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Four fevers; three of them children with panicked caretakers. Two burn victims; arrived at the same time from the same party where one of them thought introducing frozen chicken wings to scorching oil was a wise idea. One lacerated elbow with glass cuts on the knuckles and arm from punching out the window of his ex-wife's car. Steroids may give you muscles but certainly not intelligence. One gunshot wound. It was New York; there was always a gunshot wound. One suspected poisoning that turned out to be an excess of chocolate Twinkies. Several coughing, several more sniffling, a few actively bleeding, and one guy with a pencil lodged in his nose; point first.
Christine ached.
Comfortable though her shoes may be, at the start of shift, by the time she clocked out after pulling a triple, her feet felt hot and bruised. She had wine at home, and leftover scaloppina di pollo from Song E Napule, and a battered but comfortable plush robe draped across a bed where she really wished she were lying at the moment.
Even at 4am, there were still taxis running. The last of the bars had let out so there were better than the average number of sloshed patrons needing rides home. Avoiding the milling groups, at the corner, Christine was able to flag a yellow cab near a newspaper stand. She smiled when she dropped into the cushioned interior, recognizing the man behind the wheel, unexpected as that may be.
“Jacob! I thought you weren't working the late shift anymore. How have you been?”
“Oh, Chrissy! Been a long time! I'm good; I'm good...” The older man glanced into the left lane before pulling out into the street. “Emil had his bar mitzvah on Saturday.”
Leaning slightly forward to talk, Christine noted the new photo attached to Jacob's dashboard. “Wow, thirteen already! I think he was only six the first time we met.” The photo was of a grinning boy with black curls and dressed in the traditional tallit.
They chatted for the next eight minutes until the cab pulled up in front of Christine's building. She tried, as always, to leave a large tip and, as always, Jacob refused. However, this time she smiled, “for Emil,” and Jacob gave in; nodding his thanks.
She could hear Salerno squalling behind the door before she'd managed to wrestle her keys from the depths of her purse.
“I know... I'm sorry. I've got a package of ahi that's all yours...” placating ended in a scream at the shape looming beyond the door.
“Hi.”
“Jesus, Stephen!” She glared him down before he could turn that into a joke; taking a further 30 seconds to notice the blood dripping steadily on her wood floors; wild thought “thank God I don't have carpet...” before she shed her startle for action. “You, stool, now, sit!” Adding a hand on his elbow to propel him towards said stool before darting for the medical kit in her bathroom.
A minor pool had already gathered around his heels in the moments she'd been gone; his face sweaty and pale and the rigid set of his body spoke of tightly controlled pain.
“Answer me honestly; do I need to call an ambulance?”
Stephen swallowed; his mouth moving in a way she knew meant “waffling” before he cleared his throat. “You can't.”
Well that wasn't terrifying. “Let me see.” She was about to disrobe him herself (literally, in this case), but hesitated at the cloak as it seemed to bunch up around his shoulders in a move she swore was defensive. Until his whole crazy change in profession the notion of protective clothing would have brought to mind bullet proof vests. “Okay, I'll let you handle... that.”
Stephen turned towards one upward jutting collar in a gesture that seemed nearly paternal. Also not remotely odd. At all. “Off.” The sweep of the cloak from his shoulders was still terrifying, in its way. That was just not normal. But, as before, she shook it off and made every effort to ignore the heavy fabric hovering just a little too close and... was it watching her?
But then she forgot the nosy outerwear when she took in the dark wet staining the back of Stephen's shredded tunic. “Oh, God, Stephen...”
Removing the tunic was a complicated operation. Blood had dried in spots; sticking the fabric to his skin and even with moist towels the process of peeling it away was agony. The small grunts and wheezing gasps cut through her but she persisted until she'd finally removed the last of it.
“...What... did this?” Three deep gouges that looked a good deal like claw marks had torn him open from mid-shoulders down to the small of his back. While the gashes weren't deep enough to compromise organs, they had caused extensive bleeding and tissue damage. The sutures in her kit were laughable in the face of the injury. “You look like you were mauled by a jungle cat!”
Stephen hissed as he turned his neck; though it was clear he couldn't see over his own shoulder. “More like a dragon...”
“That's a thing? God, why do I even ask...” She tried not to think about the cause and did her best to focus on the effect but the task before her was daunting at best. “Is there a reason you didn't contact Wong? Surely he has more experience with... (dragons)... this?”
Stephen shrugged and immediately paid for it with a flinch. “You were closer.”
“Closer is relative; you have that... ring... thing.”
“He's training students at Kamir Taj. I didn't want to interrupt him for something like this.” Stephen turned away; his face stiff. Christine ignored his expression as she began to clean the edges of the first gash.
“I'll do my best but this is going to need staples...”
“I told you, I can't go in.”
“And I'm telling you that you don't have a choice.” Christine moved in front of him when Stephen tried to square off – a hand upraised to keep him on the stool. “Do I really need to explain to you about the risk of infection and bleeding if this isn't treated properly? I mean, people can develop CDS from their cats and we're talking really small scratches. This is a God damn dragon, Stephen! And your back looks like you were attacked by a wood chipper!”
“I thought it was a jungle cat.”
“That's not funny.” She walked back around and lifted her hands helplessly at the sheer scale of his injuries. “Look, I'm not going to get anywhere with this and whether or not you're willing to admit it you are very much actively bleeding.” Without waiting for further snark; Stephen tended towards contentious when he was hurt; Christine readied two syringes before swabbing his hip. The first injection was a broad spectrum antibiotic. God knew what bacteria dragon claws carried so no knowing if it would even help. The second was a high dose acetaminophen. “I wish I could give you morphine but we'd have to be in a hospital for that.” She said cheerily; readying gauze while waiting for the pain medication to kick in. Stephen didn't reply but side eyed her through his drooping hair.
It wasn't long before Stephen's shoulders lowered slightly – though the pain, she knew, would be minimally relieved.
“I'm sorry; this is going to hurt.” She grimaced as she started packing the wounds; biting at her lip as he grabbed the edge of her counter with one hand; the other fisted on his knee. It was a long and miserable process and he was shaking head to toe by the time she taped down the last of the gauze – the material already soaking through. Stephen breathed hard for a few moments while waiting though the spiking pain. Finally he blinked; mouthing his words.
“Thank you,” he slurred; then frowned.
Christine placed a hand on his elbow and carefully wrapped the other around his waist to ease him from the stool. “By the way, that shot of pain medication? It may have contained a sedative.” She nodded at his frown. “Yeah, because I was totally going to let you leave without medical intervention.” She didn't need to call him an idiot – they both knew he was. His long frame proved challenging to shift towards the couch; at least until his cloak sailed helpfully to his shoulders and took the weight when he abruptly slumped. The sedative alone couldn't have caused his loss of consciousness but the blood loss certainly did. The moment he was settled, Christine called for an ambulance; one hand resting down on his cheek and her brows pushed together at the heat baking from his skin.
“Idiot...” she muttered; dropping to the floor at his side while she waited for help to arrive.
~~~~~~~~~~~ ۞~~~~~~~~~~~۞ ~~~~~~~~~~~
Stephen enjoyed three days choking down lime Jello and sleeping on his side propped up by heavy foam pillows. Christine stopped by to visit several times a day and even managed to keep the well deserved chastising to a minimum. Besides, Wong had that front covered once he'd been made aware of where Stephen had currently taken up residence.
“I really am going to get a plaque installed on the door. In fact you could possibly get them to designate this entire wing as a vacation home.”
“Haha. Great vacation.” Stephen winced as he shifted against the pillows. Comfort was impossible being forced to lie in one position like that. “As it is, I'm not sure I have that kinda pull anymore.”
Snorting, Christine sat on the edge of the bed and held the bottle of juice against his lips. After a few swallows he gestured it away. “Pretty sure you never had that kinda pull.”
When he declined the rest of the juice, Christine capped it and stuck it away in the mini fridge in case he wanted to finish it later. The nurse came in soon afterwards and carried out the usual bed check; including a scheduled dose of meds. After she left, Christine fixed his pillow, adjusted his IV so that the line wouldn't catch on the rail of his bed, and was prepared to leave when his fingers eased around her wrist.
“Thank you. I... probably should listen to you more often.”
“Wow. We're enjoying our morphine.” There was a sweetness to him, in this state. Blurry on pain medication and undoubtedly vulnerable he wasn't so much “former arrogant neurosurgeon current arrogant sorcerer and possible cultist” but more like “7 year old begging for cuddles and ice cream”. Sitting on the edge of the bed she breathed out and offered a bemused smile. “Stephen, you know, you aren't alone, right? We're always going to be here for you.”
He grinned; that half-stoned expression that made intense conversation rather pointless.
“Okay, got it, not tonight.” she pushed the stubborn and obviously “styled for effect” bangs from his forehead in order to press a kiss against his temple. “I'll see you in the morning, 'kay?”
Letting his head drop back on his pillow, Stephen nodded and made no further attempt to cling as she stood and walked for the door. Pushing down the handle, she had taken a single step forward when his voice drifted from the darkened room.
“Night...”
She turned to look over her shoulder... and he was asleep. Chuckling, she tapped her fingers against the door frame.
“Goodnight, Stephen.”
Two days later he was allowed to go home and Christine was thrilled to be able to pass his ongoing care to Wong; who looked, by turns, bemused and long-suffering. She knew the feeling.
She wished she could say her extra-curricular doctoring was followed by a long weekend and a date with a bath and a copy of Rebel Carter's “Love and Gravity”. Instead, Nick had managed to break both his tibia and fibula tripping over his elliptical so she was stuck pulling another triple to cover for him. Time became more of a concept over the next 24 hours and she swore her body was primarily held together by shitty caffeine and dark chocolate. Her stumble home, metaphorically, (she did take a cab after all), became literal when she tripped over Salerno and earned a vindictive claw swipe across her shin. “Ow! Shit! Dammit, Sal!” She sagged onto a kitchen stool and pulled her leg up to examine the two red lines. “Granted, I probably deserved that, huh.” She crooned towards the fluffy orange monster as he lumbered across the island to thump his soft head against her shoulder. She grunted as she heaved the small cougar into her arms and proceeded through the kitchen.
“How about some Fancy Feast for dinner, huh? Make up for me being a terrible mom.”
Sal was very much in favor of that. He was very much in favor of anything involving food. Forgoing the crystal bowl she dumped the wet mush into a plastic cat dish decorated in cartoon paw prints and braced herself when Sal roughly brushed by as he bolted for the food; one of the few times he could muster a speed above “waddle”.
“You're welcome.”
The cafeteria turkey wrap, which she'd managed all of six bites roughly five hours ago, had been laughably nonsustaining. Too tired for complex Christine opted for microwaved Campbell's. Funny how good cheap chicken noodle and crackers could taste when paired with Chardonnay. Sal wrapped up his dish before she'd managed two bites; proceeding to claw his way to the table in order to properly hunch across from her with the face of the starving.
Her spoon thunked on the edge of her bowl. “Seriously?”
After dinner, Sal guilted her out of most of the tiny bits of chicken, she carried her wine with her to the living room...
“Oh wow...” she breathed.
On her coffee table was a... tree. A bonsai with amazing red leaves and potted in a square clay container decorated with carved images of egrets. Setting down her glass, she sat on the couch to better examine the stunning plant. There was a card tucked down amidst the polished stones filling the bottom of the pot. With two fingers she plucked free the card; turning it towards herself as she leaned against the back of the couch.
~ I will always be there, for you, as well – Stephen ~
As she finished reading the card, a gentle rain of gold rose from the leaves; startling her enough that she pulled up her feet. When it faded, the branches now held a cascade of miniature white roses with tiny pockets of gold at their core.
“Wow...” she murmured again; utterly incapable of producing more articulate comment. Sal curled around her feet, obviously interested as well, and she was taken with giggles as a glowing trio of tiny gold birds suddenly burst from the branches – pulling the chubby cat into pursuit.
“Okay, now you're just showing off...”
She stayed up for another hour; watching as the flowers would slowly bloom from bud to full flower, then gently close, only to slowly open again as a different species. Periodically, as Sal got too close, the little gold birds would distract him away from the tempting bows. When she finally sat up and yawned she found her body eased of the tension that usually lingered well into the night. She knew it wasn't the wine that had provided that relief. A little self-conscious, she brushed her fingers across the flowers – this time coming to life as cherry blossoms.
“Thank you.”
Scratching Sal as she walked past, she fished a few treats from his jar on the counter. “This is a bribe. There's more where these came from if you don't eat my plant.” Nonplussed, Sal noisily crunched the treats as she continued towards her room.
Sal padded along behind her as she made for her bed with a brief stop in the bathroom; reemerging in her favorite faded night shirt; the butterfly print so diluted that they looked more like butterfly shaped stains.
Tomorrow, she would call Stephen and thank him for the gift. She also needed to thank Wong; knowing, full well, that the tree would have come from his beloved garden. Tonight, however, she was going to enjoy the sleep she could feel pulling at her shoulders.
Slipping beneath the covers, smiling at the heavy phump as her oversized roommate heaved up onto the duvet, Christine rubbed the soft cheek that pressed into her hand. “You, me; We're gonna visit Great Aunt Jesse's this weekend, kay? Gonna make you even chubbier than you already are on all those homemade treats.” she grinned. Clearly pleased with that plan, Sal curled up by her head and yawned.
Through the door, a single golden bird fluttered up towards the ceiling before vanishing in a soft shimmer.