Every Breath You Take [RDJ Fanfic] - COMPLETED

One Hundred Thirty Five

The next time I wake up, life isn't so fun.

My arm and neck are stiff, and I can feel that they're stiff.  My throat's sore, probably from lack of water, and my hand is throbbing where the IV...apparently has been taken out of my vein.

As I'm realizing all of this, I take a sharp breath in and finally blink my eyes back open; it's light outside, so probably the following day, and there's an array of flowers and balloons and whatever else around the room, cards on the window sill, and the light chatter of some voices in the room.  They talk with someone to my right, above my head, who's toying with the lines that were running into my arm; probably a nurse or my doctor, but I'm not about to tilt my head up to find out.

"Jesus fuck," I mumble through clenched teeth after I blink to focus.  

As I lift my head from the pillow, I catch Robert and Jimmy's attention; they're playing with one of the flower displays, trying to get Aero to stop eating it as Sydney pulls him off of the table top.  I guess she cut her vacation short.

"Ah, you're awake," the nurse states, and he wanders to the other side of the bed to a cart where he pulls out some bandages.  "Just in time to redress that wound."

"Nope," I state simply.  "Nope, I'm in enough pain, let's not do that."

"Pain?" Robert asks urgently, leaving the cat with Jimmy to come bed side, arms crossed as he waits for the nurse's opinion.  

"We took the IV out," he explains over his shoulder.  "You're gonna start coming down from that high."

"Why?!" I growl.

He just chuckles, though it's pissing off Robert, I can tell.  "A gunshot is a big deal, but recovery is pretty straight forward.  You're healing well, so we'll switch you to a prescription pill instead of the heavy duty stuff.  Percocet is the best bet, but-"

"Our family line has a bad history with Percocet," I hear my mom state, apparently sitting on the other side of the room I haven't looked at yet.  "Makes me ill, and she had trouble with it as a kid when she had surgery for something else."

"The other option is Vicodin-" he starts, with hesitation, to which I immediately interject.

"No."

"Babe," Robert tries, since my pain is visible.

But I just deny again, suddenly fueled with energy, despite just waking up.

"No," I repeat.

"Hon, we talked about this-"

"Then you know I don't want to risk anything again," I finalize, trying to lift my head from the pillow to stretch my neck.  "I'll survive..."

"All because-" he starts, but I clench my teeth tighter and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to adjust to the very real feeling of being alive. 

"That is a very private conversation!" I snap.

He takes the hint and then sits, watching as the nurse comes to the other side of the bed and places a hand on my good shoulder. 

"We're gonna try to sit you up, okay?" he asks.  "Try to move as little as possible so you don't tear anything."

"Thank God," I groan.  "I need a stretch."

The snickering from him right before he gently lifts me should give me a warning, but it doesn't register until it's too late.  As he shifts me up and adds a pillow behind my back, I gasp out in frustration at how tight my shoulder muscle is.  On top of that, the sling is already getting old, irritating me with how constricted I am.