Chapter Text
“She’s still asleep Gérard,” Angela whispered, standing in the doorway of the hospital ward. Her patient could just be seen, back to the door, in the bed that filled most of the room. She looked back at her and then shook her head, “I’m not sure seeing her right now is a good idea.” The man in front of her looked like that was the last thing he’d wanted to hear. Gérard glared and drew himself up, balling his hands into fists at his sides.
Angela would have been intimidated if she hadn’t been dealing with soldiers like him for the last few years. She’d been a field medic since her early 20s, and had been threatened and insulted by men twice his size before now.
When his angered look didn’t work Gérard spat, “She is my wife, Angela. I’m seeing her, get out of my way!” He pushed her roughly into the doorframe, but she kept her hand against the other side. Her arm locked as he tried to walk past. She may be smaller than him, but she was reasonably strong. He stepped back; hurting her wasn’t his intention. Angela stepped out of the room, pulling the door closed softly behind her.
“Gérard, you cannot go in,” she said, quietly but firmly, “I’m her doctor, I’m sorry but I don’t think she’s fit to see anyone yet.” Asserting her authority seemed to take the soldier aback. He stood, silent and frowning, for a moment. Then looked at her curiously. “You told Jack you found nothing wrong.”
Nodding, Angela took him to one side, standing away from the door. She didn’t need anyone on the other side hearing what she was saying, even if it was written on all the medical reports.“Physically, that’s true,” she began, careful how she proceeded, “But we don’t know what Talon did to her. When I say she’s fit for visitors you can see her.”
Gérard threw up his hands and sighed in frustration. “Fine.” He turned on his heel and called down the corridor to her, “Tell me when I can see my wife.”
It hurt to keep him away from her.
Angela went back into the room, gesturing to the doorway for her assistant to leave. He did, walking hastily away from the room as Angela closed the door behind him. Then she turned to Amélie, who had rolled onto her other side, now facing her. Honey brown eyes followed her from the doorway to the desk, then to the side of the bed.
“You sent him away?” she asked softly. Her voice was almost a monotone, weak and rough from somewhere in her chest.
Angela smiled and placed a hand over her shin. Even with the cover’s between them Amélie seemed to recoil from the touch like she’d been burned. The doctor removed her hand quickly and went back to just standing by the bed. “Yes, like you asked.” She checked her clipboard quickly, looking from the words to her patient, and then dropped it onto a metal table at the bedside. “Is everything okay Amélie?” There had to be something wrong if she didn’t want to see her own husband, surely.
Amélie shook her head ever so slightly. It was almost unnoticeable. “I just don’t want him to see me like this.”
Angela understood.
The french woman wasn’t vain, or shallow. But she had always been told she was beautiful - rosy cheeks, a smile just on the human side of perfect, eyes that sparkled in the sunlight. Now her eyes looked dead, hollow even. She had come back from something not everyone could come back from. And so far she was surviving, coping better than Angela had expected her to. She might have given her too little credit. “I won’t let him in until you want to see him.”
Amélie groaned and covered her eyes with her arms, laying on her back. “I’m an awful wife, aren’t I?” she muttered bitterly. Angela swallowed and looked at the ground before she answered.
“No. Not at all, don’t think that Amélie,” she told her adamantly. She didn’t want Amélie to start believing that she had obligations to Gérard just because they were married. Their relationship made no difference to what she had gone through. “You’ve been through an ordeal, you get to choose how long you need to recover.”
Amélie moved her arms and stared at the ceiling for a while. “I’m not just talking about Talon,” she whispered after a long while.
Another long while before Angela replied. She chewed her lower lip and shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her long white coat. “I know.” She sounded just as bitter as Amélie had. They were silent, not looking at each other while they waited for the other to talk. “I didn’t mean to put you in this situation,” Angela muttered, her voice apologetic.
“But you did Angela, we let this happen,” the brunette sighed, running a hand over her hair And now I need to get out of it.”
“Whatever you need, just tell me,” Angela offered, offering her hands to her patient, her friend, and smiled reassuringly. “You’ll be here for a few more days under observation and then you should be free to go home.” She paused for just a little too long before adding, “To your husband.”
“I’m sorry Angela,” Amélie muttered, reaching out and taking the doctor’s hand weakly. Her voice was growing hoarse with all this talking, and she lay back with her head against the pillows of the bed.
“Don’t be,” Angela replied, running a hand gently over her hair. Her brow was sweaty, and she made a note to fetch a cloth for if she was developing a slight temperature. “I know where we stand.”