Archive of Our Own ^beta

If Bomber watched another soap opera, her brain was going to melt out of her ears.

She tosses down the television remote with a sigh, contemplating just how annoyed the nurses would be if she yanked off her heart leads and caused the monitors to panic, just for fun. At least it would be something to do. Her doctors had been very clear on the rules–chiefly, no reading or small screens while her brain was still healing. Even sudoku was off the table. Apparently daytime soaps were excluded from this rule, since those seemed to be the only thing that aired on the hospital television.

She was bored. Painfully bored.

It had been ten days since she’d woken up in the hospital, in this intensive care room. She cringes. She hates it here. She never used to mind hospitals but now, trapped in this bed, surrounded by the constant beeping of monitors, she was completely helpless.

The one advantage to her room was that she could see the ocean from her bed. It was a small comfort, considering the clusterfuck her life had become in the last few days, but it was something for her to cling onto. It kept her grounded, watching the sun sparkle against the water and boats bob on the waves. Once or twice, she had caught sight of a gray hulking ship far off on the horizon, hazy and indistinct and felt oddly safe, like the warship was there for her, keeping a watchful eye. The thought was silly, and now that she thought more about it, probably something her team of neurologists would be interested in hearing about. They’d probably mutter excitedly about delusions and add in another pill to her ever growing list.

She very deliberately keeps that thought private, for fear of yet another brain scan.

There’s a sudden knock at the curtain covered glass sliding door. Bomber rolls her eyes. Probably her nurse coming in with more meds and a plastered on cheerful grin.

“Come in,” she calls, wincing as she readjusts her heavily casted arm on the pillow. But instead of her nurse, there’s a sailor in the doorway, dressed in formal whites, looking awkward and just a little bit out of place.

“Buffer!” Bomber exclaims, smiling broadly at him, her bad mood vanishing. He grins at her with a soft, gentle expression on his face, eyes crinkled at the corners. Tucked under one arm is a large bouquet of flowers. Clasped in his big hand is a teddy bear. Bomber marvels at the juxtaposition between the two.

“Hey Bomb,” he says, approaching the bed “I brought flowers but it looks like I’m late to the party.” He eyes the windowsill next to Bomber’s bed, which is covered in vases full of colourful blooms from well wishers.

“True, but this is the first bear,” she replies, taking the small plush animal with her functional arm and cradling it “Your tardiness is forgiven.”

Buffer laughs and takes a seat next to her, taking off his hat and holding it next to the flowers. He looks her over, his brow knitting in concern as he takes in her appearance. Bomber knows the expression well. It’s the same mix of shock and concern that every single one of her guests has worn, ever since she was allowed to have visitors. She desperately wants to say something, to comfort him somehow.

“You should see the other guy,” she jokes and Buffer’s expression breaks, replaced with an eye roll. Thank God. Sympathy from the others was bad, but from Buffer? It made her feel so…so vulnerable. Like he could see right inside her. She had always gotten the sense the Buffer saw more than he let on, held his cards close to his chest.

“Mate I don’t care how hard your head is, I’m certain that SUV probably looks better right now.”

“You doubt me,” Bomber replies and winces, reaching over for the gray fob next to her. There’s a small blinking light on it and she presses it eagerly, sighing in relief as the medication dulls the tendrils of pain beginning to weave around her. Buffer watches her anxiously, looking like he wants to say something but shakes his head instead.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” he says finally “I’ve been meaning to I just–” he pauses “I just couldn’t.”

He looks at her with such genuineness that Bomber can’t help but reach for him, clumsily patting his hand “Aw Buff, I guess you’ll just have to live with the fact that the X holds the title for first visitor.”

“Really, X?”

Bomber nods “Marched in here with flowers, told me I better get better or else and then booked it back out,” Bomber’s lips upturn at the memory of X whirling around like a blonde tornado before giving a shrug “Mike dragged her back later. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was actually worried about me.”

Buffer exhales, drumming his hat against his leg “Bomb, you were hit by an SUV and in a coma for four days. You had a cranio….brain...thing. Or something,” Buffer shrugs helplessly “I dunno, Swaino keeps telling me things and I don’t understand any of it. Of course we’re worried about you. We all are.”

Bomber thinks back to the warship, bobbing along the horizon, too far out to even begin looking for a name. It could be Hammersly, or Brisbane or any other ship. But maybe there was somebody on there looking back at the shore at Cairns, thinking of her. She swallows back the sudden lump in her throat.

“I’m glad Swain’s keeping you on your toes,” she teases “I told him to keep it as technical as possible. Make you officers think for a change, instead of just lazing about, lieutenant commander Tomaszewski.” She winks exaggeratedly and Buffer seems to fight against his smile.

“Swaino come by often?” Buffer asks. Bomber nods, pushing back the remnants of her hair that hadn’t been shaved off in surgery.

“He and Sally have been great. They’ve been by almost every day. I have a tiny suspicion that he’s getting Sal to stay to keep me company. Either that or she really likes afternoon soaps. I’m glad he’s keeping everybody in the loop.”

“There may be a groupchat,” Buffer deadpans and Bomber laughs.

A nurse bustles in, her brightly coloured scrubs contrasting against the bare white walls of the room, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum “How are you feeling Rebecca?”

“Yeah, good thanks,” Bomber glances over at Buffer, who raises his eyebrows back at her “Do you think the doctor will clear me for netball next week?”

The nurse looks startled. “I…I don’t think so,” she says, very slowly, before leaving the room. Buffer just shakes his head in mock disappointment.

“Come on Buff, I’m bored out of my tree,” Bomber complains “Can you blame me?”

Buffer glances around the tiny room, eyes landing on the numerous IV pumps hooked up to both of her arms, the heavy plaster cast reaching up from her shoulder down to her wrist. All too suddenly, Bomber is aware of just how awful she must look. She’s pale and gaunt. What’s left of her hair sticks out at funny angles, and there’s a large bandage covering the incision in her head from where they had gone in to repair the bleeding in her brain. A tube sticks out from her neck–a central venous catheter, the nurses call it. She’s bandaged and bruised, almost everywhere. “

This sucks,” she suddenly says, not even sure where the words have come from. Tears abruptly fill her eyes. Buffer reaches over and after a moment’s hesitation, clasps her hand.

“Yeah Bomber. It does.”

“I did so much worse stuff,” she says, a bit desperate, the words tumbling out of her mouth “I fell into a radioactive crater. I…I ended up in croc filled water. That’s not counting any of the stuff my mates and I got up to when we were growing up. Did I ever tell you about that time my friend dared me to sprint through a bull pasture and I did it?” she shrugs helplessly “But I cross the street on a Tuesday afternoon on my way to get groceries, and some lady on her phone takes me out. And now I'm here.”

Buffer just holds her hand tighter “I’m so sorry Bec,” he says softly.

Bomber just chokes back tears, trying to not let them spill over. Every other visit she had kept her carefully crafted veneer, the illusion of okayness. Now, she feels her mask slipping and she clutches onto Buffer like a lifeline.

“I…I don’t know what’s next. I can’t think of what’s next. Before the Navy I had cooking, and now I don’t have either of those things. I’m…I’m scared Buff.” Bomber holds her breath as the words hang between them.

“I wish I could make it all better,” he says softly “I’d do anything to make it better.”

Bomber wiggles her hand away and reaches up to brush her tears away but Buffer beats her to it, using the pad of his thumb to gently wipe each tear, his touch firm but gentle on her skin.

“Sorry,” she mutters, her face reddening.

“You’re going to figure it out,” he says, holding her chin in his hand, looking into her eyes “You're going to be okay Bomb. You have Swaino, you have all of us. Just look at those flowers,” he glances over at the bouquets and Bomber smiles despite herself.

“And,” he continues, hesitating “You have me.”