Xanadu Weyr - Infirmary
The infirmary here is intended for human care. It is regularly scrubbed spotless and smells of disinfectant, redwort and other herbs that are - if sometimes strong - preferable to the scents of sickness. Cots are lined up against one wall, with a set of curtains that can be pulled to give some privacy to the occupants of the cots if they so desire. They're mostly used for examinations of patients and the treatment of mild injuries that won't require long term care; near the back are some more private areas with folding dividers.
There's a number of cabinets that stand off against another wall, instruments and medications stored against when they will be needed, and a back room holds those supplies seldom required.
A desk with chair is set just off of the doorway to the caverns, meant for the healer to sit and catch up on record keeping after a long day's work or await patients. If things get too busy, the patients can do the waiting on a set of uncomfortable chairs set nearby. The other doorway comes directly from the clearing, wide enough for a team to carry a stretcher through.

If pressed, Bethari would probably find it difficult to supply exactly what day it is and which month, such is the nature of her stay in the infirmary, sleep begetting only more sleep and the days blurring into one with varying degrees of pain one incredibly unpleasant way of tracking time. She's taken to begging, pleading and bribing people to bring her books, the rate at which she runs through them something that has left literature of varying descriptions piling up on every available surface near her bed. Perhaps she's read all of the books that surround her, for she's managed to get someone to bring her something else this afternoon, a basket of wires and tools sat by her left knee, where accidentally brushing against it is unlikely to cause her pain. Though she lies with her eyes closed, pillows propping her up just enough, the fingers of her left hand move along a coiled strand of wires, tiny bulbs reached for and plugged into tiny sockets at every certain interval.

Blurred days are not an affliction suffered only by those unlucky infirmary bound few - they're a congealed mess of time and things that come for everybody even if the degree of time lost varies greatly from person to person. What it means is that Risali wasn't able to come see Bethari as soon as she would have liked, but she is here now, still leaning on her crutch albeit slightly less dependently as she moves. It's a little hard to be quiet, what with affected steps and the protest of her crutch every time she moves, but she tries to be quiet enough. And she comes bearing gifts, one hand holding a plate with a napkin draped over the top to protect Soriana-made zucchini bread, balanced precariously on what looks to be a book. But Risali hesitates when she sees Bethari at rest, hesitates when she sees Bethari and then moves a little closer. That plate is set down with a careful quiet meant not to disturb, that book is propped beside it, and the Weyrwoman hesitates a moment more before speaking on a hushed whisper. "What are you making?" But her eyes are not on that creation in question, they're on Bethari's face, as if waiting for a command to go, or an invitation to stay.

Bethari's eyes don't blink open until she hears Risali's voice, such is the extent that she's made herself adapt to tuning out all kinds of sounds while in an environment over which she has no control, her fingers pausing as her pale gaze gradually finds focus after a further blink or two and settles on her fellow queenrider. There's very little in her expression that's readable in that moment, beyond that sleepy distance that she makes effort to put behind her, and perhaps today is one of those days when she speaks not a single word, until she takes a deep breath and utters, "Lights," her voice roughed from a combination of disuse and hurting. "…They'll make a constellation." Eventually. They don't look like anything but the barest of basics right now. Her right side won't work, so, with the left occupied with wire and bulbs, she has to find her words again, murmuring, "Stay?" With a slight tilt of her head, plate and book shift into view, further syllables grasped for in the form of, "Thank you."

Risali's smile is quiet in receipt of Bethari's thanks, and she moves — slowly, careful and slightly off balance, to pull a chair closer to the older queenrider's bed and stay. For now, anyway. Her crutch is leaned against the arm of her chair, and it's only after a long pause that Risali speaks a soft, "Look at us." But that smile is genuine, even if the humor is half-felt. They are a mess — all of them. And then, softer, that humor leaving in a pull of lips and an inward knit of brows. Risali hesitates on words her lips are already forming, and then she exhales. "Thank you." Her eyes are not suspiciously wet, Bethari. That would be absolutely preposterous, and even if they were, she's not acknowledging that congregation of tears making it hard to see. "Soriana made the bread, and the book, I…" A hesitation. "I heard you liked romance? It's… one in a series. But there is time travel in it." A flicker of a smile at her lips that wavers under emotions she's doing her best to ignore. "It's one of my favorites." One, two, three, and then Risali gestures to the eventually-constellation work in her hands. "Is it going to be any constellation in particular?"

According to some of the Healers, all Bethari has done since arriving in the infirmary is let things fall on the floor, or dropped them on the floor, or pushed them, and that's what she does now, the small basket of wires and so on flipped closed and given a nudge that sends it tumbling off the side of her bed and to the ground, where it mercifully doesn't break open and spill out its contents. There aren't so many of those little bulbs left roaming free that they are not easily shoved under one of her many pillows, wire drawn up to sit on her chest while she inches across the bed and makes what space she can, reaching for Risali with her left hand. "Here," she says softly, fingers waving the tiniest bit as she stretches and reaches, nudging with her good shoulder to free up some pillow too. "Here," she repeats, leaving what else she might make by way of response until she is reached for or denied.

As soon as that basket goes over the side of the bed, Risali is leaning forward to try and catch it - but too late. It hits the floor. That doesn't stop the Weyrwoman from gathering it in her hands while Bethari shoves bulbs under her pillow, even if Bethari's request stills Risali in her upward ascent and has the goldrider blinking grey eyes (and tears) once, twice, as her focus goes to Bethari's hands, to that space being made for her, to Bethari's face. And Risali's lips come together, her gaze dropping under the guise of caution as she carefully maneuvers to her feet and sets that basket down on her now-abandoned chair. "I don't want to hurt you," Risali whispers, but it's not a no. She climbs in as slowly and as carefully as she can - mindful of her own foot that, while not as tender as it was, is still prone to jarring pain; mindful of Bethari, whose entire body has Risali unsure of where to touch. But this time, THIS TIME, RISA GETS TO BE THE BIG SPOON, THARI. At least, she tries, shifting so that it's her hands in Bethari's hair this time, so that it's her arm coming behind Bethari and leaving Risa sitting just slightly higher on the bed. And, assuming that it's all safe to do and Thari doesn't thwart her efforts, Risali will press her cheek to the top of Bethari's head and stay there, in that quasi-hug. Now you can't confirm if she's crying or not. Hugs are, after all, just a very clever way to hide your face. "Is this okay?"

Bethari does her very best to simultaneously not hurt Risali and not settle against her in any way that might cause herself pain that she might betray, moving little by little here and there until they're both still and comfortable and she can give the slightest of nods and make a soft sound that is less 'yes' than simply an affirmative noise. "I do like romance. And time travel." It may have no place in that exact moment, yet she cannot forget, nor set aside another gentle, "Thank you." The quiet possesses her for a good minute and more before she takes a deeper breath and shrugs it off, stepping off the proverbial pier. "…I'm sorry," she murmurs, the effort behind it not a big thing; the words not wrenched from her in some great, reluctant, attempt at making amends, how she feels only quietly offered as it is. "I was frightened. Calisi… she tried to do everything and all sorts and then she was sick. I let it get too far. I should've stopped her sooner. But it was too late by the time I did it." She may be unable to elaborate, her statements stilted and stunted, but she tries, her words on the slower side of measured. "I was frightened," she says again. "I failed her. I could've failed you. I did fail you. I thought it'd be easier if we were nothing to each other. K'vir too. You wouldn't feel… obligated."

Two words, two words that come and leave Risali going stiff against where she rests beside Bethari. But Risali doesn't cut Bethari off, or run away; no, Risali listens, absorbs those words and explanations in silence, seems to grow more tense instead of less with every word spoken but… not angry. NEVER TRUST A HUG, THARI. It means you can't see what people are thinking. It takes probably too long for Risali to answer her, but her answer comes with the burden of too much emotion in her voice. And maybe that's what took Risali so long; maybe she needed a moment to gather herself. "We don't have to do this, Bethari," Risali answers, soft and broken but steady. "Not right now, not ever." A beat, as Risali gives herself time to gather more words because she's bad at them - to explain what she means so that Bethari is not left assuming her apology and reasons are being dismissed. "What you said, what I said… It doesn't matter anymore - and I don't think that you need to apologize for… how you feel, or how you felt." The Weyrwoman grapples with herself for a moment, tries to find more words that make more sense and - "You didn't fail me. You didn't fail Calisi, either. I think… I think that we both have to learn how to let go." And there's a soft laugh, laden though it is with what sounds suspiciously like more tears. "But I am angry. I'm angry because it should be me in this bed, Bethari. Not you." A breath. "Because even though I know that D'lei made the right choice, that you were the right choice, you're here because I couldn't be there." And here's another breathy laugh, an attempt at humor to shake off those admittances of guilt. "Can you imagine Leirith trying to be subtle?" Neither can she, but she lets the image sink in for a moment before she continues, more somber, tone still soft. "And I'm sorry that you're hurt. I'm sorry that I'm sorry even." And for a moment, silence. "You've never been an obligation." Those fingers run through Bethari's hair again, perhaps a distraction for Risa when she continues with, "Kyzen loves you. I love that Kyzen loves you - that you both make each other happy. Or… I hope that you do. I don't want you to leave, Bethari, and to be honest… I don't care if you hate me, either." Because it won't change anything; because Risali will still sacrifice where she needs to, for whoever she needs to. "And anyway, I already told you: there's no such thing as obligation when you care about somebody." One, two, three, and… "You should rest." And not think about these things.

If nothing else, Bethari gathers enough of herself back together again to try and dig her heels in, insisting, "We do," in a voice that's barely audible and impacted by the same rough edges as before, yet the anger and fear that gave her her words back readily for a handful of days is so far gone now that she's not only content to listen, but her thoughts have no chance of surfacing beyond her mind with enough speed to allow her to attempt to argue if she wished to. "…I think you're already beaten up enough," is a dry observation made when everything in her head stills for long enough for words to come out in the right order. "Be angry at the renegades. Not you. They hurt you and me and a lot of people. What any of us do to combat them is our own choice. Even if they make it a necessity. Be angry at them." Carefully and slowly, she turns her head, meaning to look up at Risali without pulling too hard at her bad shoulder. To lift even her free hand would be an awkward motion that would invite pain, so it's a funny little nudge of her nose against the line of her jaw that she aims for, affectionate even in its oddness. "We're different people. And we're too the same. Maybe we hate ourselves. Maybe that's why we'll hate each other sometimes." She lowers her head, glancing down as she murmurs, "But it doesn't mean I can't love you too." It's not to be evasive that she looks away, but perhaps because she is matter of fact about it, no matter what response she garners. And also because it's suddenly so easy to sleep again, the exhaustion of trying to ignore pain that cannot be completely dulled for the sake of her child one that comes in unpredictable cycles.

But for all that Bethari says, and for all that Risali listens, the queenrider only has two words, softly spoken, at the end of it all: “I know.” Noses against the line of her jaw elicit a soft huff of what might have been laughter – affectionate in its quiet, abrupt, short-lived duration. And then Risali is pressing her lips into Thari’s temple. “Rest.” And while Bethari drifts to sleep, Risali will remain until the healers pull her away, or duty beckons, or motherhood can no longer be put on hold. But she does stay, and she leaves behind a little piece of herself when she goes.

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