call me up day or night, free drinks and bad advice [closed]

[etherthief]

For those who missed it, Iman's magical prosthetic is out of commission and she's havin a rough time. TW for denial, dysphoria, and some internalized ableism.

This is fine.

She starts every day this way. Waking up, looking at the ceiling, remembering through dull ache and a gradual loosening of dreams where she was still whole that her arm is gone. Not quite gone, not literally missing, still hanging there limply because it's easier to fake it and she gets enough stares already. Reminding herself of the subtle changes in her own weight distribution, how she must hold herself, the effort that goes into things like rolling out of bed and showering and dressing. And she says: this is fine.

First order of business is checking her phone. A real one now, now that she can no longer use her arm for this purpose, or for opening doors, or for punching holes through walls if need be, or reshaping glass, or anything. She is normal. She is less than normal.

What time is it even.

Some texts, she doesn't check them now. The clock tells her she has managed to sleep until 2pm. Fucking fantastic.

Okay well by the time she gets showered and caffeinated and presentable, it'll be happy hour.

Who's she gonna drink with. Rush? Sounds amazing, actually, but how long will it take him to get back around to wanting to fix her unfixable fucking arm? Fuck that.

She punches in a text to Greta.

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[etherthief]

She sighs and rocks Greta gently, biting her lip to keep from tears herself; she doesn't cry easily, but she's drunk and it's been a rough time, and she can't bear to see Greta in pain like this. When Greta finally settles a little and starts speaking again, Iman lets her hand stray to Greta's head, stroking her hair a little.

"You can say that all you want," she says, "and you can believe it, too, but that doesn't make it easier. It's okay to hurt over this."

She feels like she's feeding back advice that has been fed to her. Well, maybe Greta will be more receptive than she is.

There's no solution she can offer - she can't say she'll get her back, even if she still could do that it would be a false hope, crueler to force optimism than to allow her to accept this wound as part of her reality.

A really repulsive part of her, buried somewhere deep down, is almost relieved.

Disgusting. She represses a shudder and forces herself up. "Come on," she says. "Let's have a lie down. I'm gonna play you some nice music."

[andhiswife]

Iman's right. Of course she is. Still, part of her feels terrible for hurting so... openly. Not that she doesn't trust Iman - if someone has to see her like this, she'd rather Iman than anyone else - but Iman shouldn't have to deal with this, not now, on top of her own troubles. Greta ought to be cheering her up, giving her less to worry about, not falling to pieces in her lap. Another broken thing for Iman to try and put back together. All the King's horses and all the King's men... well, they're a universe away, too. No help from that quarter.

However little Iman deserves this, she shoulders it well. A lie down sounds... a little pathetic, if she's being honest with herself, but also far too tempting. She doesn't have the wherewithal to do anything but let Iman take the lead. "All right," she agrees, pushing herself to her feet and wincing a little as her head swims. She feels so squashy. She waits a few moments for the room to settle, then shuffles toward the bed.

[etherthief]

Iman leads her gently, shufflingly, across the room, keeping her hand on the small of her back. She feels awful, selfish, for bringing this on, but she can't worry about that right now. It'll probably be good to get it out, eventually. Hopefully.

She sits down with Greta, trying to help support her weight down onto the pillow, difficult with one arm and blood full of liquor, but she manages. She kneels beside her, stroking her hair for a few moments before recovering her phone and flipping through her rather eclectic music selection.

"Let's try this," she says softly, and puts on some of the most soothing indie folk she can think of.

[andhiswife]

Greta lets herself be led, lets Iman help ease her down onto her pillow. Maybe it's just as well, she thinks, a bit distantly. Iman can't take care of her and feel useless. She still might be helping her friend, in a backwards sort of way. Not that this is any more fixable than Iman's arm.

The hand on her hair is nice, though, and she manages a weak, bleary smile - though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. As Iman fetches her phone, Greta scoots back on the bed, making room. Presuming Iman's joining her. She hopes so. She doesn't want to feel like an invalid, being tended again, she just wants...

... Well. Many things, most of which are beyond her. But Iman isn't, and Greta's arm scoots forward across the coverlet, a not entirely conscious reach for her. "That's nice," she murmurs a few moments into the song.

[etherthief]

Iman smiles faintly, going back to stroking her hair for a bit before settling down next to her, the invitation implicit, and there's no reason not to as far as Greta's concerned. It's a weird kind of torment - lying down, holding Greta and just wanting to soothe her, Iman wishes it could be more than that, but this will just have to do for both of them, this which isn't quite enough for either.

She isn't sure what else to say. Apologizing, empathizing, all of it might just make things worse, and she doesn't want to risk that when Greta's calming down. So she doesn't say anything for now, waiting for a cue from Greta, just offering presence for now.

[andhiswife]

Greta lets out a sigh of relief when Iman settles in beside her, as if she's read her mind. As if her body language hadn't been plain enough. She curls toward her, resting her head on Iman's shoulder. She hopes it's not too heavy. It feels too heavy, overfull. But Iman doesn't seem to mind. Of course she doesn't.

"You're my dearest friend here," Greta says quietly. "Did I tell you? Maybe I only told Rush." Regardless, it seems very important that Iman knows. And it's nothing to do with her arm, or her ability to get Greta home. She just is.

[etherthief]

Iman blinks at her, startled to hear this. It's both the best thing she could hear and a little bit painful, twisting in her chest. Greta is her dearest friend too, alongside Rush - she just wishes she could explain how much Greta means to her without making everything worse.

And she told Rush that? Gosh. That makes her smile a little, and she curls into Greta in response, leaning against the head on her shoulder.

"Thank you," she says. "You're my dearest friend, too."

Ever. Weirdly enough.

After some moments she picks up her phone to pester Rush again. While all this sentimentality is going around she doesn't want him to miss out.

[andhiswife]

Good. She knows, now. She understands. That's so important, after how close they came to losing her, after the losses Greta has already sustained. She can't be torn away from anyone else without letting them know how much they mean to her. Once was bad enough.

Her eyes drift shut when Iman returns the sentiment. A few tears escape her lashes, but she's too worn out for a proper cry. They aren't sad tears, anyway - or not entirely. Above the ever-present ache for her absent family, there's relief that at least she has this, has someone here she cares about, and who cares about her. She couldn't bear the alternative.

She can feel herself starting to doze, and part of her rather welcomes it. Better to just sleep than to try and consciously recover herself after the fuss she's just made. Surely she'll have her head on straight after a nap. But if she falls asleep, Iman might leave, and that would be terrible. She doesn't want to wake up alone, selfish as it would be to ask her friend to just stay here -as if Iman has nothing else she could be doing with her time.

Maybe she won't mind. Greta wouldn't mind, if their roles were reversed.

She keeps her eyes shut as she reaches out a little, fingers curling loosely into the fabric of Iman's shirt. She doesn't want to see what Iman makes of this pathetic little display, she just doesn't want her to go. "Will you stay?" she asks quietly.

[etherthief]

"Of course," says Iman just as quietly. "As long as you want."

She'd love to stay. She'd be all too happy. She shifts around a little, repositioning her loose arm, and settles in curled against Greta and trying not to think about how very weird and possibly inappropriate this is. It's fine. She wants to help Greta any way she can, make her happy, keep her company, and as long as she can do that there's nothing wrong or weird about it at all. Anyway, she wouldn't be good to head home now. She's getting pretty tired herself, still very drunk, now a little bit drained, and Greta is so nice and cozy.

"Gonna just stay right here all night with Greta," she mumbles sleepily. "Best lady in the world." It's an affectionate little joke, but it's also genuinely meant, and she's slipped pretty well out of consciousness by the time she tacks on a little murmured, "Love you."

[andhiswife]

Whatever tension she still had lingering in her system drains away at Iman's assurance that she's not going anywhere. Maybe it's childish of her to need the company, but she can't bring herself to feel embarrassed by it. Not now. Instead, she shifts a bit closer, tucks her hand into the crook of Iman's arm, and sighs. It's neither a sad sigh nor a fully contented one, but she does feel better afterwards, as if a few jagged edges have settled themselves back into place instead of grinding against one another.

Greta hums in response to the joke, a faint, fond smile coaxed out of her. At least this isn't a horrible inconvenience. Iman wouldn't joke about it if it was. And if the 'love you' is a surprise, it's not at all an unpleasant one. It's a comfort. She remembers her own mother tucking her in, the customary kiss on the forehead, the call and response. She doesn't have to think; a mumbled, "'nd I you," falls out of her - unbidden, but no less true for that.

At least she has this.

Lulled by the steady sound of her friend's breathing, Greta drifts off into a deep, untroubled slumber.