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"How would you rate your pain?" asked Vera, with that sweet sophisticated lopsided smile. "And don't say ten."
"Now that you're here, zero. Hell, it's in the negative." Rex left off leaning against the wall, stood straight and smiled back, even though it didn’t come easy. Nothing came easy anymore. Not even thinking.
“You’ve been picking up lines from the Captain.” She began brushing her hair, sitting right there on the side of the bed with the California sun streaking through the blinds. Her hair. Fields of light. Rex reached out and smoothed back a strand that had flown away, killing the static.
“Got my own lines. I figured you were getting tired of the old standby. You know, where’s my drugs, woman.”
She laughed. “You don’t fuck around. I like that.” She turned to look him right in the eyes, and her smile vanished. All doctor-face, now. “Your level.”
He thought about lying, but decided against it. “Three, maybe.”
She nodded, and the clinical look softened into an unknowable expression. Compassion? Acceptance? He could know her, read her, if he had more time.
“Close the blinds,” she told him. “Please. The light’s getting in my eyes.”
“Sure,” he said, and as he reached out his arm, he didn’t feel a thing.