EIGHTEEN ; COMFORT

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     ELEANOR SPENDS THE next two hours in unimaginable agony. The wooden spoon didn't do much of anything, for when she first screamed it fell out of her mouth and she didn't bother to return it.

Eleanor yelped every time one of her bones snapped, whether that be from a break or from it moving into place. Nonetheless, feeling the movement of her bones or the shocks of fire traveling down her nerves from being disrupted or the muscles cramps from being involuntarily moved or the tugs on her mutilated skin from Tim sticking his fingers literally in her leg at times to push and yank things into place caused Eleanor to wonder if she was going to die. At the climaxes of pain, she briefly wished that she would die.

With each scream came the tension of her muscles and her hold on Taron's hand tightening, her eyes closed tightly shut and her back slightly arched. When the resistant pain lessened for even a moment Eleanor's muscles relaxed, however the cycle repeated not long after.

Taron continued to stay by her side, tears falling down his cheeks as he looked at her and stroked her hair and told her how great she was doing and that it would all be over soon. 

Ray was a bit less calm than Taron; he succeeded in helping Tim, but the screams were traumatizing for him to hear.

Meanwhile, the others winced with every scream of agony, wishing they could do something to help.

Tim lifts Eleanor's bandaged leg as carefully as possible as Ray slides a pillow underneath it. He gently sets it down before sighing in relief; Eleanor merely winced from the extreme discomfort.

Tim successfully set all of her bones in place, disinfected the wounds, stitched the gashes, and put one last coat of ointment on the infected areas. Eleanor is in shock at this point; perspiration coats her skin, her eyes are closed, her eyebrows are furrowed, and tears continue to dribble down her cheeks. Taron had to help her take off her jacket earlier, which led to more groans of pain from movement. She also threw up in an extra bowl various times.

Still holding Eleanor's hand, Taron gently dabs the sweat off of Eleanor's forehead with a towel, his red and puffy eyes darting between her pale cheeks and trembling lips. Eleanor breathes deeply as she attempts to adjust to the throbbing pain in her leg.

"Is she gonna be okay?" Ray asks Tim, watching his daughter.

"Yeah, she'll be okay. We'll just have to clean the wounds and replace the bandages frequently. She has to stay off of that leg for a few months, too, but we'll make some sort of splint for her and I'm betting there's a pair of old crutches in the garage she can use," Tim says as he begins cleaning up, putting the bloody and discolored rags in the nearly empty bowl of equally bloody water. "For now she needs as much rest as she can get."

"Thank you. Really. I don't know what would have happened to her if you weren't here," Ray says to Tim. Tim nods to him before carrying the supplies to the kitchen that won't be needed in the future, leaving behind the extra rolls of bandages, various disinfectants, and the like.

Noticing the absence in screams and groans, the rest of Eleanor's family timidly enters the room. Ray looks up at them but Taron keeps his eyes firmly on Eleanor.

"How's our baby doing?" Mary Ann asks Ray, a wad of tissues in her hand.

"She's good," Ray replies.

"Is she sleeping?"

"I don't think so. She's completely out of it, though."

"How you doin', Ellie?" Mary Ann asks. Eleanor lifts her hand up an inch or two to give her mom a thumbs-up. Taron smiles as the rest of her family sighs in relief. Eleanor attempts to open her eyes, but her tremendous exhaustion only permits them to open roughly halfway, demonstrating how out of it she is.

"You're one tough chick, Elle," Robbie declares. A tiny, tired smile appears on Eleanor's face. Taron replaces the towel with his hand, finding that her forehead is ridiculously hot.

"She's burning up," Taron says, looking away from Eleanor for the first time in hours. "I don't think that's normal."

"I'll find her some antibiotics," Tim says.

"I'll get her a glass of water," Mary Ann declares. Taron returns his gaze to Eleanor, stroking her frizzy red hair. Tim and Mary Ann return a few moments later, giving the pills and glass to Taron, who sets them on the table.

"You've got to take a few more pills Rigby," Taron says softly. Eleanor closes her eyes and groans. "I know. It's quite annoying, isn't it?" Eleanor's head jerks slightly, resembling a nod. "I'm gonna help you sit up, okay?"

"Mhm," Eleanor mumbles. Taron puts a hand behind her back, adjusting his body onto the couch as he slowly lifts her up so that his body is used as a backrest; Eleanor is too weak to stay up on her own. She groans in discomfort at the shocks of pain traveling to her spine, not to mention the familiar headaches and lightheadedness.

"Here you go," Taron says as he puts the pill in her palm. Taron assists Eleanor in raising her hand. She successfully gets the pills in her mouth. "Drink this, too," Taron adds, bringing the rim of the glass to her lips. Eleanor puts her fingers against the cold surface as she drinks, managing to drink half of the glass. "There you go."

Taron sets the glass on the floor as Eleanor leans against him, angling her torso so that she sinks perfectly between his chest and his arm. She lays her head against his shoulder. Taron grins.

"I still have to fix up her hands," Tim declares.

"I can do that. Yeah. I watched how you did it. I can do it," Taron says, eager to be alone with Eleanor.

"All right," Tim says, pushing the required utensils closer to Taron on the table.

"Teddy," Eleanor whispers.

"Yes?"

"I'm cold." Taron looks up at Mary Ann, slightly embarrassed as he pleads for assistance with his eyes.

"Don't move a muscle," Mary Ann warns Taron before grabbing a large quilt out of a hutch. She drapes it over the teenagers.

"Thank you," Taron says quietly before returning his attention to Eleanor, tucking the blanket around her as she snuggles up to him.

Ray gives Mary Ann a look that says 'What are you doing?'

"What?" Mary Ann asks Ray. "She's comfortable. Our daughter needs to sleep, Ray. Let them live." Ray looks at Taron. Mary Ann proceeds to set Eleanor's boots neatly off to the side, next to Taron's Chucks, before beginning to walk out of the room. "C'mon, all of you. Off to bed. They have had it much, much worse than all of us. Let them sleep."

Taron smiles as he strokes Eleanor's hair.

"If she's in any pain at all, shout," Ray tells Taron.

"I will. Thanks, Ray," Taron replies.

Mary Ann manages to usher the others out of the room.

"Rigby," Taron says softly. "I gotta fix up your hands." Eleanor groans. "I'll be gentle, I promise."

Eleanor responds by holding her palms out to Taron. He unties the bandanas and tosses them on the table before grabbing a clean sponge.

Gently wiping off the blood and discharge from Eleanor's hands, Taron utilizes the moments of finally being alone with Eleanor and of the peaceful silence to focus on the curves of Eleanor's body pressed against his, of the rise and fall of her chest, of her heartbeat that still has yet to stabilize.

"This is gonna sting," Taron warns her, pouring disinfectant on a towel. Eleanor turns her head, burying her face in Taron's neck. He smiles.

Taron softly dabs a liberal amount of the liquid on Eleanor's wounds, resulting in her whispering "Ow" over and over for a few seconds until Taron finishes.

"There, the worst part is over," Taron tells her, setting down the towel before picking up a sterilized needle. "What color thread do you want?"

"Green," Eleanor mumbles.

"Green?" Taron asks in disbelief. He expected her to say black so that it wouldn't stand out as much; that's the color Tim used on her leg, after all. "Why green?"

"It's my favorite color."

"Well, yeah. I knew that."

"Wanna know why it's my favorite color?" Eleanor mutters.

"Hm?"

"It's the color of your eyes."

Taron smiles widely, his green eyes shining.

"Sure you can stitch me up properly?" Eleanor mumbles.

"'Course. I've done my fair share of stitching patches on jackets," Taron replies, both of them recalling freshman year in which they went through a major punk phase. The phase has died away, although some features have stuck with them. Eleanor smiles.

Taron brings Eleanor's hand closer to his face and begins stitching up her gash. Eleanor winces slightly, but the pain is nothing compared to what she has already experienced.

A few minutes later Taron is finished stitching her wounds as well as rubbing ointment on them. He gently wraps bandages around Eleanor's palms.

"All right, done. Wasn't that bad, huh?" Taron says. Eleanor groans softly. "How do you feel?"

"Like I'm dying," Eleanor mumbles, followed by a shiver.

"You'll feel better in the morning, I promise."

"Okay," Eleanor replies. She wishes she had the strength to look at him, not to mention to be coherent enough to fully be aware of what is going on. She lets out a small sigh and allows her mind to be pulled into darkness.

Taron continues to grin at the prospect of their position. He doesn't ever want to fall asleep.

☁

Eleanor wakes to a painful throbbing in her leg and dull stinging in her hands. Nausea has passed, however a pounding headache still lingers at the top of her head, she is shivering despite feeling quite warm, her throat is sore, and she has trouble orienting herself. Eleanor keeps her eyes closed as she slowly comes to her senses, feeling her body lying partly on the couch and partly on someone else.

"Mornin'," Taron says.

"Mornin'," Eleanor mumbles.

Taron remains slightly timid toward the situation; he did, in fact, get some sleep, but he woke up much earlier than he would have liked. He half expects Eleanor to get off the couch or push him away.

"How are you feeling?"

"Horrible," Eleanor mumbles. "I really want a cigarette."

"Yeah, me too. Can I get you anything? Water? Another blanket?"

"I'm fine. Just don't move," she says, making Taron smile. "How'd we end up like this, anyway? Did I get all sappy? You know I get sappy when I drink."

"Yeah, you got a little sappy."

"On a scale from 'you're my favorite person on Earth' to 'I want to be the mother of your child?'"

Taron chuckles, saying, "In the negatives, then."

"Oh, well, whatever," Eleanor says. "We've drunkenly cuddled in the past."

"Mhm," Taron replies, deciding not to point out that he wasn't drunk last night, or the night before. "You should go back to sleep. It's only seven."

"Fuuuuuuuck."

Taron chuckles.

☁

Eleanor wakes up roughly four hours later, feeling tremendously better than she did when she first woke up. She blinks away the sleep as she acknowledges Taron's arms remaining around her to keep her warm, the clinks and low talking in the kitchen, the smell of bacon and coffee wafting in through the doorway.

"Are you awake?" Eleanor mumbles.

"Yeah," Taron replies. Eleanor yawns, shifting slightly to rub her eyes. Taron loosens his hold on her and runs his fingers through his hair.

Eleanor props herself up slightly to look at him. Taron smiles at her, appearing to have been awake for at least an hour. Eleanor, on the other hand, most definitely looks as though she slept in 'til nearly noon.

"Hey," Eleanor says.

"Hey," Taron replies with a chuckle.

"I feel much better."

"That's brilliant!"

"Thanks for letting me sleep on you. I forgot how comfortable you are." Taron laughs.

"What a compliment."

"I've got a list of them, actually. Keep them in a little notebook."

"How impressive. You memorized them all?"

"Oh, yeah," Eleanor says with a giggle. "Wanna hear — "

"Mornin'," Ray says, appearing in the room, deliberately trying to catch Taron and Eleanor doing something they shouldn't be. Taron's hand flies away from Eleanor and instead scratches his head. Eleanor shoots her father a glare.

"Mornin'," Taron replies. Ray continues looking at them.

"Your mother made breakfast." Eleanor nods. "And coffee." Eleanor and Taron nod again.

Tim walks into the room, relieving everyone of the awkwardness.

"I found the crutches," Tim says, resting them against the foot of the couch. "And I'll construct some sort of splint today."

"Thanks Tim," Eleanor says as she sits up. Tim walks off to the kitchen. Ray lingers for a few seconds before following suit. The two teenagers look at each other, Taron slightly embarrassed.

"You were telling me about your compliments," he says.

"Oh, shit. I suddenly just forgot all of them. What's a compliment, anyway?"

Taron laughs.

"C'mon, help me up. I want bacon," Eleanor says, sitting up. Taron reluctantly slips out from underneath her, briefly stretching his back as Eleanor carefully holds her leg and moves it off of the pillow. Taron offers her his hands and she takes them, standing with all of her weight on her good leg. Eleanor sways slightly once she is standing.

"You good?" Taron asks. Eleanor nods. "Does it hurt?"

"Yeah, but not as bad as it did," Eleanor tells him.

"Brilliant," Taron says, handing her the crutches. She positions them under her arms and holds the handles, cringing slightly. "Shit. It hurts your hands, huh?"

"Not really. It's just a bit uncomfortable."

"Well, thankfully you won't be moving around too much for a while." Eleanor gives him a displeased expression. "I thought you would have been happy, what with how much walking we had to do over the past week." Eleanor shrugs. "Don't worry, Rigby. I'll keep you entertained."

Eleanor grins at him. He winks.

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author's note ;

the compliments i have been receiving about this story really make my day. i try my best to thank all of you personally, but don't let my briefness fool you — i really, really, really appreciate your votes and comments. honestly, i prefer compliments about my writing and stories rather than my appearance?? like those of you who are saying good stuff about this story are literally making my life and i love you so much oh my lORD i'm so EMOTIONaL