swerved | (no subject)

There are screws and wires holding what's left of her kneecap together. It will be weeks before she can put any weight on her leg at all, let alone walk, and she's already been told that she'll need assistance when the time comes, that once they can take the cast off, she'll need a brace, probably crutches or a cane for — her own addition — God only knows how long. Though it hurts still, dulled by the painkillers they've given her but present all the same, it's that she can't get out of her head. There's a sick sort of sense of déjà vu to it, reminiscent of her recovery after the car crash, only with far more weight to it, more finality. At least she'd been fully mobile again once she recovered, even if her potential career was shot to hell. That one little chance, that sliver of hope she'd had that maybe, just maybe, she could rebuild her strength and get back to studying, is shot to hell now.

All because of an actual demon that nearly ripped her family apart.

They've brought her a tray of food, but she's barely managed to pick at it, too tired and too sore and feeling like there's a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. It isn't exactly like hospital food is ideal, anyway, and if nothing else, she resolves when she gets out of here to find and eat the biggest, greasiest cheeseburger she can, the sort of thing she wouldn't have wanted to touch when she was still dancing. She's pretty sure she deserves it.

In a day or two, they'll let her out, but for the time being, she's still stuck in bed, watching soap opera reruns in a mostly unsuccessful attempt to keep her mind occupied by something other than the state of her knee. She turns the volume down, though, when she catches a glimpse of movement in her peripheral vision and turns to see her mother coming in. At least that's one thing she can say for this mess of a situation. The demon is gone; if she'd had any lingering doubts, Father Marcus put them to rest. She doesn't question anymore that he knows exactly what he's talking about.

"So we're going to match soon," she says in lieu of a greeting, a weak attempt at humor, one corner of her mouth curling up. "How's the outside world?"

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"You know, we're probably going to have to leave here in separate taxis. I doubt the chairs will both fit in one trunk," Angela said, managing a small but genuine smile of her own.

"Fine. It was fine. You'll be out of here, soon, and you'll get to see it."

Despite how restless Kat surely was, Angela understood that she was also probably feeling a good deal of trepidation at the idea of greeting the world she now found herself in.

Stopping at the side of Kat's bed, Angela fussed needlessly with the edge of her daughter's blanket.

If it weren't for the circumstances, what happened to both of them, how it happened, Kat really might be able to find some humor in their having wound up in similar situations. Her own may be temporary, but she's been well-informed as to what recovery from this will be like, a long, painful process that she isn't looking forward to any of. She'd only just recovered from the crash, or at least it felt like it, and now, this is so much more severe, the damage done so much more significant.

Even so, she would never have made any other choice. It wouldn't have been worth letting her father die, even if she still would have shown up here when she did. It wouldn't have been worth trying to make Casey do it, letting her shoulder the guilt of that instead. Her last attempt to protect her sister may have gone so completely wrong, tricked as she'd been by the demon inhabiting Casey, but this, she could do. One of them was going to have to. It might as well have been her.

"At least tell me they have better food than what's in here," she says, pushing some of the food on her tray around with her fork but not eating any of it. They're in a city, she does know that much, but she's barely seen it, and Darrow doesn't exist on any map she's ever seen. It's hard to know just what they'll have here. "I was already done with hospital meals before all this."

"How about I try and sneak something past the nurses later?" Angela suggested, "Some vegetables that haven't been cooked to death, maybe." She winced sympathetically at the unappetizing mush on Katherine's tray.

"I've gone to check your apartment. It's not too terribly different from mine. If you decide you want to stay there, I don't think it would take to many adjustments." She spoke with a light, optimistic tone, but there was an obvious tension there. While she understood that Kat might need her space, the idea of her daughter being away from her, especially while she recovered, frightened her more than she cared to admit. Both of her girls had proved their strength, and she had no doubt that Kat would be alright on her own if she chose to be. Really, this was more about Angela's peace of mind.

"A real salad, maybe?" Kat asks, a spark of something like hope in her eyes. "I'd kill for something that's actually fresh. Or a cheeseburger. Or both." It isn't as if she'll be dancing again anytime soon. She'd have steered away from too much junk food otherwise, not half as obsessive as a lot of the girls she knew but still careful about what she ate. Now, though, she figures she might as well, and after the hospital food and the surgery and the incredibly daunting change this is to her entire life, if any situation calls for it, she thinks it's this one. She'll be out of here before long, left to navigate the city for herself, but while she's here, she may as well eat something that's actually good rather than overcooked meat and limp, soggy vegetables.

The rest takes a little more thought, in no small part because she isn't wild about the idea of just suddenly being on her own in an unfamiliar place, adjusting both to the setting and her injury. Granted, it's tempting to do exactly that and hole herself up in the aforementioned apartment and not leave, live off takeout with the money she knows is being provided to her, but so much has happened in such a short time, and she's lost so much, and it seems like a bigger step than it probably ought to. "It sounds like there's a but at the end of that sentence," she says, not unkindly. She can just about guess where this is going, but she would rather hear it than assume, especially when she isn't totally certain what she wants.

"I'll see what I can do," Angela said with a fond smile. Normally, she might be encouraging Kat to make healthier choices, but after everything, she certainly deserved a bit of indulgence.

"But," she said, cutting her daughter a knowing look, "I'd like it if you would stay with me, at least until you're out of that cast. There's the spare room, you'd be able to shower without any problem, and--" She paused, her smile softening, "And I'd feel better, knowing you were close. I know you like having your space, Kat, but for now, the room's yours if you'd like it."

It's about what she'd expected to hear, and a little easier to let herself consider for having it out in the open. There's a part of her, of course, that wants to seize the opportunity to have a place of her own, like she's apparently been promised or assigned or whatever. Moving home after her injury was never meant to be a permanent arrangement, and the last thing she needs is to be hovered over. They've been through all of this before, after all, though at least this time, any reluctance on her part to go out or speak to anyone isn't likely to be mistaken for demonic possession. There really had been a demon, after all. She just wasn't the one it had gone after.

Under that gut instinct, there's a part of her that isn't thrilled about the idea of staying alone, at least not yet. After everything that's happened, and when she has such a long recovery ahead of her, and considering that she knows how likely she'd be just to hole herself up in her apartment if left to her own devices, this doesn't sound like the worst thing in the world. At least she'll have help if she needs it without having to go entirely out of her way to get it, and with so much to try to adjust to, it seems inevitable that she will.

"It might be easier," she allows, "than trying to get my place fixed up."

"It would be," Angela said carefully, not wanting to sound too eager. She knew that if she pushed too hard, Kat would likely pull away from her, and that was the last thing Angela wanted. If they couldn't have their whole family there with them, they had to do everything they could to make sure they had each other.

"You can even keep the other place, if you'd like," Angela suggested, "That way, when you're ready, you won't have to apartment hunt."

"Yeah. Okay," Kat says, careful to pause before speaking, the words thoughtful, carefully measured. Truth be told, it's an easier offer to accept than she thinks it probably should be, but, well, everything has changed, and she's going to have a long few weeks — months — ahead of her. Reluctant as she might be to accept any help, in this instance, she knows she'll probably need it, and she can't deny that there is an appeal in being as close to what she has of home here as she can. Before long, she's sure she'll want to move out, settle into her own place, get back on her feet, literally speaking, but that's a ways off, and without her father and Casey here, too... It doesn't seem like the worst idea in the world. "I think that could work."

"Really?" Angela said, struggling not to sound too relieved. Kat was a grown woman, but Angela had never quite gotten the delicate balance required when talking with her daughters when they were teenagers, and the anxieties still lingered: Too much attention and mothering and eagerness and they were guaranteed to shut down, but not enough, and they became sullen and anxious and resentful.

"Good. I-- I'm glad to hear that." Thank you, she didn't say, but it was obvious enough that she meant it.

"I mean, if everything they've said is true," Kat says, tipping her head in the direction of the door as if to indicate the medical staff, "then this is gonna take a while." There's no getting around that, too, she's sure. It's worth it, she knows it must be, but she still can't help dreading what the next few months are going to be like. The first time around was bad enough. This is going to be a different matter entirely. "So it would probably make sense."