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It was bullshit.
Daryl Crowe Jr. got the slip on him and because of that asshole, Tim was now forced to sit in this stupid hospital room while he waited for some doctor to tell him what he already knew and that he had a mild concussion after he slammed his head on the steering wheel of his SUV.
My car, Tim thought with a minor groan as he felt his skull-shattering headache increase while he thought of how damaged his car must be after the collision.
“Deputy Gutterson, I’m Dr. Sullivan, sorry for the wait. How are you feeling?” asked a bright, male voice as the door swung open.
“Peachy, Doc, except for the fact that my skull feels like it’s about to crack into two,” Tim muttered while he focused on a discolored tile on the floor and gave one of his throbbing temples a rub. “And my car is probably totaled.”
“Well, I can’t do much about your car unfortunately but let’s see if I can’t do anything for that headache,” the doctor said as he pulled the stool from the corner so that he was sitting in front of Tim. “How about you look up at me and I can run some tests to check for a concussion?”
Tim picked his head up and instantly felt as if he had enjoyed a lunch of earth worms for how much his stomach seemed to be squirming. His doctor, Dr. Sullivan, was easily the most attractive doctor he had ever had in his thirty-some years of life. Dr. Sullivan was young, probably around Tim’s age, with a strong jaw covered in scruff, a long thin nose, and bright green eyes that were hidden behind a pair of glasses. Dr. Sullivan looked the part of a professional doctor but there was something, perhaps the fact that his brown hair stuck up at impressively insane angels, as if the man had never even held a comb or a brush, which gave him a less serious and more juvenile air about him.
“Mr. Gutterson?” Dr. Sullivan asked as he leaned forward slightly with a concerned expression on his face.
“Um, what sorry?” Tim apologized while he mentally slapped himself and reminded himself that when a doctor was checking him for a concussion was probably not the best time to zone out and drool over a guy.
“I asked you if you could tell me what happened with your accident,” Dr. Sullivan said with a gentle smile.
“Oh, right,” Tim stuttered as he ran a hand through his hair.
Get your shit together.
“I was tailing this guy- I had orders to from the Marshal’s Department, it’s not like I make it a habit to follow people,” Tim added quickly.
“Of course,” Dr. Sullivan nodded with another smile.
“So I was tailing this guy and we were stopped at a red light and I was a couple cars behind him when he decided to try and get the slip on me and run the red light. I tried to follow him but,” Tim let out a sigh while he made a vague hand gesture. “Got t-boned by a truck.”
“That’s correct,” Dr. Sullivan agreed with a wide smile, clearly pleased the Tim’s brain wasn’t too rattled by the collision. “Do you find you have any black outs in your memory or any fuzzy or confusing memories?”
“When I smacked my head against the steering wheel my memory kinda blacks out for a second but it can’t have been longer than a couple seconds.”
“Well, Deputy, it seems like you’re suffering from a mild concussion,” Dr. Sullivan said as he leaned back in his seat. “I don’t think we’ll have to keep you for observation so as soon as you call someone to pick you up, you’re free to go.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Tim said, infinitely grateful he wasn’t being forced to stay in some hospital bed while there were assholes running about he needed to catch.
“And I suggest that maybe you have someone watch over you tonight to make sure any new symptoms don’t arise or get worse,” Dr. Sullivan informed him. “Do you live with someone?”
“No but I’m sure my friend will have a fit if I try to spend the night alone when she hears that I have a concussion,” Tim said tiredly as he thought of Rachel.
“Well that’s good,” Dr. Sullivan said as he got up from his seat. “Now I suggest that you try to take it easy for the rest of the day, strenuous activities may cause your concussion to worsen. Take Tylenol or Advil for the headache, something with acetaminophen, and stay away from alcohol.”
“Got it, Doc,” Tim said while in the back of his head he knew he was probably about to ignore every last one of his suggestions.
“Oh, and feel free to use an ice-pack to help reduce any possible swelling,” he added as he motioned to the small cut on Tim’s forehead.
“Right.”
“Well…” Dr. Sullivan said as he stepped back and opened the door to leave the examination room, “I would say I hope to see you again but seeing as this is a hospital and I don’t wish to you harm, I’ll just say I hope you catch your man.”
“Thanks,” Tim said with a half-smile while Dr. Sullivan fiddled with the stethoscope around his neck. “Hope you don’t catch some deadly disease from one of your patients.”
“I’ll try not to,” Dr. Sullivan grinned before he ducked his head sheepishly and exited the room.
Tim stared at the door for a long moment before he let out a deep breath and rubbed his face with his hands, feeling completely on edge and mildly embarrassed at his less than average attempts at flirting which he would blame on his addled brain. Pushing the face of the doctor out of his mind, Tim slid off of the examination table, pulled out his cell phone and headed for the hallway. As his phone rang, he mentally prepared himself for the shit-storm Rachel was sure to rain down on him when he informed her of where he was.
It had been a very long day that much was clear as Tim walked down the quiet street towards the nearby bar. He walked because his car was currently sitting in some mechanics shop being fixed, the damage not as bad as he had initially expected but still bad enough that he would be car-less for several days.
When Rachel picked him up from the hospital, Raylan had called her and asked her to help him out with Boyd and whatever bullshit ploy he was trying; Tim couldn’t let her go alone. He had been seeing double on the car ride there but when the time came to shoot he did his job, perhaps maybe not as cleanly and efficiently as he would have normally but at the end of the day the members of the Mexican drug cartel Boyd had been hanging out with were dead or detained. Soon after leaving the farmhouse, they got the call about Daryl Crowe Jr.’s demise at the hands of his sister and figured if they didn’t have to worry about that nuisance anymore then they could better enjoy their time visiting Art, who had woken up last night. Tim had felt infinitely better at the site of his beloved boss awake and talking, even if he was clearly not okay still hooked up to machines and constantly being pumped with drugs. As he left the hospital with Rachel, Tim had thought of maybe running into Dr. Sullivan but had forced the idea out of his head before Rachel could question what was on his mind, taking advantage of that mind-reading power he constantly accused her of having. Rachel insisted that Tim take the rest of the day at home instead of returning to the office, using her interim Chief Deputy powers to shoo him away from the office.
That had been a couple hours ago and after sitting in his apartment for several hours, watching television on his couch, Tim found himself feeling antsy and needed to stretch his legs. He would have rather drove to his usual bar, which was a five minute drive away from his apartment, but as he was dependent on his own feet to get him from point a to point b, he settled for the bar that was a couple blocks away.
By the time he arrived at the bar his head was throbbing once again and Tim had to be grateful that this day hadn’t happened on a weekend or he would have walked into a crowded, noisy, and headache-inducing bar, instead of the calm, sparsely populated bar it was tonight. Tim dragged himself towards the bar, sat down at the more unoccupied end, and ordered himself a beer. He was half way through his second beer when Tim felt eyes on him and was put instantly on edge; after a day like today, where he had been put into the hospital and then thrown into a gunfight, he felt it impossible to not be on alert.
Tim turned his head slightly and saw out of the corner of his eye a man on the other side of the bar watching him. In the dim lighting of the bar, Tim couldn’t tell if he knew the man or not, all he could make out was dark hair, an average build, and dark lines on his face that Tim realized must be a pair of glasses. The man wasn’t outright staring at him but he was angled toward Tim so that his general direction was in his natural line of sight.
Calm down, Tim told himself as he finished off his second beer and motioned for the barmaid to get him another drink. He glanced to the opposite side and looked up at the television that was playing a recap of a baseball game from earlier. He’s probably watching the fucking game. Drink your beer and relax. Not everyone’s out to get you.
Tim went to take a sip of his fresh beer when his headache peaked suddenly with a sharp crescendo that felt as if he had been taken an icepick to the brain. Dropping his beer back onto the bar, Tim reached up and pressed onto his temples while his face scrunched up in pain. For a moment he considered reaching into his coat pocket and grabbing the travel-sized bottle of Advil he had stowed in there but even he knew he shouldn’t mix medicine with alcohol.
“You know you’re not supposed to drink while recovering from a head injury,” said a warm voice that made Tim jump slightly in his seat.
Slightly annoyed at the fact that he was taken by surprised, Tim turned in his seat and was surprised to find Dr. Sullivan standing before him. He was changed out of his doctor scrubs and was now dressed in an old, slightly snagged green sweater and faded jeans with holes. Without his doctor uniform, dressed in normal clothes, the young doctor now looked to Tim as if he was fresh out of college.
“Um, I don’t know if you remember me but-”
“Dr. Sullivan,” Tim said as he tipped his beer in hello.
“Or Ben,” he said with a small laugh before he extended his hand towards Tim. “Ben Sullivan.”
“Tim Gutterson,” Tim said with a smirk as he accepted his hand. “But of course, you’ve seen my medical chart so you already know that.” He then motioned to the empty bar stool next to him and Dr. Sullivan, Ben he had to remind himself, sat down, his long legs brushing up against Tim’s accidentally.
“You know, I think I told you that you should stay away from alcohol while recovering from a head injury,” Ben reminded Tim while he fiddled with the label on his own beer bottle instead of looking at Tim.
“Yeah well, I seem to be suffering from some short term memory loss and I forgot that little tidbit,” Tim joked but when Ben looked up at him with a very concerned expression on his face Tim’s smile fell into a grimace. “No, I’m sorry, tasteless joke. I’m not suffering from any memory loss or anything I swear. I’m just an idiot.”
“Your headaches,” Ben said as he motioned towards Tim’s head with his beer bottle. “I saw you looked like you were in pain and I was worried that maybe something worse was happening so…”
“So you ran over here to play doctor? How kind of you,” Tim said with a small smile. “It’s not that bad. It comes and it goes. And I’ll have you know I am smart enough to not mix medicine with alcohol so I refrained from grabbing the Advil on me.”
“I’d rather you refrain from the alcohol and just take the Advil,” Ben said softly.
“Yeah, well, I’ve had a bit of a rough day,” Tim sighed.
“Something else happen after the accident?” Ben asked as he angled himself toward Tim causing his legs to brush against Tim’s again; Tim did his best to ignore the odd feeling that returned to his stomach at the brief contact.
“Yeah, straight from the hospital me and one of my co-workers took part in a good-ole Mexican shoot-out and all that gunfire probably wasn’t good for my headache,” Tim said easily as if he were talking about the weather.
“Mexican shoot-out? Well, you sure make my job sound uninteresting,” Ben said with a nervous smile while one of his hands jumped to his hair to mess up his already untidy locks.
“You’re an E.R. doc, how can anything like that be made into something uninteresting? It’s not like every day involves a car accident and a shoot-out.”
“Yeah well, most of my days aren’t as exciting as today either,” Ben said as he looked back at Tim.
“What happened today that made your day so exciting?” Tim asked as he took a drink from his beer, earning a slightly disapproving look from Ben for it.
“Well it’s not every day that a good-looking U.S. Marshal comes into the E.R.,” Ben said quietly as he met Tim’s eyes, face now slowly turning bright red.
“Um, what?” Tim asked as he felt his own face begin to heat up, sure he’d heard wrong.
“Sorry! Sorry, I just, um, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just, thought, um, that, you, uh,” Ben stuttered quickly as he jumped from his seat as if it had been electrocuted and began to back away from Tim. “I’m sorry. I thought I got this, this feeling from you and yeah, I’m gonna go. Uh, please stop drinking until your concussion is fully healed and rest up and take some Advil for your headaches and-”
“Hey, wait,” Tim said as he slid off of his own barstool and reached out to grab Ben’s arm before he disappeared. “Ben.”
Ben froze at Tim’s touch but allowed Tim to pull him close to him by his forearm. He looked down at Tim, face bright red, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, and looking very much like a puppy that had just pissed on his master’s tennis shoes. It made Tim grin while his heart continued to pound in his chest and his stomach returned to its previous squirming sensation.
“You think I’m handsome?” Tim asked with a cocky grin while he loosened his grip on Ben’s arm but didn’t let go of it.
“…I think the words I used were ‘good-looking’ don’t get ahead of yourself,” Ben mumbled which caused Tim to laugh.
Tim then watched as Ben’s eyes traveled down his arm to where Tim was still holding onto him loosely, now around his wrist, thumb rubbing the inside of his wrist lightly. He looked back up at Tim and raised an eyebrow.
“You know how you said that I should have someone watch over me while I heal from this pesky concussion?” Tim asked as he leaned against the bar.
“Just like how I told you not to drink alcohol?”
“Now as it turns out I’m not very good at following any directions because I didn’t get a chance to ask my friend to watch out for me tonight, so now I’ve got no one to watch me and, with my luck, these beers probably made my injury worse,” Tim said in mock apologetic voice. “What if something happened to me while I was all alone in my apartment?”
“Well, as a doctor, I can’t let you do that,” Ben said quickly. “I was the last physician you saw so technically you’re still under my care and if you slipped into a coma or something, well, that would be on my hands.”
“So what are you gonna do about it, Doc?” Tim asked, angling his body closer to him so that he could brush part of his body against Ben’s. Tim squeezed Ben’s wrist while he finished the rest of his beer in a couple of large gulps. “Are you going to escort me back to my place or am I going to have to try and make it all the way back while I’m in this fragile state?”
“I doubt you’ve ever been anything close to fragile,” Ben muttered before he smiled nervously and asked, “Should we take my car or yours?”
“I walked here, what my car still being totaled from the accident,” Tim reminded him.
“Right, well, let me take you home then,” Ben said. “For medical reasons of course.”
“Of course. What other reasons would there be for you to accompany me back to my apartment?” Tim teased before he finally let go of Ben’s hand and headed towards the exit with Ben at his heals.
As Tim slid into the passenger’s seat of Ben’s car and began directing Ben towards his apartment, he couldn’t help but feel a little grateful towards Daryl Crowe Jr. The guy was a grade-A asshole but if it weren’t for him, well, Tim’s night would probably be a lot less interesting.