5. All The Things That Make You Panic

Author's Note: I have to thank lynniern, tragedianmaeve, and Cecily who PMed/emailed me with medical options for Lizzie. I rewrote this chapter about three times because they gave me so many different options and I just couldn't decide lol. My infinite gratitude to them.

And everyone that's reviewed. Holy cow, you guys are awesome. I appreciate all your questions and comments.

Also thanks to my beta Lizzy, who's a bit of an airhead (her words, not mine!), but she finds a bunch of my run on sentences and gives me all these new words to use lol. :]

Closer by everymonday

Chapter Five: All The Things That Make You Panic

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December 29; 9:24PM"I'm so sorry, Jane," Lizzie apologized again, trying to move to see the damage she'd done to her sister's shoes as she was cleaning them. The vehicle didn't smell sterile anymore, but she wasn't sure if it was an upgrade; she was still dizzy.

"It's fine, Lizzie, don't worry about it. We'll just have to pay Caroline back for these too," Jane replied.

"They were Caroline's?" Lizzie asked.

"Yes. I believe she got them for Christmas. We couldn't find mine, so Charlie handed me these."

"She's gonna be so upset," Lizzie said gleefully, smiling for the first time since they got in the ambulance.

Jane didn't reply. Instead, she felt her sister's hand on her forehead. "Lizzie, are you sure you're alright? You're sweating."

"Am I?" she asked. "I'm actually a bit cold."

Jane looked at her in alarm, but said nothing. Lizzie saw a paramedic join Jane. He wasn't very nice looking, but perhaps it was because of the frown he had on.

"Ma'am, are you feeling alright?"

Lizzie nodded, though it didn't help her dizziness. He put his fingers on her pulse, then announced, "Your pulse is worrying me. You're pale. You may be going into shock."

She opened her mouth to tell him she was fine except for the dizziness and the cold and the damn pain in her leg, but he put something over her mouth just as the vehicle came to a stop.

There were doctors waiting outside for them.

"Twenty-four year old female, injured in a car accident two days prior, injury to the head, sore right arm and shoulder, deep trauma to the right leg, possibly going into shock," the paramedic announced to the team of doctors.

Lizzie would have opened her mouth to yell at the paramedic, and tell him she wasn't going into shock, damn it, but then things went a little blurry, and she wasn't sure why. She squinted her eyes to try to see clearer, but it didn't help. Her head felt heavy. She stared up at the white ceiling of the room they'd taken her in. She found it odd that there were patchy red spots on the ceiling and squinted again to try to clear her vision. A few confused moments later, everything finally black.

December 29; 10:00PMLizzie woke up to hands all over her leg and her sister's pretty, worried face looking over her. She squinted, her eyes sensitive to the bright lights above her head. For a moment, she thought she was in her bed at home, and Jane was waking her up for school.

"Lizzie," Jane whispered, holding her right hand tightly. Lizzie tried to move her left arm to touch her sister, but found an IV attached to it. Everything came crashing back to her. The car accident, Charlie's house, Will Darcy, stitches, an ambulance…

Before she could ask, Jane said, "You're going straight into surgery, Lizzie."

"Surgery?" she croaked. Her throat felt hoarse.

"They're going to remove the stitches and-"

"What! I got them for nothing?"

"Not nothing, Lizzie," Jane replied soothingly. "They helped reduce the bleeding, but the doctors examined the muscle because Will told them he was worried about the way your leg was continuing to swell."

"Swell?" Lizzie repeated weakly.

Jane nodded.

"Don't leave me, Janie," Lizzie whispered, squeezing her sister's hand tightly.

Jane squeezed back. "I'll never leave you, Lizzie."

Lizzie nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. "Jane, did I pass out?"

"You went into shock for a few minutes. They sedated you when you woke up and gave you morphine."

"We're ready to go now, Miss Bennet."

Jane turned to the voice and nodded. Lizzie was surprised to see that it wasn't Will, but an older, even stuffier looking doctor with a white beard. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I'm Dr. Hale. We're going to be taking you into the operating room now. We'll take care of your leg and have you as good as new in no time," he said kindly.

She nodded. Jane walked with her as they carted her off to the operating room, but stopped at the door, whispering, "This is as far as I can go, Lizzie."

Lizzie felt tears finally fall, as her sister pried away her hand and stood still while the doctors took Lizzie the rest of the way. She couldn't help thinking that Jane had promised she wouldn't leave her.

December 29; 11:29PM"Miss Bennet. You had what is called ischemia, a shortage of the blood supply to an organ, which in this case was your calf muscle. The lack of oxygen and nutrients resulted in tissue damage. We had to remove a part of the lateral head of your gastrocnemius muscle, as well as a small part of your soleus because of the i-"

"Wait a minute. You removed parts of my calf muscle? You just took it out?" she interrupted, alarmed. Lizzie wondered for the hundredth time how it had come to this. How had a simple, innocent trip to eat resulted in her lying in a hospital bed, half an hour after an operation on her leg, with her favorite sister next to her? How had a night out with her favorite sister come to her family waiting outside of her hospital room? How had it come to this doctor telling her he removed parts of her very beloved, very necessary, leg?

Dr. Hale nodded. "Yes."

Lizzie waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. So she demanded, "Why?"

"We removed the dead tissue in your leg. You were at risk for infection and other complications if we let your dead tissue just sit there."

"You couldn't save it?" Lizzie asked. "Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

"Miss Bennet, the damage to your calf was beyond repair. We removed the dead tissue so that we could save the rest of your leg."

"But Will's been looking at my legs for the past two days. He didn't say anything about this," Lizzie argued.

"Dr. Darcy noticed swelling at some point, which is why he allowed you to postpone the stitches. By the time he did stitch up your leg, the swelling had gone down. He said you were losing blood at an alarming rate and sewing your leg up was your best chance of survival, so that's what he did."

"So, he chose to sew up my leg knowing that this could happen?"

"Wounds are a difficult subject," he explained carefully. "Certain wounds have to be closed within a few hours. Other wounds should be left open for up to twenty-four to prevent ischemia, so Dr. Darcy thought that with the swelling of your leg he observed, as well as your refusal of medical advice, it would be best to sew up your leg later, which is what he did."

"But I still have this ischemia thing," Lizzie countered.

"Yes, but you're not dead," the doctor said bluntly. "He stopped your leg from bleeding. Even though we still had to give you blood, you could have lost a lot more had you opted to forgo stitches altogether. You also are free of infection, which is amazing, considering everything your leg has gone through."

"But I'm without some calf muscles."

He nodded.

"How long will it take to heal?" she asked.

He hesitated. "Removing muscle is tricky. It's not done very often," he explained slowly. "The dead muscle we removed will never heal back."

"What?" Lizzie exclaimed as soon as he finished speaking. Never heal back. Never heal back. Oh god, oh god, oh god. She felt bile begin to rise in her throat, but swallowed it quickly. She shut her eyes. Never heal back. Her muscles would never. Heal. Back.

"Lizzie," Jane pleaded quietly.

Lizzie had forgotten Jane was even there. Jane squeezed her hand, but she ignored her sister and continued staring at Dr. Hale. "How can I dance when I'm missing parts of my muscle?"

"It is possible to work on your surrounding muscles to compensate for the loss of muscle in your calf, but I must warn you that this takes time. Your muscles may never perform the same way again."

"When can I start dancing again?"

Again, he hesitated. "You'll have to be immobile for a while, to give your muscles time to heal. The wound itself also needs to heal. Then you'll need to go through some physical therapy."

"When can I dance again?" Lizzie repeated.

"I would say you're looking at about a few months recovery time including physical therapy, before I'd be comfortable enough to let you dance."

"A few months?" Lizzie asked. She felt like he'd punched her in the gut. Months without dancing? She hadn't gone months without dancing since her parents' divorce and their move to New York, and that had been horrible! She quickly calculated it in her head. Her contract was up for renewal in February. Her manager and her mother had been talking about trying to get a higher salary, so there was an appointment to draft a new contract next month. How on earth would they be able to negotiate a higher salary when she was unfit to dance? Would they even want to renew her contract? They had to. She was Elizabeth Bennet, damn it. She was the highest paid principal dancer at NYCB. She sold out shows faster than any other ballet dancer had in decades. They had to renew her contract. They had to let her continue dancing.

"You're young and in good health. It is possible to heal well before the estimated time," he answered slowly, watching her warily. "However, there is also the subject of physical therapy and -"

"It's absolutely certain I'll need physical therapy?" Lizzie asked, interrupting him yet again. Her mind was racing. She could make a deal with NYCB to renew her contract, but pay her less. Or she could use her vacation days and sick days. She'd obviously stay out of the spring shows. She wouldn't be able to do any tours, but she could deal with all that as long as she still had a job, as long as they would still keep her. Anything, as long as she could still dance! Christmas was over, so the busy season was done. She would argue that they wouldn't need her as much. Plus, they had the summer break in June, where she wouldn't have to dance anyway.

"I would say yes, it's absolutely certain," he said, nodding. At her crestfallen look, he added, "But the amount of time you'll need to spend in physical therapy is all dependent on you. Your muscle will be weak, and it'll be a painful process. It really goes on a case-by-case basis. As I said before, you're in good health."

Lizzie chewed her nail, thinking. So all she had to do was let this stupid wound heal, do some physical therapy, and strengthen her muscle. That couldn't take long. She'd always been a fast learner. She'd be able to dance in no time; she was sure of it. All she had to do was convince NYCB that she was worth keeping. Then she could go back to living her fabulous life as a ballet dancer, doing what she loved most. Even if NYCB didn't renew her contract, it wouldn't be the end of the world. Once she got back to form, she'd audition for other companies and any one of them would accept her, right? Right.

At her lack of response, he added, "We decided not to close your would up. We've packed it and will have nurses continue to do dressing changes."

"So all you did was cut out my muscle," Lizzie muttered. She massaged her temples. Sure, she had her legs, but what good was that when she couldn't dance for months? "Thank you, doctor," she said quietly, hoping he'd understand that she was dismissing him.

"Please let me know if you have any other questions, Miss Bennet." He hastily exited the room without a backwards glance.

She looked at Jane when the door closed. Jane had tears in her eyes and she was biting her lip. "I'm so sorry, Lizzie," Jane whispered.

Lizzie squeezed her sister's hand and looked away. She refused to blame Jane for this. It wasn't anyone's fault this happened, not even Will's, though she wanted very much to blame him. It'd be so much easier to blame someone, but Lizzie knew it wouldn't do any good. She forced a smile on her lips and said, "It's not your fault, Janie."

"But Lizzie, I –"

"No, Jane," Lizzie said forcefully. "Don't blame yourself." Jane squeezed her hand back, and Lizzie saw that tears were falling from her sister's face. She couldn't deal with this right now. "Janie. I'm really beat. I'm going to try to get some sleep, okay? Can you make sure no one comes into my room? Oh... and please call Mary and get her to set up something tomorrow?"

Jane nodded. She kissed Lizzie's forehead before quietly getting up from the chair and turning out the light as she left.

Lizzie fell back onto her bed softly. She couldn't feel her leg. She wished she could feel pain because it might have taken her mind away from this gnawing, uneasy feeling in her stomach.

She lay in the bed, listening to the muffled sounds of the busy hospital outside of her room, staring at the ceiling, concentrating on what she would tell NYCB. The first tears fell unnoticed. It wasn't until she was sobbing so hard she almost couldn't breathe that Lizzie realized she was crying. She wiped her eyes and nose furiously with her hands, sniffling loudly. The tears kept coming, and Lizzie couldn't stop.

December 30; 1:02PMFor what felt like the millionth time in the past few days, Lizzie awoke to the sound of voices.

"She's been asleep for so long though," Lydia's voice was saying. "Can't I go back and talk to the boy I met outside?"

"Nice to know you care so much, Lydia," Lizzie said hoarsely. She tried clearing her throat. It was so dry. Before she could even ask, Jane thrust a glass of water in her face. Lizzie smiled at her sister gratefully and drank. She looked around the room and saw her four sisters staring back at her.

"Mary will be here in about an hour, Lizzie," Jane informed her.

Lizzie frowned. "I thought we were doing that meeting tomorrow."

"It is tomorrow, Lizzie," Jane said. "You've been asleep for fourteen hours. I'm going to call the nurse to bring you food. How's your leg?"

"How is William Darcy, Lizzie?" Lydia asked, giggling at the foot of Lizzie's bed.

Catie, her twin, nodded in agreement with Lydia. "That's way more important. He came in here earlier to check on you."

"He's so cute, Lizzie. Is he your boyfriend?" Lydia asked, eyes wide with curiosity and eagerness.

"A doctor, Lizzie. Mom will be so proud," Catie added.

"He looks positively yummy with his doctor coat thing," Lydia announced.

Lizzie felt the inevitable migraine coming on, the one that was always rearing its ugly head when she spent too much time in the twins' giggly, teenage presence.

"He's not my boyfriend," Lizzie corrected quietly. "I didn't know he came here."

"He works here," Lydia explained. "And what do you mean he's not your boyfriend? Don't you think he's yummy?"

"I'd tap that in a heartbeat," Catie agreed.

Lizzie slapped her free hand on her face and said, "Please don't ever say that again, Cat."

Jane giggled, hanging up the phone with the nurse. "Will did seem worried about you, Lizzie."

"Probably because he made me get stitches and gave me ischemia," she muttered.

"Isa-what?" Lydia asked.

"That sounds like an STD," Catie stage whispered to Lydia.

"Is stitches code name for-"

"Lydia!" Jane exclaimed, blushing.

"You two are ridiculous," Lizzie announced.

Jane nodded. "And it's not Will's fault, Lizzie."

"I know," she conceded. "But that's the only reason I can come up with."

"Charlie was by earlier," Jane said. "And Charlotte too."

Lizzie nodded. "Will Charlotte be back soon?"

"I think so. She went to work, and she said she'd stop by later this evening."

When a nurse came in with a tray of food for Lizzie, she realized how hungry she was. She began eating her chicken sandwich right away. "Anyone else come by?" she asked, covering her full mouth with her hand.

"Mom did," Lydia said.

"She had to go get some shampoo so she could wash your hair," Catie added.

She frowned. "What's wrong with my hair? Don't they have shampoo here?"

"Their cheap hospital shampoo won't get the sharpie color out of your hair," Lydia informed her, stealing a fry from her plate.

Lizzie picked a few strands of hair up for examination, remembering that boredom had led her to believe coloring her hair was a good idea. "Did mom freak?"

Catie nodded. "Will Darcy looked uncomfortable and left."

"She freaked out in front of Will?"

"Yes, he came in, and stood there for a few minutes. He read your chart. Then Mom came in and started freaking out, so he left."

Lizzie sighed. "Not like he thought very highly of me anyway."

"What do you mean?" Lydia asked.

"Nothing," she answered. She popped a few fries into her mouth, before handing Lydia the rest of them. "How long have you guys been here?"

"A few hours," Catie answered. "Jane's been here all night."

Lizzie took her sister's hand and gave her a grateful smile. "Did you have your head looked at?"

Jane nodded. "There's going to be a scar, but it's fine."

"Do you think it's going to hurt your modeling career, Jane?" Lydia asked.

Jane shook her head. "I called my agent, and she said I should be okay. They can airbrush it out."

Lizzie felt a rush of jealousy course through her. If only they could just airbrush her wound so she could dance again.

December 30; 2:23PM"I don't want a severance package, I want to keep my job!" Lizzie cried. She was in a positively awful mood. Her mother had come in and forced her to lie still as she washed the sharpie color out of her hair, none too gently either. While her mother scrubbed her hair, Lizzie was forced to listen to the latest gossip, mostly about how Charlie and Jane sent what they thought was inconspicuous glances at each other. Now her manager was telling her that NYCB was not only refusing to renew her contract, but they wanted to break ties now, not in a few months when her current contract actually ended.

Mary Holbrook, a dark haired woman in her late thirties nodded sympathetically. Mary was a quiet woman. She usually spoke only when spoken to. She wasn't very interesting, in Lizzie's opinion, but she knew how to make deals and get things done, which was exactly why Lizzie hired her.

"I understand that, Lizzie, but in your condition, NYCB sees no reason to continue paying you. They won't pay you if you can't dance."

"I'll only be out for a few months!" she argued. "I'm not asking to be paid while I'm out!"

"The contract we drafted last year specified that no other principal dancer would be given your lead roles in the spring ballet shows. You're promised at least one role be written specifically for you, Elizabeth Bennet, every season. They have to break the contract in order to hire someone to take your place," Mary explained quietly.

"Can't we just add a clause in there that says they can now? What about understudies? If I'd been injured during a rehearsal or performance, an understudy would have been able to take over. They can just act like that's what happened."

"It's not the same, Lizzie. If you had been injured during a performance or rehearsal, you would have still been paid for the time you gave, and they would have paid the understudy less than you. By breaking contract, they have full authority to promote a new dancer to principal, or hire a new one completely, to take your over your roles."

"Can't we refuse to break the contract?" Lizzie asked, grasping for straws.

"You know it doesn't work like that. If one party wants out, then the contract is obsolete."

"There has to be repercussions for that though! They're willing to deal with the fees and stuff involved in breaking contract?"

Mary nodded. "They're being very generous." Lizzie snorted. "They are, Lizzie. They're buying you out of your contract, not just paying fees for breaking the contract. You'll still get the amount you were supposed to, including the estimated percentage entitled to you from what you would have brought in through ticket sales from these shows. The severance package they're giving you is the same one they give to injured dancers that –"

"That they think will never dance again!" Lizzie interrupted.

Mary looked surprised. "Well, yes, Lizzie. That's the point, isn't it?"

"No!" Lizzie exclaimed, horrified. "I will dance again, Mary!"

"Lizzie," Mary said carefully. "You're missing muscles in your calf."

"The doctor said I can strengthen the remaining muscles."

"Yes, but is that enough?"

"Of course it's enough! I'll be good as new in no time!"

Mary nodded, but Lizzie had the distinct feeling she was doing it to humor her. "Okay, Lizzie, but, you must understand, NYCB doesn't believe it's going to be possible. I mean, you're not going to be dancing for months. Your doctor said possibly a year."

"What? No, he just said a few months."

"A few months for you to heal, but then you have to retrain your muscles," Mary reminded her.

Lizzie hadn't though about that. It had taken her years to train and become a principal dancer. How long would it take to retrain? Her lip began quivering, and she felt hot tears build behind her eyes.

"It's okay, Lizzie," Mary assured her quickly. "Like I said, you've got enough money to not have to work for a while, years probably, depending on your spending habits. There's nothing to be worried about."

"I'm not worried about money," Lizzie whispered.

"It's perfectly fine if you are, Lizzie. I'm just saying you don't have to be beca-"

"I'm not," she bit out. "Worried about money, Mary. I'm worried about dancing."

"But you won't be dancing for a while, Lizzie."

"Yes, exactly," Lizzie muttered. "I won't be able to dance for God knows how long."

Mary frowned, confused. "But you won't have to. Money's taken care of."

"I don't care about money!" Lizzie yelled. "You think I dance for money?"

The older woman winced at Lizzie's harsh tone, and she almost felt bad. However, Lizzie couldn't bring herself to feel anything except loss. She'd lost her ability to dance. Just for the time being, Lizzie reminded herself. It may take a few months, maybe even a year like they were saying, but she would dance again. She'd show them all how wrong they were.

"I'm sorry," Mary said after a pregnant pause.

"Just get out. We're done here," she said with a tone of quiet finality.

"I-I," Mary began tentatively. "I need you to sign some papers... about the severance."

"Fine," she said, defeated. She signed a few papers, unshed tears blurring her vision slightly. "Don't announce this," she said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, Lizzie," Mary said obediently. "What should I tell the press if they ask? They already know you were in an accident and that you're in the hospital."

"That's all they need to know."

"NYCB might say something," Mary reminded.

"They can say whatever the hell they want," Lizzie said viciously. "I am no longer tied to them."

"I'm sorry, Lizzie," Mary tried.

Lizzie wiped her eyes. "Don't be. I'll be dancing again soon. Then they'll be sorry they ever tried to break contract. They'll be sorry when I sign with another company."

Mary nodded and smiled. Lizzie knew she didn't believe her, but she was glad Mary didn't say it out loud.

"I'll be in touch, Lizzie," Mary promised.

Lizzie watched her leave the room with a scowl. When Mary finally shut the door behind her with a soft click, Lizzie leaned over her bed and vomited.

December 30; 3:12PMLizzie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand again, cringing at the smell that was now permeating in the air. She was waiting for a nurse to come in to help her up so she could brush her teeth and for someone to come clean up the mess. That's twice in twenty-four hours, she thought to herself. They're going to start thinking you're bulimic.

She looked up when she heard the door open. Instead of a nurse, she saw a very handsome man with golden brown curls and a killer smile. "Hey, I'm here to clean up vomit?"

Lizzie blushed and nodded. Of course, they'd send a hot guy to come clean up her vomit. That's exactly how she wanted to make acquaintances after all. "Sorry," she apologized as he approached the mess. She was suddenly very glad that her mother washed the color out of her hair and brushed it for her.

He shrugged. "Don't worry about it. You're sick; it's your job to make a mess. It's mine to clean it up."

She laughed. She noticed he had blue eyes. She'd always been a sucker for blue eyes, and his were bright like Jane's. "I'm Lizzie," she said tentatively, very aware that she had vomit breath.

"George Wickham," he returned, offering his hand. She hesitated, as she had just wiped vomit off her face with her own hand. At her hesitation, he said, "Don't worry, my hand's clean. I actually just clocked in about ten minutes ago before they told me to come here."

"Mine isn't," she confessed.

George chuckled. "Alright then. I'll just have to shake your hand some other time."

She smiled at him. "Sure."

"So what are you in for?" he asked as he cleaned. "Besides that lovely leg of yours."

Lizzie looked at her leg, glad that the nurse had changed the dressings when she brought lunch. It wasn't so bloody and gross. Well, still gross. It would always be gross, Lizzie decided sadly. "Just for the leg, I'm afraid." That was mostly true. Her head wound was really just a small cut. It didn't even need bandaging and her hair covered it nicely.

"Sucks," George commented from his crouched position on the ground. "What'd you do?"

"Car accident," she replied, choosing to look ahead, rather than watch him clean up.

He let out a low whistle "Hell of a crash."

She snorted. "You're telling me."

He straightened up and smiled at her. "All finished here."

"Already?" she asked sadly.

He nodded. "Afraid so."

She sighed dramatically. "Alright then."

"Now, I know you want to see me again, Lizzie, but please don't vomit again. You can simply knock over some food or spill your drink."

She laughed, realizing he was flirting with her. "Or you could just come by when you're free. I won't even make you clean anything."

"You shouldn't say that, Lizzie. Then I might never leave. You'll get tired of me."

"Oh, I doubt that," she murmured, losing herself in his gorgeous blue eyes for a moment.