Me before you

chapter 38

The day of the second operation rolled around soon enough, and somehow it didn't seem as daunting or intense as the last.

Whether it was the fact that she'd been through it before and knew what to expect, or whether it was the shift in her relationship with Sana making everything warm and fuzzy, but Y/n arrived at the hospital pre-prepared with snacks and slippers, and a strange calm in her stomach.

They turned up early, pulling into the best parking spot, and when they walked in – Marco pushing her wheelchair, Sarah beside him carrying the food bag, Sana the other side with the other supply bag – Y/n almost burst out laughing from the image of them all rolling up like some kind of insane nineties rap squad.

She got signed in and settled into the ward pretty quickly, so that by the time Song came to check up on them they'd already been waiting a while.

Since the last operation, the four of them had become a sort of well-provisioned hospital tag team. Marco was on coffee: he headed down to the café to pick them all up drinks while Sarah set up the extra pillows and stuff in the hard chairs they'd be sleeping in, and Sana unpacked the food bag onto Y/n's little plastic bedside table. They all knew their jobs and stuck to them.

All in all, it was a more subdued affair than the last one – Y/n went into theatre late and came out early. She slept through most of the night, Sana curled into her, legs and fingers entwined and squashed into the single hospital cot. A sleepy morning and a dry hospital breakfast later, and she was discharged.

The first few weeks after went by quickly, with no change. And then the physiotherapy started.

At first, Y/n went into every session filled with determination. She treated each dumb exercise like a battle, each assisted stretch a war. If there was even the slightest chance something would spark her new nerve pathways into gear, then she was going to fight like hell for it. After all, she'd made Sana a promise she intended to keep.

For the first few weeks, whenever she got embarrassed or frustrated with the patronising nurses or demeaning movements, she'd tell herself over and over that it didn't matter. Think of Sana, she told herself. Think of her face when you finally wrap her in your arms for the first time and squeeze her so tight. Think of that.

And sometimes it was good for her too – it sort of reminded Y/n of working out pre-accident. Except now she was squeezing tennis balls, not pumping weights. But there were other times, times unnervingly similar to the therapy days just after the accident, when it just seemed so pointless.

After nearly two months with no progress, the second one seemed to be winning.

It was turning out to be a beautiful summer – reliably bright and sunny, the air comfortably warm but filled with that crisp sea breeze that reminded everyone they were still in Lincoln, no matter the season. And as she was every Saturday morning, Y/n was stuck inside, gritting her teeth to keep from yelling at the physio nurse.

Come on, Y/l/n, she snapped at herself. You've got through nearly this whole session without an issue... Or a sign of progress. They'd got through her stretches, assisted exercises and her breath stuff. She just needed to survive the last ten minutes, and then Sana would be here and she could forget about it. They were picking Louis up from his friend's and going to the park for a picnic together.

Y/n sighed, staring out the window and willing it to be over sooner. She turned back to the nurse, forcing herself not to scowl. "Can we just finish there?" She paused, ignoring the blank look on the woman's face. "I've got plans."

"One more," The nurse insisted firmly. Her arms were folded sternly over her chest. Y/n wasn't sure what her name was, but she was annoying as hell. "Just one more go on both hands and we're done."