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Dennis was positively wrecked after his first shift in the Emergency Room. Nobody’s fault, of course! Just that they really weren’t kidding about the “high stress environment” and “needing to get used to it” and “too many bodily fluids” part.
His muscles ache as we makes his way toward the big automatic sliding doors of the ER. But just before he can make his escape, just for some fresh air-
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“What-?” Before he even really has time to pose his question, a clipboard is pushed into his hand. Paperwork. Really? The hospital must really like him because he just can’t catch a break.
He can’t even be bothered, so, he just sits down in the waiting room and starts scribbling down all the relevant information. ‘Hostile personality’, ‘infection’, ‘notify family’, so on.
When he looks up, a whole new crowd of people is populating the corridors of the ER. New patients, of course, but some in scrubs. It takes his brain a moment to catch up. The night shift. Jesus, how long has he been sat here?
When he gets up, he starts to sway a little. He really needs some fresh air. Some sleep. He stalks his way towards the front desk, staring down at his feet as if that were a command to keep him upright.
He’s so out of it that, when they do collide, he doesn’t even feel it at first, only feeling his eyes close and arms draw closer to his body. When his his brain does kick in, he whips his head in the direction of the foreign object, his eyes darting open but not really focusing on anything. He stumbles backwards, taking a moment to steady himself and looking down at the ground again.
“I’m so sorry- I didn’t see-“
When he looks up, he doesn’t see a heart monitor or a strangely-placed cabinet, but a person. A woman.
Around his age and height, surprisingly, and also in scrubs, though, hers are covered in stickers and glitter. Her auburn hair was in low pigtails and full of colourful clips, scattered almost like the freckles across her cheeks and nose. Her expression was unreadable to Dennis but her moth was hanging open, as if she had wanted to say something hut had lost it when he started talking.
Dennis is unable to do anything for a moment. He only half registers that his hand is tightening around the clipboard. Had he told his body to do that? It may as well be a good thing, given how sweaty his hands are becoming.
He scans her chest for a name tag but his eyes are too tired to be able to focus on the tiny lettering. When he squints, she does the same c tilting her head to the side, trying to catch his eye.
Oh God, he just realised how that might look! He feels his face become hot with embarrassment , stammering but unable to form any words.
He meets her sceptical gaze and tries to smile but it comes out a bit more like a smirk.
*Shit!*
The woman makes a gesture that says “what?? do something” and he knows he has to talk. Now, right now.
“I’m sorry.” Good start. “I’ve had an awfully long shift- first shift, actually. I wasn’t looking where I was going and-“
He’s run out of things to say. He starts stuttering, moving his hands and trying to think how to continue on but nothing is sticking. After about 10 seconds of this, he decides to cut his losses and just close his mouth.
And sigh.
And close his eyes. If he canes see her, she can’t see him, right? He’s praying he didn’t say that out loud. He can’t even tell anymore.
His slightly self-deprecating train fo thought I’d interrupt by the sound of a giggle. Dennis manages to open his eyes.
When she sees him looking, she turns slightly to the side, covers her mouth and tries to stifle her laughter. But, as evidenced by her shaking shoulders, the woman is not successful.
“Uh- are you- laughing at me?”
She shakes her head but it just forces another laugh out of her.
Dennis can’t help but chuckle. Something about her laughter is infectious. Good thing they’re in a hospital.
After regaining her composure, the woman speaks:
“That’s ok. I’m actually new too. Paediatrics nurse. And since I’m on nightshirt, I’m also still getting used to transitioning from normal society to being nocturnal.”
She lifts her hands to her face and, using her thumb and index finger, holds open her eyes. Then, like those vintage car clocks, moves her widened eyes from side to side.
Dennis can’t help it. Something about this is deeply amusing to his half-conscious brain.
The two of them stand there for a moment, simply laughing at their existence. It might seem a bit absurd to the man with a broken toe but, to them, it’s natural.
“Whitaker! Am I gonna get that paper off you today or what?”
The voice of whoever’s behind the front desk tonight cuts through their laughter and snaps them both back to reality. Dennis looks in the direction of the voice, down at his now relaxed and not-so sweaty hand, then up again.
Oh. Right.
“Well, I should get going. Apparently some kid fell on a toy train and it’s… stuck.” The woman’s voice now seems so distant. Something about that sends a wave of panic through Dennis.
He turns to face where she had been standing but she had already made her way down the hall.
“Wait- uh-“
She turns.
“I couldn’t read your name tag. Earlier. When you- we- what’s your name?”
She smiles.
“Belle, Mr. Whitaker.”
She watches him mouth something. Maybe it’s her name, maybe it’s his. Then, she turns again and she’s gone as quickly as she came.