Narrative and a Phone Call - Evie S. Then Shane A. Who: Evie - then a phone call to Shane What: Clinic visit then a phone call! Where: East End When:A few hours after this Warnings: Evie's got a few owies but there's no great detail.
If you had not have fallen, then I would not have found you. Angel flying too close to the ground.
The clinic was on the East End, three blocks away from exactly where 47 dollars in cab fare (including tip apparently, thank you scumbag taxi driver) wound her up. She had handed the money over immediately upon getting into the taxi, asked to go to a clinic or hospital. And twenty five minutes later, as soon as the meter hit $40.00 exactly he pulled over and told her that there was a clinic for working girls up the street. Three blocks. Had she been more herself she'd have lost it at him, but she didn't want to fight anymore. With anyone.
So she had made the walk to the clinic, was told to check her gun, sign in, and no one even looked twice at her haggard appearance. Sitting in the waiting room were women, some men, the most unsavory types people could imagine, but Evie wasn't afraid of them. It wasn't that she felt she had any right counting herself among them because she was poor and unwashed, or because she had a tragic past. No, that wasn't enough to claim a lifestyle she didn't have to. She claimed her own situation, and she had been in these clinics before. On the other side of the walls, with the pens and paperwork. She'd been in the shelters and sat with people in courtrooms just because they'd asked her to.
So no. She wasn't afraid, not when they cussed at each other and asked her what happened to her, not when they threatened to fight and a big security guard rolled his eyes and stood between the two women but let them keep fighting. Every now and again turning to side eye whichever woman he was deciding to take the side of. And it varied depending on atrocity committed.
Evie's phone had come back to life, as good as new, sometime earlier. She had access to the journals, and while she didn't need to see Clementine's post to know that no one was looking for, it was the brief glimpse of it that she'd caught - she was embarrassed at the problems she had caused, and she'd called for help getting a taxi. As easy as that.
Though she hadn't counted on the woman knowing Shane, and when her phone pinged a little noise letting her know she had a message she went to the network and had a look. She almost hadn't responded. Not wanting to sound too crazy, not wanting to talk to anyone really. Wanting everyone to forget about her, but at the same time so terrified that they would it made her stomach turn and she leaned her head back against the wall behind her and closed her eyes tightly while she hummed a song to herself, an old soothing song and she tuned out the world around her the voices and laughter mixed with hacking sickness and crying babies faded away almost like she was floating in water. Warm soothing water that lapped at her skin and enveloped her in soft good touches. Coping mechanisms came easy to her. Escaping was a trick of the trade of a bad childhood. It was something she had grown and healed out of, but the past weeks.
And I patched up your broken wing And hung around a while. Trying to keep your spirits up And your fever down.
The past weeks had put the mind of a terrified girl into the body of a sad, lonely, mother. The two fought constantly in her mind, the woman and the child. The child wondering why she hadn't gotten better, she'd promised to get better. The woman apologizing and trying. She had tried. She'd grieved, just like she was supposed to. She'd been strong despite the loss. But piling everything on top of the loss, and the continued fear of being alone forever. She didn't feel a need to fall in love. She didn't feel a need for sex, or a wedding. She felt a need for a connection with another human being. One that she was almost hungry for, but no one was looking for the same. Which she couldn't blame them for. Not when pain existed concurrently with connections.
She wanted to shut it out too, wanted not to need it, wanted not to need someone to hear her. She didn't want to need anything. She had wanted to survive this. Survive all of this. But surviving wasn't enough, she'd known it for some time now. And despite how alive she'd felt in that door she knew it had chipped away at her until she really was the worst version of herself. The little girl all grown up without having healed. She had settled there, and it was uncomfortable and frightening. Her father wasn't there, Will wasn't there, and when he had been.
Most recently when he had been he had been the one doing the chipping. He had everything stripped away before he'd found her there. He was the worst version of himself come to uncover the worst version of her and then set her loose on the world.
I knew someday that you would fly away For love's the greatest healer to be found Leave me if you need to I will still remember Angel flying too close to the ground.
She answered Shane after a while. Two patients had come out, one had gone back. The babies were crying again, but the women were done shouting, and the door bell rang every five minutes or so. Emergencies pushing other cases aside. She thought she could get seen if she cried emergency on account of her leg wound. But she didn't mind, she'd tied it up as best she could. The crying babies could go first. They wouldn't let her bleed out in the waiting room. They had brought her a little paper cup filled with water at the first emotional breakdown. And a second one just before she decided to respond to Shane.
The conversation had been okay. But he didn't have Daisy. Her mind kept trying to reassure her that she was with Luke and Wren, but that wasn't possible. She knew it wasn't. They were the only ones who SHOULD have her, but she knew they COULDN'T.
Evie tucked her phone into her pocket after she told Shane she would find a place to recuperate. The sensible thing would be to just go home. She had a bed, she had a shower, there was some food in the freezer. But being in the house alone with no Daisy was the last thing she wanted, and she couldn't go get Daisy like this. She wanted all the bad memories of Will gone, his angry face that Daisy wore in such a cute way, Evie was terrified she'd see it in a whole new light. She couldn't be so far gone and look after her daughter. If there was one thing she had learned - like it or not - they were all the other had in the world and they'd need to do their best. It wouldn't be good enough, but that wasn't to say that it would be all terrible. She wouldn't get her killed. She wouldn't. She didn't even know where she was.
She squirmed a bit in her seat, trying to fold in on herself as she felt her chest tighten up and her eyes become red rimmed with tears. The clinic was busy, full, and the only place in Gotham City that she was sure actually asked her to check her weapon. Her gun wasn't loaded, but she'd handed it over just the same. The clinic smelled clean, and was clean, but old. The wallpaper wasn't perfect, but there were some renovations happening thanks to an anonymous Christmas donation, so there were also some 'Excuse our dust,' signs.
The excuse our dust signs were the last things Evie saw before her eyes closed on their own.
Fly home, fly home past the speed of sound I'd rather see you up than see you down. Leave me if you need to I will still remember Angel flying too close to the ground.
Her mind wandered while she slept, she didn't know how long she slept but she knew when the screaming pain of Will's death and the screaming fear from her baby's lungs filled her ears that it was time to wake up, and she jerked herself awake, scaring the person sitting in the chair next to her. She couldn't have been out for long.
"Evangeline?" was the next noise she heard and she jerked her head toward the door. A woman, young, a teenager, in scrubs, was standing in the doorway holding a clipboard. "Come on back, do you need help?" she asked, smile warm and understanding for someone so young. She was no stranger to this place.
Evie saw two doctors, and two nurses, nurses who held her hand while jagged gashes were stitched, while dirt and pebbles were flushed from wounds. More than once they asked her to go to the hospital to have the muscle damage in her calf looked at. Where he'd clawed at her and bit her. She'd blamed a dog. Then claimed to have already had the pound come and take the dog so no one would be on the lookout and kill the first barking dog they saw. No, she wasn't having that. They took a medical history, they didn't bat an eye at the bad parts. They congratulated her on being a mom. She hadn't noticed, but they were all women working here, save the security guard. And she liked that.
They didn't believe a word she said about her injuries, but three hours later, she had stitches and bandages on all of her appendages. Legs, hands, arms. She was bruised, her head even had stitches. They'd rinsed her hair, and cleaned her up. She looked even worse if that were possible. Hair rinsed, but unwashed sticking up every which way. She was underweight by about five pounds (baby weight and then some gone), one of the nurses let her "borrow" her yoga leggings, a tee shirt, some socks and sneakers. And they folded her filthy clothes up and put them in a plastic bag for her.
They gave her a printout of where to find women crisis shelters, told her they could make the calls for her, give her a ride, get someone to pick her up. But she declined. She didn't want to take up a bed for someone who really needed it. She had a bed, she could go there. She could. But she knew she wasn't ready, but her not being ready didn't mean she was going to take a bed from someone else. Not in a city like this where people everywhere were in need of kindness and hope. And for some people a warm bed would fulfill that for at least a little while.
When the receptionist came to ask about insurance and payment, Evie didn't miss the subtle nod from one of the doctors that ended the conversation. She couldn't pay, she knew she couldn't - but she made a note to pay back. Whatever it was, however long it took. Just the same with Clementine's 20 dollars. And the 27 she'd robbed from the kids who laughably tried to rob her sorry looking self.
And the rent she owed Charles.
And everything. Everyone would have to get paid back.
She knew thinking about that wasn't going to help. Trudging down the street, with her soiled clothes and unloaded gun in a plastic grocery bag someone had brought their dinner in, wearing "borrowed" work out clothes, and a "borrowed" winter coat. Sneakers a couple sizes too big so three pairs of "borrowed" socks. She limped down the street toward the train platform, stopping momentarily to look inside the weirdly lit pawn shop with "we buy weapons" handwritten on a cardboard sign in the window.
It didn't take long, less time than she would have expected, and much less time than she would have been comfortable with on a normal day to sell the gun for less than half of what it was worth. But she had 180 bucks in her pocket, and that would do something. So she continued on toward the platform stop.
She didn't know where she was going, she knew her way around the city just fine, she'd been here before. So she bought an all day all trains ticket. 36 dollars. Gone. Fuck.
But she had nowhere to go so she didn't imagine spending money on the train it would be alright, and as dangerous as the train was, it was warm. She wouldn't fall asleep. She'd call Shane before she got too far away and make sure he would drop Daisy off. No. He didn't have Daisy.
She didn't know who had Daisy. She sat down on the first train that arrived on the platform. Against a wall with a window that reflected instead of stared out. She was looking into the dirty face of a girl with ratty blonde hair and a torn pretty dress and the same injuries Evie had on her own face. Shit. She stood up abruptly and walked to the back of the empty car as it rattled along the track jerking and making her nauseas as she moved to sit in a chair without a window.
It was another hour of circling the city, trying not to fall asleep, kicking at delinquents, before she let the smarter side of herself admit that she needed to call someone. She couldn't fall asleep on the Gotham City train, looking like a wounded animal, carrying 144 dollars and a train ticket, and a set of bloody clothes. No. She could not do that. She pulled out her phone again.
Leave me if you need to I will still remember Angel flying too close to the ground.