Safe & Sound

The new plastic bottle of painkillers between her fingers brings her a sensible state of composure despite her racing brain. She's taken two doses already. She wants another, but after eyeing the clock she knows she better wait a few more hours. The pads of her fingers reach up to rub various spots on her forehead, hoping this much will hold her over for a few hours.

Addison sleeps soundly in her bed; tonight she's holding onto the white bear a bit more than the others. To everyone's surprise, she never once asked where it came from. She just welcomed it into her little family as if somewhere in the back of her little mind, she knew who brought it for her. Kennedy tries not to linger on how the color of her skin resembles that bear more and more each day as the disease slowly bombards her body. It's a tortuously lingering monster that lives inside her and Kennedy would give anything to be able to sacrifice herself and have that monster consume her rather than the innocence that is Addison.

She doesn't know how long she's been alone in the room today. Ever since Miranda's untimely visit, she hasn't wanted to step foot outside, even in the hall. All she wants is to stay cooped up in this one room with her daughter for as long as humanly possible. If the monster would permit her to, that is.

Soon, Gemma enters, balancing a tray on her arm and a new magazine issue she picked up from the cafeteria tucked underneath it. She sets the tray on a table and pushes it in front of Kennedy, muttering a single order and expecting it to be followed.

''Eat.''

The items before her look quite standard: a plastic container with a deli sandwich inside, a small bowl of garden salad, and an apple. But strangely, staring down at them makes her feel nauseous.

''I can't,'' she crinkles her nose up.

''You have to. You haven't eaten a single thing in five days, Kenn. I don't know how you're still alive.''

''I have eaten,'' she corrects her.

''You had two baby carrots and threw the rest away. Now eat before I tell the hospital to admit you and stick a tube up your arm.''

Kennedy sighs in defeat, reluctantly reaching for the apple and taking a small bite. She eyes Gemma darkly as she chews.

''Good girl.''

After sitting back in her chair and opening the magazine on her lap, Gemma takes a deep breath.

''You seem calm,'' Kennedy notes with a tiny mouthful of fruit.

''Well, someone's got to be around here.''

''I mean about what Miranda said.''

Gemma glances up from the article she was skimming through. ''You actually believe what she said?''

Kennedy's chewing pauses as the apprehension takes over.

''Oh, that's right,'' Gemma chuckles, ''You ran off to call him afterwards.''

''I don't get it. Why is this funny? She said he was thinking about bloody killing himself, Gemma.''

''He was drunk. Of course, he was thinking that. Don't you remember him when he's drunk? The kid suddenly becomes a hormonal thirteen-year-old girl. Proper lunatic if you ask me.''

''He does have a lot to be upset about...''

Gemma scoffs. ''Yeah, but he'd never go and do that. Miranda's just overreacting. She doesn't know him as well as she thinks she does.''

''Obviously.''

''Good punch, by the way. That one towards the middle. I almost didn't come between you two after seeing that.''

Kennedy can't hold back her smile. ''Thanks.''

''Listen,'' Gemma folds back the corner of her magazine to save the page and shuts it. ''Don't worry so much. He's not going to do that. I know him. He's just saying stupid shit. But you know what? The voicemail you left him might convince him enough to come back, you never know.''

''You think so?''

''Hey, it looked pretty persuasive when I came round to find you. Those were real tears. I couldn't have faked that even if I tried.''

Gemma smiles encouragingly.

''Now finish this,'' she motions to the meal, ''Please. I'm worried for you, Kenn.''

''Don't be. I'm fine.''

''There's not even a slight chance that you're fine. Not as long as she's here.'' She glances over at Addison with soft eyes.

''She'll be out soon,'' Kennedy nods, weighing the bitten apple in her hands.

''You bet she will. I'm going to check my email out in the lobby, alright? My professor's supposed to be sending me some work I've missed. Eat. And put those down, you take too many.'' She nods toward the bottle of pills still in Kennedy's hand as she rises.

''Yes, Mum,'' Kennedy answers playfully, chewing obnoxiously on her apple.



It's been hours and to anyone else, this scenario would seem like a severe predicament. With Gemma out studying on her laptop, Kennedy is left in her chair, still in front of the half-eaten tray of food. She stares down at what remains, mentally arguing with herself to just pick something up and eat. Her stomach churns and her chest feels like it's burning the longer she stares at it all. She doesn't want to eat it, but she knows she has to. It shouldn't be this difficult to finish a bit of salad and a sandwich. She has to down it to prove to herself and to Gemma that she really is alright.

She tries to reason with herself. It's just a few bites, Kennedy. What would Addie say if she saw you right now? Hypocrite.

Her unsteady hand reaches for the sandwich, holding it in front of her face. She has to shut her eyes tightly as she leans forward and takes a bite. It's not bad. In fact, it feels satisfying considering how long she's been without a decent number of calories in her system. She doesn't even want to imagine how much weight she's lost with all the stress.

As she chews on another bite, she feels proud. She's able to gain control of this. It feels like she has a stronger hold on herself the more she eats this meal, especially with all the confusion surrounding Harry and the ambiguous future for her daughter. Finishing this sandwich, as mediocre as it sounds, is a test of her control.

The third bite is easier as her confidence rises and the hunger pangs finally kick in. She realizes how much she's been starving her body all this time. She reaches for a fourth and a fifth bite, and before she knows it, only one small piece of the sandwich remains between her fingers.

But it will never be consumed.

Before she has the chance to sink her teeth in, the chaos begins. It's subtle for the first few seconds, not dawning on her until the machines start going off and Addison body goes completely limp, her head falling down and chin pressing into her chest.

''Addie!'' Kennedy shrieks amidst the loud warning sounds coming from each device.

She rises quickly from her chair, the piece of sandwich falling carelessly back onto its plate.

''Someone help!'' she keeps shouting out over and over again. Eventually a team of doctors and nurses jog in with what they call a crash cart, but their strange and frantic medical mutterings to each other are mysteries to Kennedy and no one will tell her what's going on. She begs them to give her an explanation and screams when she hears someone mention that Addie's heart is failing.

''What's happening?'' she shrieks so loudly her throat begins to hurt, ''I'm her mother, please tell me!''

Someone approaches her and ushers her towards the door despite her reluctance. She insists desperately that she stay but they insist equally as strongly that she needs to step outside.

''No! Just tell me what's happening to her!'' She yells through blurry eyes and is almost too numb to feel another set of arms grab her and push her head against their shoulders.

''The best thing we can do right now is let them do their job,'' Gemma tells her against her ear, her voice breaking. She holds onto Kennedy with everything she has, letting her tremble and cry as much as she needs to. But Gemma has to be the strong one, holding in her tears as she watches the doctors fervently work on the tiny, frail toddler below them.



The hospital is buzzing with new patients and old patients, families and friends, nurses scurrying about with warm blankets, medication bags, and clipboards. But amidst all of the commotion, it's never seemed so quiet to Kennedy. She lies with her head down against Addison's blankets, holding her hand between her fingers. She's learning to cherish even these small moments with the child because she doesn't know how long she has left.

The doctors explained it as something much more scientific than she remembers. Something about the weakness of Addison's white blood cells and how they're causing systems all over her body to malfunction. That time, it was her heart. Next time, it could be her lungs or her kidneys or her liver, all of them fatal and all of them hopelessly difficult to save her from. It's a miracle she's still breathing before her in this moment.

Kennedy became so distraught waiting for even a sign of news during the fifteen minutes they spent oblivious to it all that she ended up on the restroom floor, vomiting into a toilet as Gemma held back her hair. It was perhaps the worst feeling of complete and utter suffering she'd ever felt.

Now, seeing Kennedy like this breaks Gemma's heart. She's practically lifeless as she lies with her forehead pressed against the bed for hours in end, as if she's surrendered herself completely. Gemma knows now more than ever that now is the time for her to try her very hardest. Without telling Kennedy, not that she's coherent enough to understand if she did, she pulls out her cell phone once more and escapes out in the hall to run through the routine again. It must be the fiftieth time she's called him in the past two weeks.

She mentally prepares everything she's about to tell him in the voicemail. She remembers to make it sound convincing and appeal to his morality. If anything, he'll listen if she says it's the right thing to do.

It's the last ring before the automated message when Gemma's insides do a somersault.

''You have exactly two minutes starting now and I wouldn't waste it if I were you.''

She's taken aback instantly. She doesn't say a word for a moment, letting the realization set in.

''Harry?''

''You're wasting time.''

Gemma clears her throat roughly and nods, accepting this challenge.

''You,'' she begins in a rush, ''are quite possibly the most ridiculous person ever, Harry Edward Styles. I've been calling you for weeks and you didn't even think to answer. And seriously? Risking that child's life just because you're caught up in your own damn feelings? Grow up. She needs you or she's going to die, do you hear me? It could happen this weekend. It could happen tomorrow. Hell, it almost happened a few hours ago, Harry! Get your ass down here, do this transplant, and then go back to your moping around if that's what you want. Kick, scream, do whatever your immature little heart desires. But just like I told Kennedy, I'm not letting you take Addison down with you.''

It's quiet for a while and Gemma wonders if she should have loosened up a bit on the insults. She almost assumes he's already hung up before he speaks.

''It was never my intention not to do the transplant.''

Gemma's eyes widen. ''Then where the hell have you been all this time? Why haven't you done it already?''

''I've been coming in to do the prep tests. They've just been...private.''

''You mean secret.''

''I don't want to see either of you,'' he tells her bluntly in a monotone. ''I'm doing this for Addie.''

''God, Harry, just let Kennedy talk to you! Stop being such a drama queen!''

''No,'' he declares, ''She and I are done. I'm through. I want nothing to do with her anymore.''

''You're going to regret this. You're going to wish you listened to me, like you've always done, Haz.''

''Don’t ‘Haz’ me, alright? You and I aren't okay either.''

She groans. It's on the tip of her tongue. All she has to do is say it and this entire dilemma will be solved, but she can't.

''Fine,'' she sighs, ''Just do the transplant, that's all I'm asking.''

''And then I'm leaving. I can't stay here anymore,'' he decides.

''Wherever you go, I'm begging you, don't go with Miranda.''

''I haven't even spoken to Miranda in weeks.''

''Oh, yes, you have. Or maybe you don't remember. Was it rum or just a few beers?''

He's too quiet for a while before he shamefully answers. ''Vodka...''

''Ah, no wonder. Well, you did speak to her and you told her you were going to kill yourself, so that must have been a pleasant night for you.''

''How do you know about that? If that really happened... I can't trust you with anything anymore obviously.''

Gemma ignores his last part. ''She came down here. A few slaps and hair pulls later, she told us.''

''What?''

''She and Kennedy had a fight.''

He doesn't say a single word in response and Gemma takes it as her cue that she better get this ball rolling before her time runs out.

''Okay, fine, Harry. Do your thing. Leave afterwards. But promise me you'll let her explain. Just once.''

''The last time you made me promise you something, it didn't go so well.''

''But you kept it. You've stayed for her.''

''She doesn't know that I have. She hasn't even seen me. She's always asleep when I come.''

Gemma sighs. ''Then promise me this.''

''I don't want to hear the story,'' he suddenly raises his voice in determination, ''I don't want to know who he was or where she met him or when it happened. If it was before or after she told me she loved me. If it was while she was lying to me. If it was more than one guy, who knows? The point is I don't want to. And I'm not going to.''

Without giving her a chance to refute, he hangs up the phone, leaving Gemma alone with her racing thoughts, unsure of whether to tell Kennedy of her discoveries or not.



Kennedy's eyes stay glued on Addison's chest, watching in a trance as it rises and falls as she breathes. It's a shallow intake and outtake of air. The child is the weakest she's ever been. It's gotten to the point when she can barely get one word out when she speaks.

The doctors keep her sedated for a majority of the day, hooking her up to more advanced machinery and keeping a respirator on hand in the event that her lungs should collapse. The mere thought has Kennedy distant and motionless. She can't move a single centimeter. Her mind is rushing through memories of Addison that she hasn't yet lived through. Memories that she wants so badly to be real.

Slowly, feeling the fatigue in the thinness of her legs, Kennedy props her feet up on the chair and hugs her knees to her chest. For the first time in a long while, she succumbs to the fatal web of thoughts running through her mind. Whereas she usually masks them or shuts them out completely, she engulfs herself in them tonight, allowing every emotion, positive or negative, to take her over.

Within minutes, she feels like she's drowning. She thinks of Addison and how painful all of this must be for her. Harry and how much he must loathe her enough not to even want to save the child's life. Gemma and how she seems to be the only sane one in all of them. When her mind flows toward her parents, she remembers something.

She kicks one of her feet off and bends sideways to retrieve her bag. After a moment of mindless digging, she finds what she's looking for and holds the envelope delicately between her fingers. The debate to open it begins. Eventually, she'll have to tear open the flap and read what's inside. Eventually, she'll stop arguing with herself over every little thing like this. But for now, she's not so sure if it's what she wants. Oddly enough, she's been content with her unresolved conflict with her parents up until this point. Whatever lies in this envelope threatens to disrupt that and possibly bring closure to the relationship, if she can even call it one. What if it's a reconciliation letter? What if they want entry back into her life? What if they want to see her and meet their granddaughter for the first time and finally, after all of these years, have a real, meaningful relationship with their only child? The possibilities of what lies inside this fragile piece of paper terrify her to bits.

She decides it's now or never. Her finger slips underneath the flap and glides along it, creating a sloppy incision for her to reach inside and pull out the thick piece of stationary. She recognizes that it's her mother's handwriting nearly instantly and after the first few words, it's almost as if flames of fire are bursting through each scrawl of cursive:



She turns the paper over in her hands multiple times, searching for more and finding nothing. There's no From, Mum & Dad. Not even a Sincerely, Dr. & Mrs. Ellis. There's no sign that they see her as their daughter other than the fact that they begin with her name. She feels the anger starting to boil almost instantly. How dare they apply conditions to this? How dare they even think that this is acceptable? They're essentially paying her to stay out of their lives, as if merely encouraging it all these years wasn't bad enough. And, above all, how dare they deprive Addison of meeting her family. They express no care whatsoever for the child. They're heartless, like robots and shells of human beings that just look like they have feelings when underneath all of that expensive perfumes and plastic surgery and designer outfits, they're nothing. At most, they're money machines. They talk to their own daughter like she's a business partner. They're walking egos, concerned about nothing but themselves. She's glad they found each other in this world otherwise nobody would ever want to be with such emotionless creatures.

Suddenly, it's like the memories come flooding back again and she can't hold it this time. They break through like a collapsing dam. She feels like tearing the stationary to tiny pieces. She feels like picking up that telephone and ordering Portia to tell them to take their damn money and keep it. She's better off without it. But the more she stares at the shallow rise and fall of Addison's lungs, the white of her skin, and the thinness of her wrists dressed in IVs and needles, the more the sees that she really isn't. She needs this trust. She needs this money for this child. And she hates that she needs it. She hates that she's not strong enough, financially and emotionally, to refuse them.

Quickly, before Gemma or even Anne have the displeasure of walking in and seeing her having a mental breakdown over something like this that they'd probably see as wonderful news, she rises and walks down the hall towards the restrooms. She knows what Gemma would think. She can practically hear her saying it. Stop crying and being such a masochist, Kennedy, and be thankful for this money. Your parents finally did something right by you. Anne would probably just ask if she's alright over and over and over, to which she's exhausted of telling her a lie that she is over and over and over. She's better off alone right now until these feelings simmer down and she can think rationally again, if that's ever going to even happen with everything going on.

When she enters the restroom, another woman's already inside, washing her hands. Kennedy forces a courteous smile in her direction and pretends to fix her hair in the mirror despite it being nothing but a frizzed mess of waves atop her head. The moment the woman reaches for a paper towel and then swiftly departs, Kennedy's shell melts. Her fingers grip the marble counter beside the sink, leaning forward and focusing on regaining her breath.

She's sick of this. She's sick of feeling like this, as if she's constantly suffocating and no matter what she does to mask it, it breaks through and resurfaces. The reflection in the mirror before her outlines a ghost of her former self. The Kennedy who used to exist up until she left that house on the hill seems to have been replaced by a paler, frailer skeleton with dark circles under her eyes and frantic widened pupils. There is no ounce of control in her life. As much as she hates to think about it on a day-to-day basis, there is no happiness in it either. The one source of it is being taken from her, quicker as the days go by. She's watched it disintegrate before her very eyes until it's now become the tiny, helpless child in the bed just a few yards from where she stands now. There is no pain equal to that of the pain she feels looking down at that fragile body and being unable to help it in any way.

Usually, she can block the idea of Addison dying out of her mind. For months now, she's avoided it by focusing on the present and straying completely away from anything further than next week. But now, as the over analyzing consumes her, she pictures it. She sees Addison with her eyes pried open and unblinking. She feels her, cold and stiff with rigor mortis. She imagines the empty bed and the neatly folded sheets and the sight of Charlie sitting alone on the chair where Harry is meant to be. She feels the loss almost as real as it would be should it happen and her body shakes.

She can't do this.

With the utmost regret towards even allowing her mind to wander into this dark and desolate place, she digs her hand into her back pocket and pulls out another bottle of painkillers. She struggles to pop the lid open with her trembling fingers. It won't budge no matter how hard she twists and pulls. Eventually, by the time her desperation is at its peak, she's salvaged by a palm full of little white pills. She throws her head back to swallow them, reveling in the feeling of them dryly traveling down her throat. With a few deep breaths, she reconciles with the demons she's locking back in their cages within her head. They have to stay there permanently if she's going to make it out of this alive.

For a moment, she feels better. She can finally breathe. Her chest heaves less and her hands can grip the counter without turning her knuckles white. She mentally orders herself to pull together and walk out of this room with her head held high and face wiped clean of any hint that she's been breaking down behind closed doors. For Gemma's sake. For Addison's sake. For her own sake.

She decides she can do this. She's ready. The locks of the cages are set and the keys are thrown away as she swings open the door and reenters the hall. It's easy with the first few steps she takes, but after a minute her feet meet the linoleum heavier and she can swear she's seen the tiles shift before her eyes.

''Kenn, hey,'' she hears Gemma swiftly approach her, ''I've been looking for you everywhere. Where've you been?''

''Bathroom,'' she utters under her breath.

''Listen, I have to tell you something. Addison's fine, before you ask. But it's not good news.''

Kennedy can barely hear her as the words seem to blur together in her head.

''Mum wasn't a match,'' Gemma sadly shares the news, ''They've just told us. She's still in there trying to make them retake it and be double sure.''

She feels Gemma place her hands comfortingly on her arms and kiss the top of her head.

''I'm sorry, Kenn,'' she mutters, ''But listen, everything will be fine. I know it. You want to know how?''

Gemma's about to inform her of the other more positive news she's found out regarding Harry, smiling largely all the while. But the moment she sees Kennedy begin to sway back and forth uneasily, she loses her train of thought.

''Are you alright?'' she asks, holding onto her harder to keep her from leaning too far to the left.

''Yeah,'' Kennedy unconvincingly sighs, ''Peachy.''

''Oh, no, you're not. See, I told you not eating will come back to bite you. Come, sit down.''

Gemma winds her arm around Kennedy's waist and begins to usher her back towards Addison's room so she can take a seat and relax, but Kennedy's legs don't like the sound of that.

''Gemma,'' Kennedy dizzily breathes. The room spins at a thousand revolutions a second. ''I think... I think I took too many. I didn’t…count them. I can't see...''

Gemma's voice suddenly grows in volume and intensity. ''Too many what? Painkillers?''

''Yes...'' Kennedy wobbles to the side.

''Damn it, Kenn! I told you to stop taking those!''

She goes on scolding her further, telling her that ten, fifteen, or twenty pills are like suicide in the palm of her hand and she's pathologically stupid to think they'd help her like this. But her annoyed lecture is halted when she sees Kennedy begin to fall to the floor, her eyes dilated and rolling back into her head.

Gemma yells out for help and her adrenaline spikes. Kennedy blacks out completely, the last of the sounds she hears coming from Gemma's frantic cries and pleas for her not to dare do this to her.



The sunshine cast along her window is unwelcome here. She doesn't want to see it, not today. She'd rather the sky be overcast and clouded, maybe even a bit stormy, just for the occasion. Her heart thumps hard against her chest as she stands in front of her bed, her arms crossed tightly against her torso.

''You're a disgrace to this family. I'm ashamed to even think you're a part of it.''

It's sickening to realize that this is perhaps the most her mother has ever spoken to her at one time. The acid in her voice is thick. Her words practically drip with toxins. Kennedy can feel her staring at her, boring holes into the top of her head as she glues her eyes to the carpet below her in shame.

''You're not my daughter anymore, Kennedy. I don't know what I ever did to deserve such a child. A child who goes and gets herself pregnant at seventeen. A slut! And then skips school behind my back. You think I'm one of those people? You think we're that kind of family? Do you have any idea what you've done to us?''

Kennedy can feel the stinging in the back of her eyes, but she doesn't dare give her mother the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

''If you think I'm going to let you lie to me again, you're wrong. It's that Styles boy, isn't it? You've still been seeing him even after I told you not to, haven't you? I specifically ordered you not to. You deliberately disobeyed me. Now look where it's brought you. Committing adultery at seventeen, may The Lord save you. He's bad news, Kennedy! All he wanted was that!''

''You're wrong!'' Kennedy shrieks, finally raising her head in defiance and shooting a glare in her mother's direction.

Mrs. Ellis's eyes widen in a darkened rage. ''What did you say to me?''

''You don't know him! You don't even know me! You won't even listen to me! I've been with him for years and you're so oblivious to everything around you that you didn't even know!''

The tension in the room is thick and hazy. Kennedy has so much left she wants to say. So much that has been built up from years of keeping her mouth shut and enduring the scorn. But even now, she's afraid. Even now, they have a hold on her.

''Sooner or later,'' her mother begins lowly, ''You're going to realize what your father and I have given you. When the real world comes and devours you, you'll see. And you'll come running to us again, desperate for help. That's just what you'll get. God works his ways, Kennedy.''

''You have never given me a thing.''

''Look around you! This house! This room! You wanted admittance to the public school. We gave it to you. You wanted more windows in the room. We gave it to you. Don't you dare be ungrateful!''

''Those are things! That's money! That's not being a good parent. You think you can buy me stuff and expect that to be enough? You don't listen. You're still not listening. When I have this baby,'' she points to her flattened abdomen, ''I'm going to be a better mother than you ever were!''

Mrs. Ellis fumes. ''You are not having this...'' She can't even say the word. ''You're not, do you hear me?''

''You can't tell me what to do. I won't let you dictate whether I abort a child or not. You're crazy.''

It's silent, but this time Kennedy's head is held up and her wild eyes stay fixed on her mother.

''Get out,'' Mrs. Ellis resorts to monotonously, as if she didn't even need to think twice about it, ''And don't come back.''

Without a second thought, Kennedy obeys. She walks out the door with nothing but the clothes on her back and a tiny piece of paper on which she scribbles her note to Harry on the back and retrieves to the school to place it on his desk.

''You think you'll have a life with him, but you won't, Kennedy! You'll ruin him just the same!'' She remembers her mother's final words as she sprints down the driveway and doesn't think much of them until she spots him approaching her in the field. How he drops his school bag full of books carelessly to the ground just to hold her. How the fright is written all over his face as he pleads with her to tell her what's happened.

Her mother's words repeat in her mind over and over. She can't silence them because they're true. She knows what Harry would do if he knew. She knows how quickly he'd drop everything for her. She can't be responsible for his life falling to pieces. She can't have her mother be right yet again.

And so when his arms are wrapped tightly around her and he's frantic with desire for her to tell him why she hasn't been in school for weeks, she lies.




Her eyes open in slits at first, unable to bear the brightness around her until her vision properly adjusts. Everything looks white and blurred. She can't decipher where she is or why she's here or what happened to put her in this state of confusion. Her muscles lag and she can't move them. She can't feel any type of sensation whatsoever below her neck. But slowly, she's regaining feeling as her eyes continue to widen and the images before her sharpen.

The first thing she can see is a collection of black lines, most of them perpendicular to each other, some of them parallel. There's uniformity in them. They create a pattern. The more she stares at them, the more she recognizes that they're on a flat plane and she's looking up towards them rather than straight ahead.

A ceiling.

Slowly, she attempts to turn her head with the help of her stiff neck. It's not easy. Gushes of blood are pumping and nerve endings are throbbing inside her brain. But she's successful once she turns and sees a machine similar to that of the one back at her flat. Minute by minute, she regains her hearing, and the soft beeping only confirms her assumptions.

She screams at herself in her mind. What the hell have you done this time?

''Kennedy, thank God!''

A high-pitched, familiar voice sounds and it makes the corners of her brain pound. But comforting arms wrap around her and soothe the pain. She knows they belong to Gemma by the scent of her perfume and the feeling of her soft hair against her cheek.

''You're an idiot, you know that? I can't believe you.''

Her words are meant to insult, but the way she says them tells Kennedy that she's been crying and she's actually grateful that everything is okay. Or at least that's what she believes.

Kennedy squints her eyes to bring Gemma's reddened face into focus. Her eyes are watering and the stress lines along her forehead are more prominent than ever.

Trying to speak comes a bit more difficult than reacquiring her other senses, but the first word that comes from her rough, course voice is the most important.

''Addie?''

''She's fine,'' Gemma rushes to assure her, ''She's okay, I've been with her. She woke up and asked for you, but I told her you're coming soon. She was upset about it though, so don't you dare do this again, do you hear me? God, you scared me so much. You overdosed! You're really lucky to be alive, you know that? God, you crazy, silly, lunatic girl.''

Kennedy can almost smile at how obvious it is that Gemma loves her.

''Is she...feeling okay?'' she asks softly. The back of her throat aches.

Gemma nods. ''She's been good. Very good, actually. I've been...We've been taking turns between you two.''

Her eyes are unreadable and Kennedy creases her eyebrows together at the amendment of her sentence. With the gentle clearing of her throat, Gemma rises from her seat on the side of the bed and lets the sight explain her words.

Kennedy's breath would hitch if it wasn't already so shallow. He's standing a distance away, leaning against the door hinge with his arms crossed over his chest and an ambiguous look in his eyes as he stares her down. He looks bleaker but otherwise unchanged, and suddenly Kennedy's heart is beating so fast that not even the machines can keep up.