There were sounds. Dulled, far away. Pinpricks of light. Voices? They were annoying. She wanted them to go away, but they wouldn't. So she did instead.

She retreated into that warmth, that dark blanket of no conscious thought. She was safe there for now. There wasn't any pain or voices that sent shards of glass through her head. She liked it there. She got bored.

Even though it meant returning to the world of bright lights and sounds that made her feel like she was going to implode, Nakhett struggled to open her eyes. As a small blessing, it appeared to be night time. It was several moments before she realized she wasn't in her bed and the previous events came back in a rush. The two suited men. The man they had murdered. Her own brush with death.

She remembered sirens, had the cops saved her? Why hadn't she shared that poor man's fate? It was hard to focus, to think clearly. The beeping of the monitors she was hooked up to weren't helping, and she rubbed her temples in irritation. Someone must have found her and taken her to the hospital.

"Oh good, you're awake," came a soft voice from the other end of her room.

It was a pretty nurse who had been passing by in the dimmed hallway.

"We're so glad you pulled through, you had quite a concussion and some hairline fractures."

The nurse tapped her chin in thought.

"A bruised trachea as well if I remember correctly. You're made of sturdy stuff, Miss Aldricks. I'll get Dr. Chambers to check in in a minute. Try to keep those eyes open!"

Nakhett grumbled in response to her surname. She'd never much liked it. She couldn't even give a reason why, she had just always hated it when people used it. She loved her given name, she thought it sounded like some ancient Egyptian princess. Then Aldricks hung on like some ugly sweater. Feh.

It turned out Dr. Chambers was rather punctual. It was probably only a minute and some spare seconds before an nice-looking older gentleman with a salt-and-pepper beard strode into the room, toting a clipboard.

"Ah, Miss Aldricks," he began, lifting half-moon spectacles to the bridge of his nose.

"Nakhett," the patient in question corrected automatically.

"Yes, well. It's wonderful to see you in the world of the living again. I must ask, did you get into a fight with a jackhammer and a bulldozer at the same time?"

The redheaded woman smirked.

"Not so far off as you might think, Doc," she answered wryly. "You're lucky I appreciate your brand of bedside manner."

"Hah, indeed," Chambers chuckled. "Well we've gotten your swelling under control and cleaned up some of those nastier cuts and bumps. Our main concern was that concussion of yours. How's the head? Any lapses in time, anything you think you should know but can't quite put a finger on?"

"No, it's a little hard to focus but it's getting easier," Nakhett admitted, reaching up to touch the soft gauze wrapped swaddling the crown of her head.

"Perfect, we'll make sure to set you up with a round of painkillers that should carry you through the recovery process but we can't have you sleeping all the time just yet. Short naps at best. I guess that leaves two remaining points of interest: do you have a friend or family member who can monitor your condition for a few days after release, and would you please stop by the precinct once you're up and about again? The officer who brought you in was quite determined to get details about your attacker."

So it had been the cops who'd rescued her. Talk about her tax dollars at work.

"I'm sure I can find someone to check in on me and I'll stop by the station when I can," Nakhett promised the doctor.

"Excellent," Chambers replied, jotting a few notes onto his clipboard. "Then we'll keep you one more night for observation, and if you're feeling up to it in the morning we can get you on your way home."

"Thanks Doc."

"My pleasure."

Nakhett slept very soundly through the rest of the night, only occasionally interrupted by a passing nurse checking to make sure she didn't lapse into anything deeper from her concussion. The following morning saw her at the outgoing patients desk, signing herself out for release from the hospital now that she had a prescription for moderate painkillers in hand. Not in too bad a shape, all things considered.

It struck her that her Slingshot was probably impounded by now after two days of being left parked at the lucha libre ring. Or stolen. The woman frowned, hand automatically reaching for her phone and dialing the stadium. At least the cops had been nice enough to pick her cell off the ground when they'd brought her in.

Turned out Lenny, her guy at the pit, had actually been keeping an eye on the car for her after hearing what had happened just behind the building two nights prior. He was a great guy, she'd need to give him a substantial tip when she was feeling up to wrestling again. That just left going home and healing for the short term.

Calling up a quick map to find the nearest bus station for a ride back to her side of town, Nakhett peered over the top of her phone to spy the longest, fluffiest tail she'd ever seen twitching back and forth in a patch of tended grass under one of those trees they always seemed to be planting in sidewalks for ambience. Quick as lightning, a huge grey cat darted out to the nearest table of a cafe's patio seating and knocked over an unattended beer bottle. No wait, not knocked over. Grabbed? Somehow the feline had made off with it, darting into the safety of a nearby alleyway entrance.

More curious than anything, Nakhett lowered her phone and walked forward enough to peek into the alley from a safe distance. The source of her curiosity was alert, quickly turning to meet her gaze. She could swear the animal's eyes widened in a very human way, and vaguely noted that someone seemed to have stuck a large star sticker onto its forehead. Well if it was stealing lager it definitely didn't deserve any gold stars.

Adding to the growing list of strange things she'd had happen recently, the cat lifted a paw and curled it inward in an undeniable "come hither" motion. Nakhett stood for nearly a solid minute just staring, considering the situation. A walking fever dream from her concussion and the meds? Despite her near-death experience, the wrestler wasn't one to blame alleyways for what had happened to her. It's not like she was afraid of them in broad daylight just off a well-populated street. She walked into the shade.

"Took you long enough," the cat muttered, settling onto its haunches and lifting its ill-gotten beer for a swallow. "We should talk."