If you asked Allana now how many days Kon had been unconscious she would have stared back in mute confusion, mind working sluggishly as if trying to convert a foreign language into English. Time had stopped being divided by days alarmingly quickly and taken on the static quality of waiting, of a breath being drawn in and in and in until you were sure you would burst but just never seemed able. She came and went from the infirmary and the house in the country, orbiting back and forth between her unconscious boyfriend and what remained of the last member of the group of friends that had once sat in a living room, drunk and giddy and unable to really believe any of this war would touch them, in a spurt teenage-thinking that was a luxury they didn’t know they couldn’t afford back then. Sometimes Clark was there when she arrived at Kon’s bedside again, sometimes not, but either way she knew he was listening even when he was gone and that Doctor Tam, for all his social clumsiness, was doing everything he could. All there was to do was wait. “The worst feeling in the world” Clark had called it. She was starting to agree, except she knew there was worse. Worse was always hovering just behind Dr. Tam’s shoulder, silently nodding on when the man said for what felt like the hundredth time that he had no idea what was causing Kon’s deterioration or whether it would get worse.
This time she’d settled in on the plastic chair silently, having given up a couple visits ago on trying to threaten Kon out of his coma. “Though,” she informed him, apparently not quite ready to give up entirely on simply talking at him until he woke up just to make fun of her, “you should count yourself very lucky that I am apparently not allowed to draw on your face with markers. I mean, really, I think if someone passes out on your bed and scares you half to death for multiple days you should get to draw on their face. That seems fair doesn’t it? Stay completely silent if you agree with me.” There was a long pause, broken only by the rhythmic beeps and drips as the various tubes and wires Kon had been hooked up to for monitoring continued on with their work. “Well,” Allana said after a moment, “that wasn’t really the reaction I was hoping for, actually.”
She sighed and drew her legs in towards her chest, feet balancing on the edge of the chair, and forehead resting on the tops of her knees. Her eyes closed almost of their own accord as she settled in for the few hours her family had said they could watch Ava. The routine had become so engrained so quickly that even as she sat in the infirmary she was already trying to plan the next time she could get away to come back, assuming resignedly that there would be a next time that—Her thoughts ground slowly to a halt and she lifted her head. One of the machines had begun to beep softly and rapidly, a new and startling configuration of indecipherable electronic noises, and she let her feet thud off the chair and onto the floor as she leaned forward uncertainly. What if that means he’s getting worse? What if-- and then she saw, or thought she saw, his hand twitch slightly.
“Kon?” she was too startled to properly cover up her concern with the usual bravado-masquerading-as-irritation and her voice was high and more anxious, almost afraid, than she would have been comfortable with if she wasn’t so busy looking quickly back and forth from her boyfriend to the monitors, as if she would suddenly, spontaneously begin to understand them.