Rain Check?

~93~

  Six weeks, Dempsey thinks to herself as she stares out the window that faces the parking lot. 

  The end of the school year was fast approaching and she desperately missed her kids, knowing that she won't even get to actually say goodbye to them before summer comes screaming in, also reminding Dempsey that she doesn't have a job to go back to.

  That's right. Even in the midst of saving the children and their parents, she wouldn't be getting her contract renewed. Twisted, sick world we live in when risking your life causes you greater problems than if you'd just been taken away in the wake of the trauma. 

  Six weeks, and still no closer to regaining her feeling in her legs. Todd tries to tell her at each session that every little bit will eventually add up to great things, but she's at the point that she just smiles and nods before rolling back to her room in silent tears. 

  Visits from her mother and Conor have slowed down significantly, mostly due to their jobs. Chris still pops in every day, even when she asks him not to. He respects her decision when she doesn't want to talk and just sits in the corner reading a magazine, ready and waiting for when her mood changes, letting her know that he's there for the long haul. On the good days though, she'll fiddle with the guitar he brought her, insisting that she can practice and perfect it with all the extra time on her hands.  He's even managed to find someone who will give her lessons over Zoom calls, scheduling them around her therapy sessions. But her favorite days are Tuesday and Thursday when Chris brings Star up for afternoon visits. The last one he even managed to coerce them into letting him bring Dodger as well, making her feel the most normal she's felt since before the shooting. 

  "Knock, knock," his voice coming right on time as the clock ticks ten in the morning. 

  "Hey," she says quietly, pushing herself back from the window. "How are you?"

  "Hey now. You know that's my go to question. Why ya stealing my lines?" he teases, coming and placing the same kiss on her head as always. Just once though, he'd like to mistakenly find her lips again, but he'll remain respectful to prove his point. 

  She gives him the same small smile each day. "How are you?" he asks, ignoring the fact that she asked him first.

  Dempsey glares at him before rolling her eyes. "I slept, therapy is kicking my butt and I'm bored out of my mind."

  "Well," a doctor's voice sounds as he walks into the room, "how about we change a bit of that Miss Abrams."

  Chris takes a seat on the edge of the bed, next to where the wheelchair sits. "What do you mean?" she asks tentatively, afraid of what he's about to require of her. 

  "I'm ready to release you."

  And that's when the panic really sets in. "But, I can't walk. I can't even get up to go to the bathroom on my own. What about therapy? How am I suppose to care for myself at this point?"  Chris reaches out, sensing her anxiety, taking her hand in his own and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  "You'll still have therapy. I want to set up for in home therapy four days a week and outside two days a week. On that extra day you'll have some things you can do on your own with help. And, caring for yourself at this point isn't quite an option. You'll need to stay with someone," he informs her, jotting some notes down on her file. 

  Demi is visibly shaking at this point, her nerves a complete jumbled mess. "I live alone and have stairs. Ma and Conor's apartments don't have elevators. How am I suppose to do this?" she begins to cry, all her thoughts rushing into one another and not letting her focus on one question at a time.