Work Text:
“Out of the way! HUMAN WITH A SPRAINED ANKLE COMING THROUGH!”
You haven’t been in this much pain — well, physical pain, emotional is another story — in a long time. It’s sharp and throbbing and, really what you deserve for letting the abstract concept of sports spot you while you tried to balance on an exercise ball. Dunk jostles you as he tears across the landing and into the bedroom. He practically throws you into Betty’s embrace, leaving you weightless and unaware of all else but the pain.
And then you land. Gentle arms curl around you and you sink into the softness of Betty’s warm bulk. Your ankle rests against the fluffy comforter she wears as a coat, and the horrible ache dulls, if only slightly.
“Were you and Dunk playing a little too rough?” Betty coos suggestively, but when she looks down to see how badly your ankle has already swollen, she grimaces.
“It hurts, Betty,” you cry into her shoulder, muffled by the sheets.
“Oh, beloved, I know it does. What can I do to help, hmm?”
“I need…” Pain bolts through you as you shift in Betty’s arms and you wince, unable to finish your sentence.
“They need to get off that foot for a while,” says Dunk. “You know! It’s the first step in RICE: rest, i- um, isometrics? No, that’s not it…”
“- ice, compression, and elevation,” interrupts another voice. “If I’ve told you a million times, Dunk…” The warm, peppy voice is like a cool salve on your injury — a placebo, for sure, but you smile anyway, knowing that the person it belongs to will definitely help you feel better.
“Farya! You’re here,” Betty enthuses as she helps you onto the bed. The real pillows and sheets aren’t nearly as comfortable as a hug from Betty, but at least you’re horizontal now. That helps. “Did someone from the gym come get you?”
“Jumping jeepers, no!” says Farya. “I could just tell that our lovely human needed my help. I have a very keen sense for them, you know. Medically.” And otherwise. She smiles at you sympathetically, and you do your best to smile back, ultimately producing more of a grimace. You can see the enthusiasm in her eyes over having a real medical emergency to address, and the way she’s trying to hide it. It’s really okay for her to be excited; she’s good at her job and because most of the house occupants go to Tony for medical help, she never gets a chance to show off.
Farya steps up to the bed and rubs your arm. The touch is cold through her gloves but you can feel the intent behind it nonetheless. She opens up her kit, inspecting its contents and pulling out everything that she thinks might help, from thermometers to cold medicine to a whole collection of bandages in different sizes. “It also really did help the old medi-senses to hear Dunk yelling that you sprained your ankle,” she adds humbly. “Speaking of which, Dunk, you really have to stop going around preaching RICE so much! I mean, some of the individual components can be helpful for symptom management within the first forty-eight hours of a soft tissue injury, but relying on it entirely can be counterproductive to healing. Rest might feel nice as pie, for example, but controlled movement gets more much-needed blood flowing to the affected area –”
As Farya gives Dunk her lecture, Betty rounds the bed and gets in next to you, arms slinking around your shoulders. Her breath hits the back of your neck sweetly. It’s so cozy that you could drift off, if the pain weren’t still so acute.
Dunk’s eyes drift from Farya to you to Betty and his face goes red. “Far, you’re probably totally right, but do you think you can fill me in later? I think… you two got this handled, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for Farya to respond before swiftly exiting the bedroom.
Betty laughs, and Farya frowns, looking up to see what it was that made Dunk flee in such a hurry. When she sees the position you and Betty are in, her lips twist into an even deeper frown. “Is that really necessary, Betty?”
“It really is,” Betty replies, stroking your hair. “I’m just trying to keep our dear human comfortable. I know you like keeping them comfortable just as much as I do… and in just as many ways.”
“Ah, Betty! That’s so unbelievably inappropriate!” Farya blushes and while she doesn’t stop laying out her supplies (those painkillers look like they could stun a horse!), her free hand picks self-consciously at her shirt and her hijab. “They’re my patient! I’m their… soon-to-be-a-doctor! What about me makes you think I’d cross an important professional boundary all willy-nilly?”
A sudden jolt of pain shoots up your leg and you wince. “Farya!”
Farya clears her throat. “Oh, sorry, dear!” she says, straightening up. “Don’t you worry, I’ll get straight to diagnosing.”
Betty chuckles into your ear. “And is this really necessary? We know it’s just a sprained ankle,” she says just loud enough for you to hear, before snuggling tight up against you, strapping you in for Farya’s examination.
Which, in all actuality, is not that bad. Betty is right, after all: you and Farya are lovers, as much as she is denying it in this semi-clinical setting. You would never brag, but with your Empathy points and all, you’ve a visible influence on her doctoring skills. And not just by helping her study. Her bedside manner is so much less morbid than it once was. You still hear plenty of gory fun facts when you spend time with her, but now, even as she pokes you with her stethoscope, her otoscope, multiple thermometers, and several other diagnostic tools you don’t even recognize, she’s keeping those comments to herself.
When she finally gets around to examining your ankle, after an exclamation of “Well, that joint’s the size of Cinderella’s carriage,” her touch is gentle and knows exactly which tender spots to avoid. The first time you met Farya, she shoved you around impartially like you were a piece of meat. She knows what your limits are, and to be safe, she keeps herself far below those limits as she treats you. The elastic compression bandage she wraps around your ankle might even be a smidge too loose, but you can tell it’ll get the job done all the same.
“You make sure you’re only icing for fifteen to twenty minutes at a time, okay? Betty, make sure they do, and keep an eye open for ice burns, too, savvy? Frostbite really eats away at you. I don’t want to see my favorite human covered in swollen black blisters!” Farya says this all while holding an ice pack to your skin.
“Too graphic…” you wheeze.
“Oh, sorry, muffin,” says Farya. “For you, I’ll always keep it clean.” She rests her hand on your knee, but blushes and pulls away when she feels Betty’s knowing eye on her.
The rest of your day is dull. When you’re dating Betty, bedridden doesn’t equal boredom in the same way it usually would, but even her company doesn’t change the fact that you cannot move from this one spot. Plus, she turns down your request for sex because of your injury, so there goes the entertainment you were counting on. Still, Betty dotes on you, rubbing your back, stroking your hair, and singing you lullabies. Her cozy attentions in addition to Farya’s help reduce the intense pain in your ankle to a vague ache by nightfall. It’s a good day, if not an exciting one.
Although you’ll probably still have some things to tell Diana when all is said and done. Farya comes back several times throughout the day, to replace bandages and help with icing, and the tension between her wanting to be a doting girlfriend and wanting to act somewhat professional is felt by all. Betty, as comfortable a presence as she is for you, is not helping Farya.
“You look tired,” says Betty the final time Farya comes to check on you. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us tonight?”
“Surely sure!” replies Farya. She blushes furiously as she stacks up several pillows at the foot of the bed. Betty is correct, that her eyes, usually so wide and ready for anything, are starting to droop. The exhaustion of a busy day of almost-doctoring has given her a certain self-satisfied glow. It radiates off of her as she gingerly lifts your leg atop the tower of pillows, elevating it above your heart to keep the swelling down during the night. She turns to you. “Tomorrow, I’ll get you started on some therapeutic exercises, sound good? Meanwhile, if you need me at all tonight —” She pauses to yawn. “— just give me a holler.”
Farya’s yawn is infectious. As you and Betty both join in, giving in to the oncoming sleep, you do wish Farya would join in and get cozy with the two of you. But you know she won’t. Not after Betty’s provocation. Still, you feel bad for how much affection she’s shown you today and how little you’ve given in return. “You did so much for me today, Farya. Thank you.”
“Of course, muffin!” Farya smiles, and while she looks nervously at Betty, she seems to be thinking something over. She around the side of the bed and pats you on the cheek, her thumb stroking over your skin in a romantic gesture that makes you feel warm and fully healed.
Betty, to her credit, doesn’t comment until Farya has left. “I hope we both dream about her tonight,” she murmurs. “She’s so bubbly. I absolutely love it. And doctor-patient? That’s a sexy new power dynamic to add to my fantasies.”
You bite your lip. You’re almost too sleepy to protest, but Betty might never forgive you if you let something she says make you uncomfortable without speaking up. “Farya and I aren’t really… we’re not into that kind of thing.”
Betty giggles. “That’s fine, my beloved. I won’t bring it up again.” She nuzzles into the crook of your neck, and with one final yawn before drifting off, she adds, “Good thing she’s not your doctor, besides. She’s a first-aid kit.”