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“Alright, now,” said the medic. “Look at the light.”
She moved her glowing probe back and forth in front of his eyes and sitting there, holding the cold pack they’d given him to the lump on his thrumming head, he did his best to comply. It was tough going. His vision was still swimming in and out of focus.
The medic hummed contently, which was a good sign. Hopefully his eyes were doing whatever a person’s eyes were supposed to do after a head injury. Or, whatever your eyes were expected to not do if your brain was actually seriously injured. Something like that.
“Okay.” She put her probe aside. “I’m just going to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure.” He wished they could skip ahead to the part where he got to lie down. Hopefully they’d let him have a sleep.
“Can you tell me your name?” she asked.
“Steven,” he said, adding, “Steven Taylor.”
“Good!” she said, tapping her green. “Now, do you know what year it is?”
Ah, he thought, those kinds of questions.
Then he thought, oh, Christ.
He heaved a breath, and sat forward in his chair. “Alright, um,” he said. “This is going to sound a little stranger, but I – I didn’t actually know the answer to that question before I hit my head, so it, it’s really nothing to worry about.”
By the look on her face she was, in fact, worried. “Mm-hm,” she said, tapping her screen again. “And do you know who’s president?”
He stared at her, mind absolutely blank. “Ohh,” he groaned, cringing. “This is going so badly.”
“It’s alright.” Setting aside her screen she laid a soothing hand upon his shoulder. “Take some deep breaths.”
“My memory’s just fine,” he assured her. “I’m just not from here – I don’t know the year but I think this is the future?” Alright, so, his memory was fine but his brain to mouth filter might be offline. Typical. “No – no, that came out wrong,” he hastened to add. “Forget I said that – oh, don’t write down that I said that.” He slumped back in his chair. This was bad. They were going to hospitalise him until he could tell them what year it was. “Ohh, no,” he groaned.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m referring you for a neural scan – just to check everything’s okay. Once we’re done with the scan your husband should be able to take you home.”
His brain was, admittedly, pretty foggy. It took him a moment to process what she’d said. “My who now?”
“Your husband,” she prompted, very kindly.
“I – don’t have a husband,” he told her.
That got him a very kind and understanding look. She was tapping her screen again. “Alright, now, we can get you something for the pain,” she said. “And –”
“No – no,” he spoke over her. “I promise I’m not that concussed. I’m not married. Why do you think I’m married?”
“Your friend listed your husband as your next of kin on your intake forms,” she said.
“I knew I shouldn’t have let her fill those in,” he groaned. “Listen, can you show me what she wrote down?”
“Absolutely,” she said, flicking through tabs on her screen and twisting it around so he could see.
Reading it took several attempts. His vision would not stay straight for more than a second or two. But he managed to get the gist. “That is – not correct.”
“We can get it amended,” said the medic. “But can I just check, is someone coming to pick you two up?”
“Yes, I assume so,” he said. “I mean, there’s – a man in my life – not like that,” he hastened to add. “He’s in my life, he’s not in my life, if you know what I – he’s just a friend – I, I –” He stammered to a halt. “Actually, never mind. Can I please take you up on the painkillers?”
“Of course.” She turned her screen back around and tapped more buttons.
She must have sent out some kind of message, because a minute or so later a nursed arrived bringing painkillers – and Dodo. “Steven!” she cried at the sight of him, as if they’d been parted for hours rather than maybe forty five minutes. She dove at him as she was wont to do and the impact made him dizzy.
“Oof,” he said, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “Yes – yes, alright.” He managed to get out of her grip and she settled into the chair beside him.
“How are you?” she said, bouncing on the cushion. “How’s your head?” Turning to the medic, she dropped her voice and said, “How’s his head?”
“My head’s fine,” he said before the medic could answer. “Listen – Dodo. This is important. Why did you tell these people I’m married?”
Dodo blinked at him. “Oh,” she said. “Did you not want them to know?”
He stared at her. His head was on fire. It was so hard to think. It was difficult to get his brain around the logic of what she was saying. He’d assumed that she had – for some unfathomable reason – gone on a flight of fancy while filling in his paperwork. Evidently not.
“Um,” he said, helpless. “Are you. Under the impression the Doctor and I are married?”
“Yeah,” she said, bluntly, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to think. “Why? Aren’t you?”
“Oh, good grief.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he rubbed at them with his free hand. “Dodo,” he groaned. “Dodo, why on earth –” He really had to clear this up. Twisting in his chair he addressed the medic. “We’re not married,” he said. “I just live with him.”
“Ah,” said Dodo sagely. “Living in sin.”
“No!” He turned to face her so quickly that his head swam and for a second he thought he might vomit. He fought his bile back down and said, “No – no, we aren’t anything – I just live in his spaceship.”
“Really?” She seemed earnestly taken aback. “Why?”
“Why do I live on his spaceship?” he echoed. She nodded. “I don’t know. Why do you live on his spaceship?”
“Hmm.” Dodo’s brow creased as she considered the question. “Well, I suppose because he sort of kidnapped me.”
He stared at her. Alright, so, his brain to mouth filter wasn’t working on account of the concussion. She had no such excuse. “That’s – very funny,” he said flatly. “Good joke, Dodo. That was a – very funny joke you just told. She’s joking,” he added to the medic and nurse. “We’re not married and we don’t kidnap people.”
“I see,” said the medic. He thought she might have made more notes while they were talking. Best not to press her on it.
Another thought struck him. He turned back to Dodo. “Anyway, isn’t that sort of thing illegal where you’re from?”
“Well, yeah,” she said. “But you two are from space and that, so I thought you could probably do what you wanted.”
He couldn’t exactly argue with that considering that she was, in fact, right. “But what made you think we were married?” he persisted.
She shrugged. “You just act sort of married?” she said. “What are you, then?”
“We’re – friends,” he said. “Most of the time. We’re not anything. I’m not – I, I don’t – in all honesty, I don’t like him all that much, let alone –”
She was nodding. “Yeah!” she agreed. “He doesn’t seem to like you much either. I suppose that’s why I thought you must be married.”
His mind blanked again. “Ohh, I’m too concussed for this,” he groaned. “Why did that make you think we were married?”
“Lots of married people don’t like each other?” she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What was I supposed to think?”
He could think of a number of possible answers to that question, and tried several times to speak. Then, giving up, he turned to the nurse. “Hello,” he said. “May I please have the drugs now? Thank you.” She handed him the paper cup of capsules. He downed them. “Thanks. Is there someone I can go to lie down until the neural scan?”
“Of course,” said the medic. “We’ll get you a bed.”
As it happened, by the time the Doctor finally showed his face, they’d already done the neural scan, determined that he was – as he’d tried to tell them – not actually so concussed he’d forgotten what year it was and whether he was married, and then sent him back to his bed.
“Oh, there you are,” said the Doctor, bustling into the cubicle as if Steven was the one who’d gone AWOL. As if he hadn’t been parked in a hospital bed for the past several hours while the Doctor wandered around the city doing god knew what. Typical. “Now, what have you done to your head?”
Coming over to where Steven was seated on the edge of the bed, he made a sincere attempt to examine the bandage. Steven flapped him away. “I’m fine,” he said. “I have my neural scan results. It’s not serious. They gave me some painkillers. I just want to have a sleep.”
The Doctor made a protracted grumbling sound which implied he felt he’d have done a better job of examining and diagnosing Steven, and also that he ought to be the one deciding if Steven was allowed to have a nap and that really, it was unacceptable that other people have been permitted to handle the situation in his absence. Then he coughed, and said, “Where’s Dodo?”
“Off that way somewhere,” said Steven, motioning. “She went to find a snack. She should be along in a moment and then we can go.”
The Doctor did another of those noises. “Yes, well, I, I imagine we can leave once Dodo comes back,” he said as if it’d been his idea. “Now, is there a reason the staff here are under the impression my name is Doctor Taylor? Hm?”
Steven considered the question. He heaved a sigh, and prodding the Doctor in the chest said, “Don’t ask.”