Trial And Error

Chapter Sixty-One

Kian's POV

The sterile fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Kian made her way down the VA hospital corridor, each room she passed housing another piece of the war. Different soldiers, different battles, but all casualties of the same endless conflict. Some bore their wounds on the outside, others carried them hidden beneath the surface - all of them trying to reassemble the pieces that Afghanistan had shattered.

The familiar pressure built in her chest, that suffocating sensation she thought she'd left behind. Her fingers twitched with the need to lash out, to release the storm brewing inside her. The anxiety she'd worked so hard to contain was bubbling up, threatening to spill over and wash away months of progress.

But she wouldn't let it. Not today. Forcing herself to focus, she began the grounding exercise that had become her lifeline. Her eyes tracked deliberately across her surroundings: the metal clipboard hanging outside a door, a nurse's ID badge catching the light, worn motivational posters that lined the walls, the gentle sway of privacy curtains. Her fingers brushed against the cool metal of the waiting room chairs, anchoring herself in the present. She tuned her ears to the symphony of hospital sounds - rubber soles squeaking against linoleum, the soft whir of medical equipment, murmured conversations behind closed doors. The wintergreen taste of her gum provided the final point of focus, bringing her racing thoughts to heel.

Standing outside Holland's room, bourbon bottle growing warm in her grip, Kian felt suddenly foolish. Who brings alcohol to a military hospital? She shifted her weight, caught between the urge to flee and the need to stay. Madison's encouraging words echoed in her mind, mixing with the steady tick-tick-tick of the wall clock that seemed to count down to some invisible deadline.

"Planning on becoming a hallway decoration, LT? Or you gonna come in and say hi?" Holland's familiar voice cut through her hesitation. "Hate to break it to you, but these things aren't exactly cooperating for a proper greeting." He gestured at his legs with a forced lightness that didn't reach his eyes.

A laugh escaped her, though it carried more grief than humor. Behind Holland's easy smile lurked a familiar darkness - the same haunted look she sometimes caught in her own reflection. Words crowded her throat, a thousand things she needed to say, apologies and explanations tangling together until none could break free. Instead, she crossed the threshold with measured steps, placed the bourbon on the bedside table, and lowered herself into the rigid hospital chair, her posture as stiff as the institutional furniture beneath her.

"You're looking good Shep, better than I expected." Holland's smirk carried the weight of unspoken concern beneath its casual facade.

"You aren't looking so bad yourself Marine. I don't want to ask you how you've been because we both know the answer is shit. So give it to me straight Holland."

"You're not exactly falling apart yourself." Kian settled into their old rhythm of banter. "I could ask how you're holding up, but we both know that's a loaded question. Just give it to me straight, Holland."

"Well, I'm breathing." His gaze met hers steadily. "Word is I have you to thank for that. Doc says I'm beating the odds - managed a few steps these past couple of weeks. Turns out getting ejected from a humvee isn't the recommended way to dismount." His laugh echoed against the sterile walls, genuine despite the dark humor.

Blame it on her pessimistic tendencies, no amount of therapy would ever change that. Kian took the opportunity to scan his body further. Last she saw him he was unconscious with a mangled arm and leg. His arm was obviously healed now despite the scars probably from where they repaired it. She couldn't see his legs but she could assume they had almost the same surgical scars if not worse. Repairing a wound as awful as she saw seemed impossible at the time, even now. Other members of her platoon told her Holland had suffered some type of spinal cord Injury. His initial prognosis was he wouldn't be able to walk at all, paralyzed from the waist down. Obviously he had proven them wrong.