Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

48. Aftershock

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My hearing was the first of my senses to come back to me. I heard beeping, the shuffling of footsteps, the whir of running machinery. The next sense was smell: the sterile scent of bleach and disinfectant. This is familiar, I thought to myself.

Then came the pain — and boy, did it come back with a vengeance. An intense searing pain spreading from my stomach throughout the rest of my body. Even my toes ached. I let out a weak moan, still unable to open my eyes; it was as if my eyelids were glued shut, and I couldn't pry them open no matter how I tried.

I heard garbled voices that gradually became a little clearer. Some footsteps, then a familiar voice close to my ear: "Hey, (Y/N), can you hear me?"

I could. But the words wouldn't come to me. Instead, I simply sighed and did my best to give him a nod.

It seemed to work, and he said, "Good, those sedatives are starting to wear off. How do you feel?"

"Muh," I slurred, still groggy from whatever they had given me, and I moaned again as the pain grew stronger with my alertness.

"So, sore, I take it," he concluded. "I'll give you a few more minutes to wake up, and then I'll get you some pain meds, okay?"

"Mm. . ."

I heard him walk away, presumably out of the room, leaving me alone with the occasional beeping from what I could only assume was a heart monitor. Eventually, I was able to slowly peel my eyes open, shutting them repeatedly in order to adjust to the bright fluorescent lights above me. At one point, I felt something squeeze my arm, then a small beep. When I could finally open my eyes long enough to look around, I saw the monitor bolted to the wall, a dozen cords connecting me to it. Near the monitor was an IV pump on a metal pole infusing what appeared to be a unit of blood into an IV catheter in the bend of my arm. To my right was a glass wall and sliding door, and through it I could see a nurse's station and several staff members in scrubs. Even in my lethargy, I knew where I was—St. Ann's was all too familiar to me by now.

My nurse returned not long after I woke up, and he grinned at me and held up a small syringe filled with a clear solution. "Got your pain meds," he said as he reached under the covers to get to the IV in my arm.

"H-Hey, Reggie," I muttered, my voice a hoarse whisper. I frowned at the soreness in my throat that followed my speaking. "Was I intuba— . . ."

"Yeah, you were on the vent*," my coworker responded, knowing what I was going to say. "We extubated you earlier this morning."

"How long . . . ?"

He pursed his lips, pushing the solution into my IV and quickly flushing the line. "About four days."

Fuck. . .

Reggie turned his head at the sound of someone entering the room and straightened up. "Just in time," he said with a half-smile. "She's awake now."

In limped a tall figure, his cane clicking against the tile floor. He passed Reggie as he left and pulled up a chair next to my bed. "How are you feeling?"

I felt a small wave wash over me as the pain medication kicked in, alleviating my pain only slightly before quickly losing its effectiveness. I scowled in disappointment. "Fucking awful."

A grimace flashed across Stolas' face. He reached out and gently took my hand in his. "Do you remember anything?" he asked softly.

I closed my eyes, my brows knitting together as I thought. My memories came to me in short, fragmented chunks. I remembered Striker coming back from his job. I remembered bits and pieces of our argument. I remembered leaving and calling Stolas — then standing in front of Striker begging him to put his gun down. . .