Chapter Text
‘Get out in the sun while you can folks, the weather is taking a turn…’
With your head reclined, you open one eye, glancing quickly around the bustling room before closing it again. You’d rather not give anyone the impression that you’re awake.
‘…down in Morgantown. And it’s not going to be much better up North. High winds and rain will ground any air traffic around Saxonburg, Butler, possibly further West as well.’
Thankfully no one has jostled your foot. It rests in your poorly-crafted blanket cocoon on the hard tile, the cold slowly seeping through the material despite the heavy heat of the waiting room. You’ve never understood why the ER was so warm on one side of the double doors, and so cold on the other.
‘…by Tuesday. Towards Cumberland is your best bet. Right! That’s all from us. We’ll see you again at six for headlines. Good night!’
You mentally groan, bracing yourself for whatever channel Lupe chooses to put on next. If the wink she had sent you when you had signed-in was any indication then you’d hedge your bets on anything showing Friends. At least Joey’s one-track-mind and Pheobe’s whimsicality seemed to ease some of the impatience that perpetually weighed on the room.
You’re almost smiling as you hear the familiar sounds of Joey speaking ‘french’ when a welcome voice has you squinting in the artificial light.
“Come on, kid. You’re up.”
You grin up at Dana as she watches, unimpressed, while you slide to the edge of the seat and try to stand.
“Need at chair?”
Shaking your head, you take her outstretched hand and use her strength to balance on your good foot.
“Long time, no see.”
Dana ignores you, raising her brows as she studied your blanket-bound foot.
“Do I wanna know?” she huffs, draping your arm around her shoulder and guiding you towards the double doors.
“Could’ve been worse.” You offer as a weak reassurance.
Dana grunts, the sound laced with derision. “We’re gonna have to get you a loyalty card, kid.”
“I am not that bad,” you grumble petulantly.
Dana scoffs as she scans her ID. The doors open and the welcome chill of the ER soothes your hot cheeks.
“If we’re on a first name basis, it’s that bad.”
“I can’t help it if you’re my favourite, Donna.”
“You want me to leave you to hobble your way to a bed?”
“No, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” You salute, with your free hand, prompting the charge nurse to roll her eyes.
“I was wearing protective gear this time, I swear. The nail gun just-“
Dana hums over your words, lowering you down onto the free bed.
“Save it for whoever finds you first. You know, Princess bet you’d be back before the end of the month?”
“Huh,” you muse, giving a small wave to the nurse as she took another patient’s blood. “She always was a smart lady.”
Dana swats down your arm and leans you back, helping you shuffle up the bed. “Don’t fuel her ego- Perlah and I have got to cover her lunch for the rest of the week.”
You chuckle as you settle your back against the pillows. “You’ve both got too much faith in me. Princess knows I’m a clumsy ass.”
“We all know it, kid.” Dana mutters, plumping the pillow closest to her before fixing you with an expression of warning. “Sit your ass here until you’re seen to, understood?”
You rest your head on the wall and give her a small smile. “Good to see you too, Dana.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles, though the corner of her mouth twitches. “I’ll be around if you need anything.”
“You’re an angel.”
“Don’t I know it.” Her smile is fully-fledged now. Her fingers grip the edge of the curtains as she glances back to you one more. “Good to see you too, kid.”
With the thin curtains drawn, you enjoy a modicum of privacy, stretching your uninjured leg. The movement disturbs your other leg, making you wince. Recognising the start of a long night, you attempt to ignore the dull throbbing and close your eyes once more. The familiar sounds, the cacophony of beeping machines and muted voices, all led by the harried clacking of feet on the vinyl floor allows you relax somewhat. If your profession didn’t revolve around woodworking then perhaps you’d draw less comfort from the usually unsettling atmosphere.
An incongruous dinging has you furrowing your brow but your confusion is waylaid as the curtain is tugged to the side.
Your breath catches, eyes wide as you take in the form of a doctor who is quite different to Dr Robby’s ruggedness or Dr Mohan’s sisterly manner.
Her expression already portrays an innate empathy, with a trained gaze that tells you she’s ready to listen. You recognise that it’s likely a professional mask but it doesn’t stop the blood rushing to your cheeks as you squirm a little under her careful studying.
Though a little mussed, her auburn hair frames her face the way a revered portrait is meant to be framed- inviting the appreciation of observers while highlighting its beauty. The fact that some hair has come loose only serves to soften the soothing aura this woman projects.
Your lips part, ready to thank this doctor for simply existing in the same plane as you, but as she nears, seemingly angelic even under the artificial lighting, your flushed cheeks turn a new shade of crimson and your mouth clamps shut.
“Hi, honey, I’m Dr McKay. How can I help?”
Her hands grip either side of the stethoscope draped around the back of her neck, drawing your attention to the muscles flexing in her forearms.
Your heart hammers in your chest, loud enough to thump in your ears.
She smiles kindly, patiently as you swallow conspicuously.
“It’s ok, baby.” she soothes, “you just focus on breathing and I’ll have a look at your leg, ok?”
You nod dumbly, processing her words about as efficiently as a small child. Maybe she’d assume you were concussed.
She gives you another smile, one that melts your insides just a little, and then she focuses her attention on your blanketed foot.
“Is it ok if I-“
You nod, quicker now, trying desperately to assert your cognition.
When her deft fingers begin to unwrap your hastily-applied bandage you suck in a quick breath. Her cool hand moves to rest gently just under the hem of your jeans, thumb stroking softly as she peels away the outer layers. The authority and care Dr McKay projects would be enough to have you swooning if you weren’t already lying down.
As the material becomes stiff with blood, you hiss despite her tender approach.
“I know baby, I know.” she murmurs, making you internally groan as her placating induces another wave of warmth that rushes to your face.
She pauses you meet your eyes, her thumb stroking the skin of your shin as she settles you with another sympathetic smile. “You’re being so brave.”
Oh fuck, you think agonisingly. This lovely doctor was trying to do her job and here you were wishing for the perpetually-stressed Dr Robby because his consults definitely did not get you this hot and bothered.
You study the veins of Dr McKay’s hand for another couple of seconds before you feel the thread of the blanket catch at the nail embedded in your foot, making you lunge forwards, fingers grasping at her wrist. The twinge of pain has your eyes wide open and the sudden proximity allows you a closer study of the doctor. From a distance, her tan skin had hidden the light freckles that decorate the tops of her cheeks.
You swallow loudly, gaze flitting across her features. When it inevitably lands on her lips you have to close your eyes and breathe in deeply.
Her steady fingers wrap gently around your wrist as she slowly pries away your fingers.
After she settles your hand in your lap, she brushes your shoulder with a calculated care, though doesn’t push you back against the pillow.
“I’m sorry, honey. I’ll be gentle, I promise.”
Her raspy voice has you forgetting all about the pain. You nod once more, wincing only slightly as she finishes unwrapping your foot. The steel nailhead sticks out awkwardly, with lines of dried blood painting either side of your ankle.
You want to say that it looks worse than it is, that you’re used to this kind of thing. But you’re also aware that you’re too far in with this whole ‘too-pained-to-talk’ schtick and the possibility of Dr McKay realising your familiarity with injuries and refraining from calling you sweet names and telling you how brave you’re being seems too catastrophic to even contemplate.
“The good news is you shouldn’t need surgery.” she appraises. Her gloved hands manoeuvre your injured foot carefully as she studies the site of the accident.
“Can you wiggle your toes for me, sweet girl?”
You’re eternally grateful that her focus is entirely occupied by your injury because your face is hot enough to fry an egg. When you manage to move each of your toes, Dr McKay lifts her head to meet your eyes with a smile.
“Good girl.”
You think you manage to suppress the subsequent whimper but the doctor frowns suddenly, her gaze evaluating your wide eyes and rosy cheeks.
“Ok baby, let’s get you hooked up to some pain meds hmm?”
You nod without thinking, glad that she remains unaware of the true reason for your strange behaviour.
“I’ll be back in a few moments.”
You must look panic-stricken at the prospect of her departure because she chuckles softly and reaches over to squeeze your leg.
“I won’t be long, baby. Just keep the foot elevated, ok? I’ll be back before you know it.”
You manage another nod while trying not to squirm under her touch. Only when she disappears behind the curtain do you allow yourself to relax.
You’re placing your cool hands over your hot cheeks in an attempt to calm down when you hear the dinging again. It sounds almost cartoonish- out of place in your current environment. It also sounds close.
Skimming your eyes around the small space you occupy, you frown. Then, again- the dinging- coming from…under the bed?
You shuffle to the edge of the bed and tilt your head downstairs, the rush of blood to your head forgotten as you startle.
“Oh fuck!” you squeal, your hand reaching to clutch at your chest.
The source of your shock crawls out from under the furniture, his features appearing appropriately sheepish. The young boy is clutching a Nintendo Switch in his hand as he mirrors your panic.
“Shh,” he pleads, “don’t tell anyone.”
Your eyes widen. “Don’t tell- how long have you been under there?!”
The young boy grimaces as he settles himself on the hospital floor. From his graphic tee and mop of brown hair, you surmise that he must be about ten years old.
“Long enough to hear you go all weird and silent.”
Your brows rise half way to your hairline. His gall is unmistakably that of a preteen.
“I’m weird?” you repeat back to him as you try to understand his logic.
He nods, paying no mind to from where he made his entrance.
“You were normal with Dana but when-“
“You know Dana?”
“Don’t change the topic.”
You huff in frustration, too fatigued to attempt to reason with him.
“I was nervous.” you settle on. He hadn’t seen you all red-cheeked and starry-eyed- he had been hunched under the hospital bed.
His brown eyes squint at you- far too discerning for your liking, and his interest in you only serves to exacerbate your uneasiness.
“You’re not nervous now.” He observes, pointedly.
You want to grind your teeth together. You could shout something. ‘Hey, there’s a kid in here!’ ought to do it. But then he frowns, seemingly hearing your thought process.
“Please don’t say anything.” He pleads, sliding closer to you.
Suddenly the upper hand doesn’t seem so victorious. You sigh as you study his wide-eyed supplication. Damn his chubby cheeks and innocent eyes.
“No one’s looking for you?” you press.
His shoulders relax at your olive branch. “Grandpa is picking me up soon. Mom has to work late.”
“Your mom works here?”
He nods, smiling proudly. “She’s really good at her job.”
His pride is infectious. It makes you smile, too.
“I’m sure she is. The staff are always great with me. Very patient.” you add, chucking.
“I’m here a lot and I haven’t seen you before.”
You shrug with a small grin. “Considering your habits I’d reckon there’s no telling how many of my beds you’ve been hiding under.”
He grins but it falters slightly as he seems to remember something. “I’m supposed to be in the break room.” he admits quietly. His eyes stick to the floor as guilt seems to make him smaller. “It gets boring in there sometimes, though.”
You hum, processing the admission. “Well your secret is safe with me, as long as your grandpa knows where to find you.”
You’re glad that you acquiesced as you witness his face light up.
“Plenty of excitement out here.” you offer, motioning to your foot. You’re momentarily worried that you’ve permanently scarred the kid, showing him your gruesome injury, but his eyes go wide as his feet carry him to the end of her bed where your bloodied foot rests.
“No way!” he gasps in awe. “That’s badass.” He speaks with the utmost sincerity and it makes you laugh.
“How did that even happen?” he asks, his gaze glued to the nail in your foot.
“Thought I’d turned the nail gun off at the socket and I knocked it.” You’re still a little embarrassed at the turn of events but it helps explaining the injury to a young kid watching you like you had hung the stars, rather than an exasperated (and rightly so) healthcare professional.
You’re just about to tell him to get his finger away from the nail when the curtain is pulled back once more. Dana stops, squinting at the young boy who looks appropriately sheepish as he retracts his finger.
“Your mom know you’re here?” Dana asks, brow raised expectantly. The edge to her voice tells you that she already knows the answer to the question.
“Grandpa’s on his way and she doesn’t mind!” He protests, pointing over to you.
Dana looks over to you.
“As long as he refrains from poking my foot, then I don’t mind.” you assert.
Dana rolls her eyes with such nonchalance that it makes you giggle. “Hmmkay. But it’s your funeral, kid.”
Ultimately you know he’s shielded from most of the horrors, this side of the curtain, but it makes you feel a little warm and fuzzy that Dana (despite the overwhelming evidence of your interminable lack of coordination) has deemed you suitable to keep an eye on a child.
You smile up at her as she hangs up an IV bag of something strong and hovers the tube by the inside of your arm. She doesn’t bother to warn you of the sharp scratch of the needle, and you don’t mind. A warning for a sharp scratch seems a little redundant when there’s a nail in your foot. Besides Dana knows that you know the procedure. She stopped talking you through the processes after your third visit to the ER.
It does amuse you to see the young boy wince as the needle is inserted, though. Apparently a small needle trumps whatever mess you made of your foot.
“Twenty minutes, you know the drill.” Dana murmurs, patting your shoulder.
You nod your thanks and watch as she gives the kid a warning look before disappearing back behind the curtain.
Recognising that your have at least half an hour before someone swings by to remove the nail and patch up your foot, you turn yourself to the Nintendo Switch discarded bedside your leg on the bed. There’s a tinny medley emanating from it, catchy enough to pique your curiosity.
“What you playing?”
The young boy pries his eyes from your injury to lift up the Switch and offer it to you.
“Super Mario Odyssey. I’m stuck on a level though. Normally I’d ask my mom to do it but she’s working.”
You smile conspiratorially. “Well, I happen to be pretty ace at Super Mario Bros.”
He looks unconvinced but places the Switch in your palm nevertheless. “This isn’t Super Mario Bros.” he warns. “It’s more…new.”
Brushing off his trepidation, you settle your hands over the buttons, careful not to disturb your IV, and unpause the game. Immediately the screen is flooded with garish animations, a visual assault on your tired eyes.
“What on- it’s 3D! Why is it 3D?!” you squeal as you attempt to manoeuvre Mario through a hoard of goombas. You press the buttons frantically, your stress mounting as lava seems to erupt across the screen.
“Why is there lava?” you whine, expression pained while your younger companion makes no effort whatsoever to hide his laughter. “That’s not even- are you telling me there are tectonic plates in the Mushroom kingdom?!”
Your Mario falls in the lava, while an obnoxious tune plays out, marking his death.
“Mothertrucker!” you exclaim, throwing the console on the mattress in frustration.
High-pitched laughter eases your annoyance though as you glance up to see the boy clutching at his side. It’s impossible not to mirror his joyfulness and within seconds you find yourself laughing alongside him.
“You-“ he wheezes, his small hand hitting his leg as he loses control. “Y-you didn’t even get to the checkpoint!”
“Hey, give me break! The last time I played a Super Mario game you could only move left or right!”
You watch as his composure crumbles again, his teeth on show while he collapses next to you on the bed. “You’re old!”
Gasping in mock offence, you give him a small shove. Despite the lack of force behind it, the nudge has him rolling slowly off the bed.
You scramble to the edge of the mattress, breath stalling as you worry about having hurt him, only to find him lying flat on his back, hiccuping between giggles.
“You ok?” you ask tentatively.
He nods quickly, sitting up as the laughter subsides. “You gotta try that level again.”
You huff half-heartedly and shuffle to the edge of the bed as the boy settles himself alongside you once more. He offers you the Switch with a shit-eating grin, the glee radiating off of him. You let him drop it into your open palm, overplaying your sigh so that he giggles.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Harrison.”
“Right, Harrison, how do I jump?”
You two spend the next half an hour squealing in both frustration and triumph as Harrison gives you tips on how to progress further on the level. Sometimes you die a stupid death just to have him collapse against you in fit of giggles, his soft curls tickling the skin of your neck. It feels pretty idyllic considering the stress and suffering just the other side of the curtain. The pain meds kick in as well, helping you to relax for the first time in hours.
“-jump! And again!” Harrison instructs, the increasing pitch of his voice proportional to his excitement. You listen attentively, eyes focusing entirely on the little red plumber in the middle of the screen. Holding your breath, you watch as you somehow manage to guide Mario through a maze of concert blocks, passing your previous record. You gasp suddenly as you interact with a golden bee positioned at the top of a ledge and watch in terror as Mario begins to fly. You freeze in panic, feeling Harrison grip your forearm as the pair of with watch Mario slowly glide in the lava below.
You’re both silent for a number of seconds before you feel the need to justify the slow, painful death.
“I don’t know how to fly…” you whisper with a grimace, passing the Switch back to its owner.
“Yeah, no shit.”
Your eyes go wide at his cursing but the young boy seems to be distracted by the familiar voice growing closer. His grip on your forearm slackens and he takes the gaming console from you as he scurries off the bed.
“I’m just getting a snack!” he hisses quickly and you watch, bewildered, as he slips out between the curtain and the wall.
Less than a second later the curtain at the foot of your bed is pulled back to reveal a wonderfully familiar sight.
Dr McKay smiles brightly at you. Your heart responds with a damning flutter. You forget all about Harrison’s swift exit.
“How are you feeling, honey?”
Her rough voice laced with concern has your traitorous cheeks heating up immediately. Thankfully, her attention is preoccupied with donning her plastic gloves, a ritual you enjoy with rapture as you stare at the her agile fingers.
She glances up before you can look away, prompting you to squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment. When you pry them open again, Dr McKay is standing beside the bed, her stethoscope ready to take your heart rate.
You wince at how wildly inaccurate her reading is about to be.
“Lean forward for me, baby.” she rasps, her hand resting gently on your shoulder.
You shiver under her touch, causing her to frown.
“You cold? I’ll warm you up in a minute, just let me check your heart.”
Unable to do anything but listen to her instructions, you fall pliant under her touch, allowing her hand to tilt you forward a little. One hand supports you while the other delicately pulls up the back of your shirt. Each time the tips of her fingers brush your spine, your fingers twist tighter into the mattress cover.
Without warning, she leans in closer, her silky hair stroking the side of your face. You can smell the citrus of her shampoo. It takes everything in your not to press your face into the crook of her neck and feel the heat of her skin against your face.
And then she brings the metal diaphragm to her lips and breaths on it.
You’re helpless to the tremble that travels down your spine as her breath strokes the cool skin on your neck.
It shouldn’t be erotic- you’re on a hard mattress in the ER with a nail wedged into your foot- but when she presses the metal to your skin, it’s still cold enough to have you arching your back.
“It’s ok, baby,” she hushes, “I’ve got you. Just breathe for me.”
And you try to breathe normally- you really do- but Dr McKay removes the diaphragm and places it back on your skin causing you to go tense once more. Her fingers squeeze your shoulder gently, her thumb stroking you through the material of your shirt and you have to start thinking about some really dark shit so that you don’t whimper pathetically.
The process takes far too long for your liking (or perhaps, not long enough), but after several seconds of Dr McKay humming richly in your ear as she listens diligently to your thumping heart, she eventually steps away.
Her head tilts to the side as she studies you with a measure of concern. You shiver involuntarily under her attentive gaze, watching, spellbound, as she clicks her tongue disapprovingly and begins to remove her zip up hoodie.
Her brows knit together in concentration as she taps your shoulder for you to lean forward again, then drapes the soft material around your shoulders. The hoodie is warm and sweet- smelling and for the first time since Dr McKay has graced you with her presence, you feel your voice returning.
“Thank you.”
The words are plain but you hope they convey the depth of emotion you’re feeling because the moment feels so much heavier than it should.
If Dana had given you her jacket, you’d be laughing and threatening to withhold the half-empty packet of cigarettes in one of the pockets. If Robby had given you his hoodie you’d be pulling out every pair of glasses and calling him an ‘old man’.
You’re aware that your voice sounds weaker than usual- nerves and fatigue are taking their toll- but Dr McKay smiles wide enough for you to forget the crick in your neck from hours in the waiting room.
“There she is.” she murmurs. She sounds proud and it makes you want to bury your face and your pathetically-giddy smile in one of the pillows.
The moment seems suspended in time while her soft gaze remains on yours, before the screech of a bed being moved behind the curtain seems to jolt some awareness into you.
“Right, let’s get you patched up.”
You watch as she settles on a chair with a tray of medical equipment on a tray on a nearby table. She talks you through what she’s doing, checking in with you every few minutes. With your leg numb from the knee down after she injected a local anaesthetic, you observe her movements between progressively heavier blinks. Your head begins to rest on your shoulder, your nose buried in the comforting scent of Dr Mckay’s hoodie and you recognise your slowing breaths.
Before you drift off you twist the loose material of the hoodie into your fist so she needs to wake the before she retrieves it- so you can make sure you’ll definitely see her again.
When your tired eyes meet hers, she chuckles warmly, placing the bandages beside your leg in favour of moving up to the side of the bed. You smile sappily as she leans forward to smooth back your hair. You feel the vibration of your contented hum draw another laugh from her.
“Sleep, baby. I won’t be long now.”
You manage one more “Thank you” before your eye lids are too heavy to lift.
You’re not sure how much time has passed when you begin to stir. The smell of artificial cheese has you scrunching your nose and you wince as something powdered is pushed against your lips.
You open your eyes slowly and then all at once. Harrison is leaning against you on the bed, his face is about five inches from yours and there’s a Cheeto clasped between his fingers- a Cheeto that he’s trying to push past your lips.
“Oh, fuck!” you squeal, lurching back. You don’t fall off the bed but can feel the edge of the mattress.
“That’s the second time you’ve said that word in front of me.” Harrison states nonchalantly. “I’m not allowed to say that word.”
You close you eyes as you focus on breathing deeply while you try to calm down.
Harrison pokes you. You open your eyes again, glaring at him.
“Phew, I thought you had gone again.”
“It’s called sleeping,” you huff. You glance pointedly at the orange powder covering his fingers. “And if I was gone, I don’t think a Cheeto would resuscitate me.”
Harrison hums, contemplating. “I think it would resuscitate me.”
“It would resuscitate you, put you into diabetic shock and then you’d die again.”
“Then I’d have another Cheeto.”
You exhale slowly while he holds your disappointed stare. There’s a modicum of reasoning to his logic, you suppose. “That’s quite the vicious circle then.”
Harrison wipes his hands on his jeans, leaving an orange smudge on each leg.
“What would resuscitate you?”
You wince at the mess he’s made and let your mind wander. Immediately you think of Dr McKay- her smile, her voice- you glance down quickly, remembering your interaction while she stitched you up. You relax when you realise her hoodie is still draped around your shoulders…and it still smells like her.
You shuffle to the side slightly, wary of Harrison and his Cheeto hurricane, but the young boy just follows your movement, leaning further into you while his gaze remains fixed on the screen of his Switch.
It is sort of endearing.
“Umm…aside from a crash cart of course, maybe a really solid mortise and tenon joint.”
“Amen to that.”
For the third time in several hours you startle.
“For fu-“
Harrison looks up at you, his innocent eyes waiting expectantly.
You let the curse die on your lips with an unintelligible mumble as you study the greying man settled in the chair in the corner of the room. His features are soft, familiar even, as he watches you over the glasses perched on the end of his nose. There’s a folded newspaper clutched in his hand and a pen in the other. You can tell from the sudoku on the back of the paper that he’s doing a puzzle.
Neither of you say anything, the pair of you both seemingly realising the utter absurdity of the situation before Harrison pipes up.
“That’s grandpa.”
You muster a smile and manage a quiet “Hello grandpa.”
The older man lets out a wheezy chuckle as he folds his glasses away. “I told Harri that we’d give you a scare if we hung around, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“I haven’t known him long, but that sounds about right.” you concur with a wry smile. Harrison, oblivious to your conversation, clicks furiously on his Switch while muttering under his breath.
“You know woodworking?”
You can’t help but smile at the older man’s question, delighted at the shared interest.
“You could say that,” you grin coyly.
He narrows his eyes, studying you for extra information. “Do mortise and tenon joints have anything to do with why you’re here?” He motions to your bandaged foot, resting on a pillow.
Your foot that Dr McKay had treated. Your foot that Dr McKay had thought to put some kind of cushion underneath. You fight to stop the corners of your mouth from turning upwards.
“Nothing quite as intricate as that I’m afraid. I had just finished making a pallet to shift some pieces and when I was tidying up, I knocked the nail gun and-“
“Oof! That’s nasty.” He grimaces but you can read the excitement on his face. “I used to have a bench saw in the garage- nothing professional, just for doing odd jobs- but Nance made me give it away after an accident.”
You go to ask, but he beats you to it.
“Nance-Nancy, my wife. I’m Arthur. Art to friends and grandpa to- well, that little gremlin.” He motions to Harrison who is still laser-focused on his game.
“Nice to meet you, Arthur.” You nod a greeting, too bed- bound to reach for a handshake. “I’d tell you about myself but I’d wager Harrison has told you all he knows.”
Arthur gives you a knowing smile. “He told me most about your video gaming abilities.”
When you wince his amusement becomes vocal.
“Or lack of, perhaps.” you offer, sheepishly.
“Can’t be worse than me. I have to ask him to read my phone messages to me ‘cause I can’t get the text any bigger.”
You chuckle, offering you outstretched hand to him. “C’mon, I’ll take a look. You can tell me about that bench saw of yours while I work.”
Arthur looks surprised as he considers your offer. “I- thank you.” He settles on while patting down his pockets for his phone. He stands with a quiet grunt and chucks the phone the small distance so that it bounces slightly as it lands on the mattress. He then tugs the chair he had sitting on closer to the bed so that he’s alongside Harrison who is still leaning against your pillow.
“Of course.” You smile, swiping open the phone and finding the settings.
“Nance always complained that my DIY projects were ‘half-finished’-“
“Remember that table that the mugs kept sliding off of?” Harrison pipes up. “Or- or the bathroom door that swung open whenever-“
“You pack it in, mister!” Arthur swats at Harrison’s arm with his newspaper causing the young boy to squeal in excitement.
“Anyway, Nance was fed up with my so-called ‘wonky’ jobs and got me a bench saw for my birthday. Only had it ‘bout a year before it sliced through the top of my arm and left a nasty gash.”
You glance up from the phone in shock, only to see Arthur rolling up his shirt sleeve. There was a thick scar stretching from below his elbow to halfway down his forearm.
“Anyway, Cass was pregnant by then so I sort of agreed with Nance when she told me she wanted it gone. Couldn’t have Harrison playing with it.”
You nod empathetically as you fight the urge to ruffle Harrison’s hair. Then you have to fight not to roll your eyes because, damn, you only met this kid a few hours ago.
“Your wife sounds sensible.” you offer. “Hell of a piece of kit though.”
“Tell me about it! Can’t compare to what you’re working with though, I’d imagine.”
You shrug indifferently. “I like to do most of my commissions by hand. Feels more personal that way.”
“Satisfying but time-consuming?”
“You bet.”
You reach over Harrison to show Arthur the changes made to his phone. He goes to put on his glasses but chuckles in disbelief.
“Well I’ll be damned.” he mumbles.
You can’t help but laugh at the sincerity in is voice as he studies the difference. “Do you want the brightness up as well? Or the volume on the ringtone?”
He tenses his brow as he looks down at his phone.
“Could you put a photo on the background? Cass sent me a photo of her and Harrison that I’d-“
“Sure.” you grin at his hesitance. “Show me the photo and I’ll set it for you.”
While Arthur focuses on his device you focus on Harrison’s, watching as his Mario tries to defeat a boss. Each time he gets close to landing a hit, he leans forward, closer to the screen in his hands. When he loses his last life, his shoulders slump and a small pout paints his lips. It only takes him about three seconds to think of a solution to his quandary.
The Switch is placed in your lap.
You chuckle as his eyes plead up at you. “Yeah, yeah in a minute. I’m just going to help your grandpa with something.”
His pout becomes more pronounced but he remains quiet, his forefinger tracing the seam of his trousers.
“What’s your favourite thing to make?”
“That’s a tough question,” you muse, “I had a bureau commissioned a while back. Some of the decorations were really intricate but I was very happy with the way it turned out.”
Harrison’s fidgeting migrates to the jacket keeping you warm. You try not to feel possessive as he fiddles with the hem- he has no idea that the item of clothing means far more to you than it should.
“Honestly though, I make a mean bat box.”
The young boy perks up and he lifts his gaze to meet yours. “Woah. For bats to live in? Where do you put them?”
You smile at his eagerness, reaching for the phone that Arthur is now offering to you.
“Just in the park near here. They’ve got to be at least a few metres off the ground so that predators can’t get to them…”
Your voice trails off as you study the photo that Arthur has chosen for his background, the photo of Harrison and his mother.
Your face burns as your eyes trace the silhouette of Dr McKay- her bright smile, her sparkling eyes, her gold fucking chain- as she hugs Harrison from behind, the young boy in the midst of squealing.
That little shit. He knew- had known- this whole time. You feel him freeze next to you as he glances over at the photo, at your pursed lips, recognising that the charade is up.
“Well isn’t that a lovely photo,” you murmur, showing the phone screen to Harrison. He has the decency to gulp.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Arthur interjects, oblivious to the tension. “Cassie sent it after they went hiking the other day.”
Cassie. Cassie McKay. Dr Cassie McKay.
As soon as you realise you’re smiling, you clear your throat, rearranging your features into something more nonplussed. While you’re fiddling with the phone, you feel Harrison lean in closer.
“You’re blushing.” he whispers. “And you’re wearing mom’s hoodie. Did she give it to you?”
You pass the phone back to Arthur with a tight smile and tug Harrison closer. “Do you want me to eat all the Cheetos in the vending machine? Because I will.”
The boy holds your stare as he weighs up the likelihood of you being sincere.
“And yes, she did give it to me.” you add.
“Do you have a crush-“
“I have ten dollars in my pocket and I haven’t eaten in five hours- do you want to finish that question?”
Harrison snorts which only tells you that he already knows the answer. This kid was going to be the death of you.
“If you beat that boss, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“There’s nothing to keep your mouth shut about,” you hiss. Even so, you pick up the gaming console and give Harrison a wary look.
“It’s lucky for you that I’m incapacitated right now, you know.” you grumble.
“You shouldn’t threaten kids.”
“You shouldn’t blackmail bedridden hospital patients.”
“Capital of Bulgaria. Five letters, second letter is O.”
The pair of you look up from your hissing match to see Arthur with the paper back in his hands. He still appears to be blissfully ignorant of the squabbling happening less than a metre away.
“Sofia.” You offer, catching Harrison’s finger as it goes to poke you in the ribs.
“Ah, so it is!” Arthur exclaims, reaching for his pen to scribble in the letters.
“You’ve got a boss to beat.” Harrison whispers, nudging the Switch.
You roll your eyes with enough temerity to impress even Dana, and pick up the console with a sigh.
“I think I liked it better when you were under the bed.”
You don’t question why Harrison and his grandpa stay by your bed- part of you wants to assure them that you’ll be fine, but a more selfish part of you is growing quite fond of them. From the time you had spent together, Arthur seemed the stereotypical grandpa- slightly-absentminded, hopeless at DIY and very kind. He hummed when stuck on a crossword clue (a verbal hint for you to ask what was puzzling him and to add your thoughts), he scratched the silver stubble on his chin when he was distracted and his glasses had a strip of tape keeping them together.
Harrison was quite different in many ways but similar in some. His curiosity pushed you for answers (some of the questions completely inane, though you humoured him nevertheless), he was very food-motivated and his near-constant niggling was rather outweighed by his thoughtfulness.
You knew exactly who tied them together in that regard. The same person that the pair of them clearly adored.
“Don’t you want to know about my dad?”
Harrison’s stage whisper was ignored by Arthur who was still absorbed by the crossword.
You nudge him with your elbow while focusing on keeping Mario alive. His provoking was endless but it kept you distracted from the fact that Dr McKay could return at any moment to find half her family at your bedside. Harrison knew you were an idiot, Dr McKay thought your bashfulness was endearing (or so you hoped) but you desperately wanted Arthur to remain under the impression that you were “normal”.
That being said, you were also trying very hard to think about how happy Dr Cassie McKay probably was with her husband (something Harrison was making very difficult). You didn’t want to know about how they met or what they watched on TV together. He was probably a banker or in marketing- something boring but well-paid. A job that meant they went on holiday twice a year, probably the West Coast or the Mediterranean. They probably had a dog called Buddy and a swing set in the garden. And a grill that they used on muggy summer days- Harrison playing on the swings, laughing out loud as his parents took it in turns running past and ducking-
“They’re not together.”
Your gaze drifts from the screen as you turn to face Harrison. He doesn’t appear upset- far from it. He’s smirking at your dumb expression, like he had listened to your story of their idyllic life and timed it perfectly so that your mouth would hang open when he told you.
You’re still recovering from his admission when the screech of the curtain being pulled back startles you to attention. You can feel Harrison grinning next to you.
Dr McKay is as beautiful as you remember her to be. Her hair is lightly mussed and without her jacket, her arms are on show. She looks strong. The assertion makes you hot all over.
For the millisecond that her features are set only on you, the tension seems to ebb. Her lips turn upwards, crinkling the skin around her clear, blue eyes. She looks tired and it makes you want to remedy it.
The bubble bursts though as you watch her notice your visitors- her eyes widening as she sees Harrison laying beside you and then her brows rising as she spots Arthur (who has yet to realise her presence) comfortable in the hospital chair that has been tugged closer to the bed.
She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Harrison bites his lip as he swallows his laughter while you wince.
The silence seems to rouse Arthur more than yours and Harrison’s bickering, because he eventually looks up.
“Cass! Are doing alright, love?” He removes his glasses and sets the paper down, reaching across for Cassie’s hand so he can squeeze it. You would muse on how sweet the interaction was if you weren’t so panic-stricken.
“We’ll be on our way soon, but Harrison hit it off with your patient here. She’s been helping me with the crossword as well. And, get this! She’s a carpenter!” Arthur’s enthusiasm, though incredibly sweet, increases your embarrassment tenfold.
Cassie crosses her her arms and purses her lips to hide a smirk. When her focus settles on you, you manage a pathetically sheepish expression, to which her smirk becomes fully-fledged.
“Is she now?”
You try desperately to hold her gaze, to keep your shoulders tall and not to shrink back. Her penetrative stare is discerning enough to make you feel exposed; though you suppose anyone with eyes and a modicum of emotional intelligence could witness how you feel about this damn woman. Case in point: Harrison.
“I’m tired, grandpa. Can we go?”
You turn slowly and give the little punk warning glare but he seems immune to any kind of intimidation as he wraps his arms around your neck in a hug. You try not to flinch as you hear him whisper into your ear.
“She likes you, too.”
You freeze, the effect immediate, and you hear the resounding giggle as he detaches himself.
What does that mean? Is he joking? How would he know? Why would he lie?
Your eyes bore into his head as you will him to expand on the statement but he deliberately avoids looking at you. He collects his Switch from your lap and turns to Arthur who folds away his paper.
“It was lovely to meet you.” The older gentleman smiles- an expression you mirror. “I’m sure we’ll meet again some time. Maybe Nancy and I could have you round for dinner? I can show you around my old workshop.”
“I’d like that a lot.” you murmur. It’s easier to speak if you pretend Dr Mckay isn’t a metre or so away.
“You gotta come round!“ Harrison beams. “I can beat you at Mario Kart!”
You squint warily at him. “What number Mario Kart is it?”
“Don’t be grumpy, it’s only like…nine?”
You blanch at him. “Can you smell the courses? Do the chain chomps jump out the screen and bite you?”
Harrison giggles at your antics and it’s so sweet that you almost forget your vendetta against him.
“It’s easy. Even mom can play it.”
Without meaning to, your gaze drifts to Cassie. Her expression is a thousand times lighter with Harrison smiling but when you glance up her eyes are on you. They’re soft; soft enough to draw yet another blush from you.
“Can she?” you whisper. Though the question is directed at the young boy, your gaze remains on her.
“She can.”
You gulp as she responds, watching intently as her pink lips form each syllable and sound. She’s smirking again when you eventually lift your gaze to meet hers.
“I might be more Arthur’s level, I’m afraid.”
Dr McKay hums and you must be imagining the reverberations that travel up your frame, making you squirm.
“I can show you.”
You almost don’t hear her. It’s only because your eyes are studying her mouth that you catch the words. That damned smirk follows which means she meant for you to hear.
You barely manage a “Bye Arthur, bye Harrison,” as the duo take their leave. Harrison makes a show of closing the curtain behind his mother, and then you’re alone.
The air feels thick and the tension makes you swallow audibly. Cassie follows the bob of your throat with her eyes.
“Should I be offended that you’ll talk to the rest of my family, but not me?”
You feel the shells of your ears heat up and tug at the hem of her hoodie. You don’t want to give it back. You want the memento to remind you that she’s real. You want it wrapped around you, tucked under your chin so her scent can lull you to sleep,
You only realise how long you’ve been silent when she steps closer, the movement pulling you from your thoughts.
“You’ll play with my son-make him laugh.”
You stare helplessly as her brow crinkles, betraying her consternation. Her growing proximity is making your heart flutter dangerously.
“You’ll befriend my dad. You’ll help him.”
Now she’s close enough that you can pin the precise shade blue that paints her eyes. Glaucous blue, like the Milky Way- all sparkling and awesome.
It’s too distracting for you to formulate an excuse, let alone for you to voice it. She’s waiting though, her expression willing you to give her something, anything. And then her gentle smile falters and your chest begins to ache.
Your lips part. Dr McKay exhales sharply,
“Hi.” It’s pathetic and weak and the minute you hear the tremble in your voice, you try to turn to bury your face in your pillow, but a firm hand stalls you. It’s warm and soft as you muzzle against it and it’s owner wears the most beautiful smile.
“Hi, baby.” she murmurs and she must feel you smile into her palm because she graces your ears with a silky laugh.
It makes you smile wider as you clasp her hand in your own and guide it to your cheek so you can press into it. She’s pliant in your hand and her fingertips tickle your hairline.
“You’re like a little kitten.” she muses.
You’re sure she can feel the heat of your embarrassment against her palm because her features shift as the smile takes over her face. The extent of emotion form crows feet either side of her eyes and you have to fight not to reach out and trace the wrinkles with your forefinger.
She watches you as you watch her, following your gaze as it flits over her. Your diligent mapping comes to a halt though as pensive crease forms between Dr Mckay’s eyebrows.
You do reach out this time, determined to give her some indication of your feelings despite your relative silence. Your hand trembles slightly as the pad of your finger touches her forehead. Her eyes fall closed as you stroke downwards and you almost miss the hushed exhale she emits.
“Do you know why I’m having trouble speaking around you?”
Her eyes open quickly as you exercise your voice. Her gaze is keen while she processes the question.
“The same reason I enjoy making you blush, I’d imagine.”
You grin this time as your skin flushes, encouraged by her apparent affection for it.
“There it is.” she hums. “So pretty.”
Exhaling sharply at her unequivocal statement, you glance down at your current state. Your foot is wrapped in white gauze, your jeans rolled halfway to your knee, your shirt is crumpled and you can feel your hair tousled by your nap. You haven’t looked in the mirror in a good few hours and you’ve no wish to- you’re sure the bags under yours are a glaring betrayal of your fatigue.
“Stop it,” she murmurs. Her thumbs lands on your bottom lip and gently pulls it free from under your teeth.
“Do you touch all of your patients like this?” you whisper. You don’t want to move your lip too much otherwise she might retract her thumb.
“No, baby.” Her eyes remain firmly on yours as she conveys the sincerity behind her answer.
“Do you…talk to them like this?”
You worry momentarily about coming across as jealous but Dr Mckay’s smirk tells you that she’s enjoying the reassurance that you’re indirectly requesting.
“You mean, have I called any other of my patients a ‘good girl’?”
Her voice is low and her gaze is greedy as it sweeps over your face. She’s close enough that she must be able to see the extent to which your pupils have dilated. You can see the dark colour of her eyes.
When you manage a small nod, she grins wide enough to show teeth.
“I haven’t. Nobody older than about ten, anyway.”
You laugh when she laughs- it’s impossible not to. Her eyes light up and the tension is dispelled from her features, if only for a moment. You wish to hear it again. And again.
When an alarm blares in the distance, your shoulders slump as reality bursts your little bubble.
Dr Mckay sighs wearily as she pulls away, redirecting her attention to your leg.
“Any pain?”
You shake your head.
“Right, good. I’ll get you some pain killers and antibiotics to set you up for the next week or so, and then you should be… good to go.”
You wince, the thought of leaving seeming a lot less appealing than it did a few hours ago.
She must notice your dismay because her hand settles above your knee and squeezes.
“That’s a good thing, baby.”
You manage a nod and a weak smile which offer a pitiful conviction of her words.
Dithering for a short moment, Dr McKay removes her hand. “I’ll be back soon, ok?”
She remains true to her word because less than a minute later she’s re-emerging from behind the curtain with a couple of boxes of medication, some bandages and a pair of crutches.
She places the medication and bandages beside you on the bed, and holds the crutches out. “Try and keep your weight off the foot for a few days- at least until the wound closes up. The bandages will need changing at least once a day- twice if you can manage. Your follow-up appointment is in two weeks, but it’ll be in a different part of the hospital.”
The implication is clear- it won’t be with her.
You reluctantly start to shrug off the hoodie she draped over you earlier, but her hand comes out to stop you.
“Keep it. At least until I see you next.”
Your disappointment is muted some by her words and you manage a small smile at her kindness.
“From the sound of it, Harrison and my parents are seeing you very soon.”
Though she’s grinning, you suddenly worry you’ve overstepped.
“I can cancel if you’d prefer-“
Dr McKay thwarts your spiralling with a fierce expression. “Don’t you dare. Don’t think for a second that I won’t use it as an excuse to see you.”
She waits expectantly, her head tilted towards you and her brows raised, for your bright smile and nod.
“Ok, Dr McKay.” you breathe. It feels monumental, saying her name out loud. She must feel it too because he head tilts to the side as she studies you, like a border collie trying to understand its master.
“Cassie.” she instructs.
“Ok, Cassie.” you grin. “Thank you, Cassie.”
You repeat her name because it feels good saying it- like you’re apart of her life now. Also because her smile grows brighter at each address.
“Cassie?” You push with a teasing grin.
She rolls her eyes with a chuckle but gives you her attention as you shuffle your legs to the side of the bed.
“Would it be ok if I made a bat box for Harrison and dropped it by sometime?”
Her frame tenses as she settles you with a warning look. “You’re supposed to be staying off your feet.”
“I can sit down at a workbench- I’ll be careful, I promise.”
Though her eyes still hold some concern, her posture relaxes a little.
“Dana says you’re here a lot. That’s got to stop, ok?”
You give her a sheepish nod as you mentally flick through some of the embarrassing injuries in the past that Dana might have shared with her.
“Good girl.”
Cassie smirks as your face grows hot for the umpteenth time.
“Cass-“
“Shh,” she interjects, “let me enjoy it.”
Her words only serve to exacerbate the heat.
Slipping you arms into the hoodie properly, you slide your hands down the crutches to grip the handles and pull yourself up.
Cassie watches with some measure of pride as you hobble through the ER, staying close beside you in case you need any assistance. When you reach the exit, you pause and turn to face her.
Her hands are in the pockets of her scrubs and the gold chain around her neck glints under the fluorescent lights. She leans in close.
“I’m working the day shift on Wednesday. I don’t want to see you walking around unaided until then.”