugh. “no, i’m not.” you argue— you don’t feel super right now— before returning your face to its rightful spot on vi’s marred skin.

“yes, you are.” vi debates, before pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head. “you’re my superstar, you know that?” she asks, her voice soft with just a touch of playfulness, now she was sounding more like herself.

“still hate you.” You huff out, clinging to her like she was about to disappear on you.

vi laughs, throwing her head back and everything. “and I still love you, superstar.” she says again, like it was the truest thing in the world, maybe it was. “more than anything, i wasn’t lying about that.” she speaks into your skin.

“i love you too.” you tell her verbally, for the first time today.

“i know.” vi whispers in your ear, her fingers still moving on top of your head, because she knew you did, of course you did, you don’t cry over people you hate being in a hospital bed, fighting for their life.

usually, anyway.

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