Bedside Confession

Western Weyr - Infirmary
This long, rectangular cavern smells faintly of antiseptic and strongly of pleasant medicinal herbs. The general atmosphere is one of bustling but orderly quiet and strict cleanliness. The back of the room is dominated by a small hearth for heat and medicinal preparations and by swinging double doors that lead to a small DragonHealing bay, an emergency surgery for human patients, the main storage, and the staff area where Healers can eat, shower, change, and the like during their longer shifts. The front of the room is a waiting and reception area where patients and staff can check in to receive treatment and begin work, respectively. The east wall of the room features examination, birthing, recovery and outpatient treatment rooms while the opposite wall is curtained off to provide privacy and bed-space for patients requiring overnight care.
Western can certainly handle most of the routine and sometimes urgent treatment needs of its residents here. It lacks some of the equipment available at the main Healer Hall. Once they are stabilized, patients requiring specialized or ongoing care are surely transferred there.

It's a few days after the costume party, to which Qiana didn't attend because she was feeling minorly ill, and it's now encroaching upon the evening hours as Rukbat starts to set beyond the horizon. Early in the morning - closer to dawn - Qiana took the tumble off her runner. The real trouble didn't start until she was in the infirmary however, and by the time healers would allow anyone else in the room, she had to be sedated with fellis enough to keep her calm. Ever since then, Qiana's been in and out of sleeping. She had a minor 'conversation' with the Weyrleader earlier since he's still trapped in here, too. Now, as the evening wears on, the fellis is starting to wear off and she's starting to stir.

S'rorn takes in a deep breath, quietly nuzzling his weyrmate's pillow while still in heavy slumber. His golden hair is descheveled, his eyes puffy and red with faint lines of tears long since fallen. The bell laiden belt lay rolled up on the floor. Nothing to awaken his beloved Qiana. Drowsily, with the faint scent of wine on his breath, he stirs, tilting his head to her enough to see past the pillow as he reaches out and gingerly brushing her hair from the side of her face.

Qiana manages to blink a few times, trying to gather her drugged thoughts to her. S'rorn's weight next to her is so familiar that at first she doesn't register it, until one of his hands clears away hair clinging to the side of her face. Her left wrist is the one in a cast, and there's going to be some rather spectacular bruising, but the bruising is fairly common place, even on such a scale and the broken wrist isn't the end of the world. Nor do either of them require being sedated on a normal basis. Being curled up on the same bed, he might have noticed a thick pad of rushes under her pelvis, though at this moment, it's the first time she's seen him since leaving their weyr. "You've been drinking." She murmurs towards him, smelling the wine on his breath, her face solemn, though she doesn't quite seem to want to look him in the eyes.

"They tol'me to," he whispers quietly, not trying to take his head from the pillow. Rorn takes in a deep breath, turning his head away as he exhales heavily before turning his face back with eyes clothes. He brings a balled fist to his eyes, rubbing the sleep from them roughly before pushing himself up onto his elbows. "I was underfoot, I suppose." The brownrider licks his dry lips, turning his head once more to clear his throat. He opens his mouth to say more, but he couldn't. Instead he just turns in his chair to straighten up more when the sounds of feet passing by can be heard. "I'm on leave of duty, I'll be here for you as long as you want me to."

'Oh /crap/. He saw.' Qiana's expression almost seems to read, from mixed amount of fright, horror and concern that it contains. She can't quite seem to decide if she wants to sink into her bed in shame, or reach out and hold him to her in concern for her mate. So she settles for something in the middle, claiming a death grip on one of his hands with her good one. And here she tests his knowledge of just what happens, figuring he might call her out on the omission and trying to shield him. "I'm alright. Frostbite tripped. Or stumbled. It's o-only my wrist and some bruising." Yeah. This idea might be working better if her eyes were open and looking at him, and her voice wasn't crackling with emotion. His last comment only cements her death grip on his hand. Are his bones creaking yet? "You stay." Healers go?

Saw? All he saw when he was able to arrive was his beloved laiden and no one could tell him a thing. All they could do is drug a bottle of wine and sent him back to the weyr. When he woke up, he'll get answers but not before they'd said. "I shouldn't be too surprised, animals do spook sometimes," he responds quietly. "But from what I heard, your arm should heal fine." Rorn leans forward, gently pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, lingering for a moment. He breathes her in, then hesitantly, he straightens up once more without letting go.

It might be lie by omission, but Qiana still can't seem to do it. Especially since her emotions are running rampant, and she can't seem to control them which is definitely not normal for her obvious injuries. Cue the prime example of tears starting to stream down her cheeks as she clenches her teeth, trying not to cry obviously. Again. She lets go of his hand finally, only because she can't effectively wipe away tears with her other hand in a cast. A few times she opens her mouth in an attempt to say something, but the only thing that emerges is maybe the first syllable of his name and a gasping intake of breath as she tries to reign in the crying. Right. She's just peachy keen. Shall we try this story again?

S'rorn slips from the chair by her side and settles down beside her, pillows shoved to the side. The brownrider doesn't hesitate to lean her against him, cradling her against his body while fingertips brush her hair. He kisses the top of her head, resting his chin upon her crown while he gently rocks her from side to side. "Qiana," he says with a quite voice, his moments not failing. "Shhh, shhh. I'm here for you, love. I'll always be here for you, everything is going to be alright." His voice cracks but he forces a smile upon his face, tilting her chin and gaze towards him. "You don't have to cry anymore. No more tears, please?"

Qiana winces as S'rorn manipulates her body to lean against him, but that's easily masked by the tears still flowing at the time. Leaning as she is against him now, she starts curling herself around him, but at the same time tucking herself against him. And now she's looking at her weyrmate in the face, even after his own voice cracks. Her tears slow down, but don't completely stop yet. "I n-need to t-tell you." She starts off slowly, stammering around her tears. "But y-you're going to h-hate me." But even so sure of that, what does she do? She sinks her good hand into his shirt, trying to burrow herself in for a little bit of strength to get the next words out, which would be hard enough to hear, even if she wasn't speaking into his chest. "I was p-p-pregnant." And lets see which of those words he registers, if he can hear them at all.

He slows his rocking to a slower pace, his eyes open staring at nothing in particular at all as he rests his chin on her shoulder. He takes in a slow breath, letting her words sink in for a moment. "Hate you? I'd never hate you. I don't want you ever afraid to tell me anything, Qiana." Carefully, minding her arm, he gently lays her back down while adjusting the pillows around her. Rorn takes special care brushing her hair from her face, leaning down to rest his head beside her but her last words… "Pregnant?" The brownrider repeats the word over and over, moving back to his chair. What calm and self control that was once there begins to melt away and his face begins to go through a myriad of emotions. Shock… Horror… Sadness… Anger. He presses his lips into a fine line, clenching his fists as they rest upon his knees. S'rorn straightens his back and takes in a deep breath, eyes tilting towards the ceiling as he exhales through his nose. Quiet. Quiet. Somewhere, a rumble echos outside…

And it's this that Qiana was fearing. Gentle he is, while he's laying her back down, but she can see it as the words start to sink in and the emotions play across his face one after another. Even as sore as she is, she struggles back up onto her elbows, her good hand starting to reach out, before she pauses half-way, that fear he didn't want her to feel plainly written on her own face as she starts to tremble. "S'rorn?" His name is a question and her eyes are wide as she waits for some outward reaction. That rumble was just thunder or something, right?

S'rorn catches the movement out of the corner of his eye and he turns in his seat, leaning forward to catch her hand and press it against his face with trembling hands. "Qiana," he says with a trembling voice, calming his features as his troubled gaze meets hers. "Frostbite… will go back to your mentor while you recover. He was scared and…" If the runner stays anywhere near his weyrmate in the brownrider's current state of mind, it won't survive the night. "He'll be taken care of by responsible hands." The color of his skin has drained, his eyes clenched shut as S'rorn tries to fight back the tears. One under each tired eye manages to break through and stream down his face. He brushes her cheek with his other hand, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the edge of your mouth. "Didn't know. I should've… If I knew I wouldn't have let you near him or any of the runners. Would've had Nyz take you down more gently. I… I would've carried you and you wouldn't be here hurting right now." Rorn's voice cracks, unable to hold back the flood of sorrow overflowing from within.

A minute ago, Qiana might have fought for Frostbite staying at the weyr, but looking at her weyrmate, Qi can only nod in agreement. "H-he'll go to Master Lution…" As he leans in, both arms go around his neck. If he wants to sit back in his chair he'll have to take her with him, or he'll have to come join her on the cot. Third option is to pry her off somehow. Her chin starts to wobble again, seeing the pain she just caused him. "It's my fault. Mine." She protests, trying to stem his own self blame. "I was… going to confirm it next week. With dolphins. I w-was going to tell you then… if I was." There's a sniffle that comes from her and the words just don't stop now. "After I started bleeding, it wasn't a question anymore. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, S'rorn!" And really, it /is/ her fault for keeping him out of the loop.

"It's not your fault. It's not your fault. We didn't know, we didn't know." S'rorn, powerless in the situation, can only hold her close and press his lips to her shoulders. "Now, now you just need to rest and recover. Everything is going to be alright," he says as he raises his eyes to hers. The brownrider manages a crooked smile before taking her hands and pressing a kiss to each one. "We'll make sure you're comfortable and I'll send word for Master Lution and you're not going to get on another runner til the healers say you're well." His voice still cracking but a little more strength behind them. "Qiana, we had no idea that you were…and, we'll take things one day at a time. It's all we can do. I can't wait to get you out of this place and bring you home so I can take care of you." Who else is going to yell at him to lay off the laced wine?

Speaking of said laced wine, Qiana could really do with a cup to get back to sleep now that the morning's large dose has worn off. She might let him leech to settle his nerves. "Can you ask them when that'll be? I don't like sleeping here." There's all sorts of weird noises and stuff. And other people. She takes a large breath in and slowly lets it out, willing herself to calm down, though there's still the post-crying sniffles to deal with. Unfortunately for the purpose of their privacy a Healer wasn't too far off most of the time, and the young gentleman takes this moment to come around with a pair of cups, one smelling heavier of fellis than the other. "If he wants to, he can settle on a cot near by. Not the same one." The healer warns, handing the brownrider the less smelly cup. "Nerves." And the healer's gaze goes back to Qiana. "Drink and sleep now, miss." And Qiana is just not arguing with people today since she complies without a word, easing herself back down into a prone position afterwards and drifting off fairly promptly.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License