Dr. Stone Breaks Both Her Legs

Alcoholism would injure "Dr. Stone's" professional demeanor. Pregnancy was...not an option that Karla Sofen was willing to consider. The ideal injury would be something one-off, not permanently debilitating, but serious enough to require care. On top of which, it wouldn't be possible to fake such an injury. Moonstone needed to actually suffer.

She communicated her decision to Doctor Doom. Because it wasn't just enough to purposefully be subject to such an injury, it all had to be staged to maintain her cover as a psychologist.

That was how Karla came to walk down the streets of New York at night, a power inhibitor clamped to her ankle to avoid instinctual use of her gravity-powers to save her life. She tensed up at each street crossing. Never sure which one would—

The engine was silent, headlights off. She never saw or heard the car until it struck her, just above the knees. Pain cracked through her legs with surgical precision as she was thrown across an alley to strike a carefully-placed mattress.

The wail of the ambulance came a few agonizing minutes later.

"What the hell happened!?" Sue Storm's mouth was agape as she stood in Karla's office. Dr. Stone gave a pained grin. The bruises and band-aids on her face weren't just for show, and the two full-leg casts that stuck out from beneath her skirt, leaving only her toes bare were 100% the result of real injuries.

"Hit and run," Dr. Stone said with a sigh. "I didn't even see them."

"How are you getting around!?" Sue asked. "You live on the fifth floor! And the elevator is tiny!"

"I've been using the freight elevator," Dr. Stone said. "That leads straight into the parking garage, where the shuttle service picks me up, chair and all. I'm getting by, really. The doctor said it was a clean break, I don't even need surgery, and insurance has been covering the costs."

Sue Storm's eyes narrowed. Karla had a terrifying moment of regression, as if her own long-dead mother had suddenly made an appearance. Except instead of criticizing her figure and dress, Sue Storm's mom-mode was actually concerned for her well-being.

"How are you eating?" she asked.

Karla sucked in air. "DoorDash, mainly. We live in New York. It is the greatest Mecca for delivery food outside of...well...Mecca."

Sue crossed her arms under her chest. She was, Karla noticed, wearing a push-up bra that emphasized her bust. Desperately, the psychiatrist tried to steer the subject back to the nominal patient.

"I see you're wearing a wonder bra today, Susan," Karla said, in her best professional doctor voice, smooth and melodious. "Have you been thinking about—"

"Don't change the subject," Sue snapped. "How are you washing your breasts? You know how important aftercare is. I've seen your bathroom. You don't even have a walk-in shower."

Karla blinked. "Sponge bath. Now really, we're here to focus on y—"

"We are going to improve my mental health," Sue said, as invisible hands unlocked the brakes on Dr. Stone's wheelchair. "By focusing on your physical health. I'm stressed just thinking of you helpless and all alone."

"Susan, really," Dr. Stone said. "I'm a grown woman. What exactly are you going to do for me?"