Adventures of the Intern (satire,drama,medical) complete!

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Chapter 10

Postby stormy and rescuer » Tue Dec 05, 2017 5:34 pm

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Clearest Green
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Amy found herself staring down into the greenest pair of eyes she had ever seen. Despite being damp and unfocused, Amy could tell those were the eyes of a very intelligent person.

"Hi there James, my name is Wendy, and I'm going to be looking after you. Can you hear me?" Wendy was plowing while Amy was fixated on those eyes. James could hear her alright.

Through the blur of drugs, his eyes snapped right onto Wendy's, pinpointing her voice and fixing his stare onto hers with surprising focus. Then he was reaching up with a powerful arm and grabbing Wendy by the front of her shirt. He yanked her down, voice husky and gravely, every muscle and vein rippling under smooth tanned skin. James lifted his head off the pillow, grey-ringed eyes piercing into Wendy's surprised yet composed expression. "Where the Hell am I."

"Sir, you are in a hospital. Toronto General. Please lie still." Wendy unhooked his hand and lowered him back down as he lost his sudden burst of strength and his eyes drifted away again a second too late to prevent the slight flicker of pain that dashed across his features. "Sedate him again," she ordered and Amy was jumping to it faster than the others in the room.

And certainly faster than Rebecca. The blonde had probably been admiring the raw strength in that arm...

But soon their patient was drifting back into a drugged haze, eyes half open and staring off into an indefinite point somewhere beyond the wall in front of him.

"That was scary!" Rebecca cheered, to which there were no replies, only dead silence. Somebody was going to have to deal with this guy when he awoke properly. And Amy certainly hoped it was not her.
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Chapter 11

Postby stormy and rescuer » Wed Dec 06, 2017 7:50 am

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First Encounter
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It was many days of chemistry and joy for Amy. Mixing solutions, calculating drip flow, and all on an entirely complacent patient. A dream come true.

But of course, he did awaken. Which was a good thing since it meant she was doing her job properly, but it also meant that, well, he could annoy her. And annoy her he would. At least he wasn't too happy. People high on drugs who were overly joyful annoyed her extra. Actually, James looked quite stern and serious, despite being unable to cling to one thought for very long. And none of his fleeting thoughts seemed to be enjoyable.

He spend an awful amount of time just staring at his leg, picking out the places where his flesh was still visible underneath everything holding it together. There was an awful amount of distance in his eyes as he stared blankly at the damaged limb. It was, Amy had to admit, quite horrific to look at even for an optimistic person, which Amy was not.

But Rebecca was. And she was taking in his leg for the first time. "What on Earth did he do?" she breathed.

"My thoughts exactly," Amy replied bluntly as she wrote down a blood pressure. "Why are you here?"

"Shift doesn't start for another half hour," Rebecca replied. "And I was kind of hoping to make the Grinch here smile."

Amy was not sure if the blonde was referring to herself or James, so she ignored the statement and finished her vitals. A voice made her pause. A voice she had not expected to hear, and certainly not so quiet and weak. Yet it was still deep and chesty despite the heavy drugs making sure whatever agony his leg was in he did not feel it.

"What's that?" James asked, eyes slipping sideways to look at her paper, mildly interested in the numbers.

"Your vital signs," Amy replied, standing up.

"Oh... how am I?"

"Not good," Amy replied bluntly. The man offered her a confused stare, stern face morphing into something that looked unnatural on him. He really wasn't fine at all and she never lied. She preferred to give it to her patients straight up, no watering down. James went silent again, gaze drifting back to his leg while he thought about this information, trying to wiggle his toes. He thought better of it after the first try, pain twitching across his pale face against. He was starting to drift off again, another question on the tip of his tongue as he lost the strength to hold onto the thought. Confusion and mild curiosity turned to just plain confusion, then drained into a dull indifference, then nothing as his eyes rolled back and he was out.

"Sleep for as long as you like," Amy muttered with a scowl. With luck he would sleep through her shifts and not ask another question. Though part of her knew there would be many more to come.
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Chapter 12

Postby stormy and rescuer » Thu Dec 07, 2017 11:06 am

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Regards, Hallmark
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Part of the team returned to visit while James was asleep. Amy happened to be on shift, and was forced to engage with them as they hung around awkwardly in the room.

"Any further news on the diagnosis?" the manager asked while the three team mates he'd managed to drag along chatted to themselves about their win against the Penguins the other day.

"No," Amy replied briskly. "My superior already gave you a definite. He's done. You won't get him back. Unless you want someone to skate around with him on their shoulders."

The manager shrugged, chuckling at the joke but shaking his head. Amy actually felt insulted on James' part that he'd found her joke funny. She hadn't even been trying to make a joke. She'd been trying to underline just how serious this injury was! Couldn't this pig-headed man understand that?

"Look, if you don't care about him, then leave, and don't ever come back," Amy growled, surprised at her own forwardness. Well, she was quite happy with confrontation, but usually kept her remarks at 'passive-aggressive'. "You clearly have no regard for him. Nor the rest of you. Out, now. And unless you can come back willing to hold his hand or something, don't you dare ever step foot in this room. He needs a real companion, not you people who pretend to care worse than me. And I don't even try."

Oh my, that was a little bit of passion, wasn't it. Amy sighed internally, but maintained her scathing glare. She meant every word she said, and didn't regret a thing. Though her passion did surprise her. I don't really care about James either. So why did it anger her so much that these people didn't?

The manager was already leaving, turning on his heel and trailing his players along with him. Rebecca slipped in just as the last player vanished. "Hey there!" she chimed as she pulled her thick bouncy hair into a ponytail. "You look totally wound up!"

I usually am. "Yes, well, something really ticked me off." More than usual. "I need a pen, Rebecca, and a card."

"What for?" the blonde twirled a piece of James' nearly black hair around a delicate finger.

Amy growled. "Rebecca, if he wakes up and finds just a basket of softening fruit and an empty room, it might just break your heart. And when you cry it's annoying." And I'll do just about anything to keep the annoyance levels low around here. Even if it means buying a card and doing a little bit of research.
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Chapter 13

Postby stormy and rescuer » Mon Dec 11, 2017 11:27 am

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Useful Skills
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Amy was glad to leave the gift shop as soon as possible. She hated gift shops. They were tacky, and most people only used it as a snack bar anyway. They did have a good selection of chips and chocolate bars. Just what sick people needed.

She managed to find a stupid card, equally as stupid as all of its companions on the rack, and paid for it. Then she spent the next half hour with Rebecca in the cafeteria, searching up every player on the Canucks hockey team. It was not hard to find their signatures either. Naturally, Amy was an excellent forger (and James was probably too drugged to perform signature forensics), so she had no trouble copying out the signatures of each player as Rebecca found them on the internet. A hard-core fan probably would have been able to tell they were faked (which was good, or the card might sell for fifty grand on the internet), but James didn't look like the type to inspect each signature carefully. Even if he tried, he might not even be able to read thanks to the amount of morphine pumping into his body.

At last, Amy had finished the card. She knew James was smart enough to know his teammates weren't exactly best friends with him (even she could tell and she'd seen them twice), so any messages she wrote on behalf of the players had to be short, and just tacky enough to be meaningless. Stuff like 'get well soon'. Or just 'get well'.

"You're a genius!" Rebecca chirped, turning off her laptop, inspecting the card. "Aw, what a cute teddy bear!" The blonde admired the teddy bear with big watery eyes and a band-aid on its furry chocolate nose. It was holding a little balloon in its paw, despite its lack of opposable thumbs. James might very well hate it, but at least the table next to his bed wouldn't be so empty.

"Yes," Amy agreed blandly. It's just about the dumbest thing I've seen all day.

"Come on, let's bring it up!" Rebecca took Amy by the wrist and skipped her off to room 200, the finished card in hand. They took the elevator up and carefully entered James' room. There he was, asleep as usual, that same dying sullen expression as usual etched into his pale face.

Rebecca took her time arranging the card on the table, standing it up and turning it to partially face the bed so James could see the picture on the front. She moved it close so he could reach without stretching, then lovingly patted his dark hair that was still somehow quite fluffy. But it needed a trim. "There there," she hummed sweetly. "I'll bring my razors tomorrow and give you a trim."

Yes, please cut his hair. He looks like a hitch-hiker. He looks like a strange man you would definitely not want to have tea with in his cabin in the woods in a fantasy movie. Or any movie. He looks scruffy and depressing. Please shave him. Amy had no problem with letting Rebecca give her patient a makeover. He would hardly be steady-handed enough to shave himself right now anyway. Besides, Amy had a sneaking suspicion that Rebecca would do an excellent job.
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Chapter 14

Postby stormy and rescuer » Tue Dec 12, 2017 10:41 am

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Just a Trim?
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"Rebecca, he looks like a tired inspector," Amy sighed, watching with exasperation as the blonde tried to give her patient a trim.

"I think it looks cute," Rebecca pouted, brushing a finger over the mustache she had left a blissfully unconscious James with.

"I think 'cute' is the wrong word," Amy muttered.

"Fine," Rebecca pretended to sulk and shaved off the rest of the thick dark hair lining James' top lip. She put her razor and scissors aside, pulling away the towel she had tucked around his neck to catch all the hair. The blonde wiped away the rest of the shaving cream and ran a hand against the sleeping man's cheeks and jaw to make sure they were smooth.

What a difference a hair cut made. And Rebecca had done a marvellous job, as Amy had foreseen. James was now fresh and smooth, hair combed neatly instead of wild and unruly. He looked younger, and surprisingly stronger. A good haircut made him appear as if he were taking care of himself.

"You want me to do you next?" Rebecca shattered Amy's train of thought, holding up her scissors and razor, wiggling her eyebrows and advancing. Amy shook her head and backed up, but she had nowhere to go. She found herself falling backward into her chair as Rebecca sidled up and pranced around her, sizing up her hair.

"My hair is fine the way it is," Amy said firmly, setting her jaw, reaching up to protect her neat golden brown ponytail.

"I think you need something a little more fun," Rebecca replied, setting the scissors and razor next to James' card on the nearby table. She then pried Amy's hands away and gently puled out the elastic, letting Amy's hair fall down around her shoulders. The blonde gently tested strands in her careful fingers, and Amy found herself frozen, unable to resist. She was at Rebecca's mercy.

Rebecca wrapped the towel around Amy's neck and produced her scissors, reproducing her comb from a pocket. Then she got to work, combing and snipping and measuring until she was done. Amy realised she'd squeezed her eyes shut. Rebecca brushed her cheeks with her hands, lifting her friend's chin and examining her work. "Wow," the blonde breathed, suddenly very... calm as she admired her own work.

Amy felt her cheeks flush red. She looked down to see three-inch-long strands of hair sitting in the towel. Hands flying up to grab at what was left of her hair, Amy stopped short. Rebecca was pulling out her compact and flipping it open so her friend could get a look at her hair.

"Wow," Amy echoed the sentiment. It was actually... amazing. The differences were subtle, but they changed everything. Rebecca had shortened her hair to shoulder-length, and the strands perfectly framed her smooth oval face. It both increased her femininity, yet gave her a mature look. "That's incredible."

"Now imagine what we could do with a curling iron!" Rebecca fantasized as she cleaned up her little mess and skipped happily to the trash to dispose of the hair strands.

Amy couldn't help but smile as she twirled a piece of hair around one finger. She hadn't ever really cared about her appearance, apart from looking presentable, but Rebecca's transformation made her feel gorgeous.
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Chapter 15

Postby stormy and rescuer » Tue Dec 12, 2017 2:07 pm

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A Noble Effort
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"Is Wendy here?" Dr. Dresden poked his head in, looking around the room.

"No," Amy scowled. Now would be a great time to suddenly arrive, Wendy.

Dresden's face said 'wonderful!' as he stepped inside the room, his plan poorly concealed. "Well I suppose I'll have to just give this to you then." The tall well-built man strode toward Amy and passed her an envelope.

Amy snatched it from him and refused to make eye contact. She peeled open the flap and slid out a few printed sheets. They were beautiful. She flipped through x-rays, diagrams, and reports. They were magnificent. The intern skimmed through thick blocks of text outlining procedures with big words and complicated phrases. For Amy they were ambrosia of the gods, sweet and juicy in her mouth as she worked her lips silently around the report. Sure, it was unfortunate that all this had to be done on a person, but it was fascinating to read. Amy got a little shiver of excitement. After all her years of reading text books, she was finally doing this for real. These words weren't just a scenario in a test. They were real procedures, real reports.

"You're welcome," Dresden offered, an ever-charming grin on his perfectly symmetrical face. "So, wanna pop that somewhere for Wendy and -"

"And come with you for a coffee?" Amy looked up, expression freezing over. "No."

A look of slight shock passed across his face, but ever the charmer, Dresden quickly recovered. "Are you sure? This is a one time offer." He lifted his eyebrows tantalizingly.

"No thank you."

Dresden, unused to being turned down, slid closer, turning up the volume on his charm and masculine allure. "Lovely lady like you looks like you could use a night out, somebody to treat you right."

"What are you?" Amy made a disgusted face. "Did you step out of an advertisement for perfume or something?"

Dresden blinked. "I just stepped out of surgery."

"A-and you're stupid," Amy lifted a hand. "I said no, okay? Besides, I'm not really into, well, you."

"Just me?" Dresden inquired, confused now more than anything.

"No, not just you, surprisingly enough," Amy retorted. "I'm not really into dudes."

"Ah, you're waiting for the right guy," Dresden nodded, stroking his chin. "Smart move."

"No," Amy growled. "I'm gay." There, it was out.

"...oh." Dresden flushed tomato, locking up solid as he lost all ability to think.

"Oh grow up, lots of people are," Amy rolled her eyes. Honestly, people these days.

"Yes, well... I..." Dresden stumbled over his words. "I've... I thought..."

"You thought I straight and into you," Amy sighed. "Yes, I can see where the confusion was for you. Now do you have someone to cut up or something?"

"Oh, yes, right," Dresden composed himself admirably quickly, and Amy had to sympathize. Of course he probably wasn't used to getting turned down, and obviously didn't hit on many girls who didn't even like men. "I'll be off then, uh, say hello to Wendy for me, um..."

"It's fine, Doctor," Amy waved him off, shooing with the folder. Really, it was alright. He didn't have to be so embarrassed.

"Okay, good, thank you, I'm sorry again, goodbye!" Dresden rambled, and disappeared through the doorway. Amy sighed and shook her head, setting the folder aside. At least she knew he would not be bothering her again.
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Chapter 16

Postby stormy and rescuer » Tue Dec 12, 2017 3:16 pm

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Hands-On Learning
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Amy washed her hands and stood next to Wendy, reaching for the steel equipment table for a pair of latex gloves. The older nurse ripped open a package of gauze pads and poured some rubbing alcohol into the sterile plastic tray while Amy picked up the plastic tweezers and grabbed a piece of gauze. The intern dipped it into the alcohol and started to carefully clean around the traction and external fixator pins while Wendy took care of the open wound caused by the compound.

The two women worked in silence, focused and meticulous until the work was done and everything was clean and covered once more. Wendy cleared up and Amy threw her gloves in the trash, washing her hands and returning for take a set of vitals.

"I've got to take my lunch break, so I'll leave you to finish up, okay?" Wendy inquired, pulling on her sweater.

"Sure thing," Amy agreed, and the older nurse left, leaving just her and James alone in the room. Amy slowly directed her gaze to the sleeping man. And he did sleep a lot.

Good, you're annoying when you're awake, Amy scowled, flicking her eyes back to her paperwork, then back to his chest to count his respirations. His eyelids flickered and he muttered something under his breath. No no, stay asleep. That's fine. Sleeping is good for you.

Too late, he was awake, ever-damp and slightly unfocused eyes making their way sluggishly toward her. James swallowed audibly, and Amy could hear every mechanic of his throat working to perform the action step by step. She passed him a glass of water and he reached up for it without thinking, taking it in his hand and going cross-eyed as he tried to aim it at his mouth. Had the man been lying flat the water would have gone up his nose. Being propped to forty-five, it trickled down his face, some of it managing to make it inside his open mouth, but most dribbling off his chin. Amy quickly intervened before he could give himself a bath and properly aligned the cup.

James eagerly emptied the entire glass, hand hovering near hers as if he wanted to operate the cup himself, but knew at least partially that things would not turn out as hoped if he did. He made a satisfied sighing sound as he swallowed the last of the water and blinked drunkenly at her. Amy scowled. "What do you want?"

"What's that?" James pointed roughly in the direction of his leg.

"That is your leg." Just shut up and go back to sleep. I can certainly help with that if you're having trouble. Amy's fingers twitched, wanting so badly to crank up his drugs so he would be quiet and drift far enough into happy land to disconnect completely from the real world. Then she would not have to converse with him.

"I know that," James scoffed. "But what's that?" Still vague, and still pointing roughly in the same direction. The man gave his finger a wave in a shaky circle, trying to explain.

Amy stood up and pointed at the pins inserted either side of his knee and the wires connected to them, a similar system set up in his ankle. The whole thing held his leg up off the bed, the shin horizontal to the floor, and everything under tension. "This?"

"Yeah," James blinked, curious. Remove the drugs from the equation, and Amy had a sinking feeling those eyes would no longer be staring blearily at her with a child-like interest. No, there would be other things swirling in there too. Surprise maybe. Confusion. Pain definitely. Maybe even panic and remorse. Fear. Especially when he was sober enough to understand just what he was looking at.

"This is called traction," Amy walked back to him and held her fingers right over his face so he could see them. "When a bone gets split all the way through, you have to make sure the two pieces fuse properly. If we didn't use traction to pull back on the pieces, they could slide against each other and heal incorrectly, and your leg would actually get shorter, on top of being incorrectly healed." She demonstrated with her fingers so he could visualize the procedure.

"Aha," James offered slowly. At least he appeared to understand, though Amy wondered if he would remember later. She could very well find herself being asked a lot of questions twice. Maybe even more than that, depending on how much of his drugged adventures he remembered. "What about that other thing?"

Amy backed up and pointed next to the external fixators secured to his thigh and shin. "These?"

"Yeah again."

Amy returned and sat down, pulling a scrap piece of paper from her bag and placing it on the table. "Well, when a bone is in multiple pieces you have to hold all those pieces in the right place," she began, drawing a first diagram and glancing up to make sure he was following. He was, fascinated, yet disconnected from the fact that this was happening to his leg. Amy continued, unaware that her annoyance was fading into mild and well-contained enthusiasm. She loved how al this stuff worked, and she loved when someone else was interested in it too. "Also, when a break is compounded, which means the bone makes an open wound, you can't simply set it and put straight into a cast. The open wound needs to heal first before you can enclose it in a solid contained with no way of checking it, and no air flow."

"Makes sense," James replied, enjoying her drawings.

"You want to see what it looks like?" Amy asked, allowing him to take the drawings from her while she reached for the envelope with all his reports and x-rays in it.

A look of seriousness passed across James' face, and his eyes snapped into focus for a moment as he drained of any colour he'd managed to get back. The paper with the drawings on it trembled in his hand. Very slowly, he shook his head, realised suddenly that those x-rays were his bones. The vitals machine began to beep faster and faster as his heart started a one-man race fuelled by pure and building panic.

"Okay, I think you should go back to sleep," Amy said quietly, gently taking the paper from him. Rebecca might have burst into sympathetic tears if she were here to look at his face. I'm not looking forward to when he's sober enough to fully understand the situation, Amy thought as she turned up the medication and watched the effects displayed almost immediately. All expression started to drain from the man's face and his muscles relaxed like a machine powering down. Then he was asleep again, blissfully unaware of his situation. And Amy found herself sliding her drawings in with his reports, then tucking in his blankets before sitting back to do her homework beside his bed.
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Chapter 17

Postby stormy and rescuer » Thu Dec 14, 2017 4:36 pm

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Workplace Conflict
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He was staring at the same spot again, as memorizing every white woven strand making up the gauze dressings hiding the entry point where metal met flesh. It wasn't just the drugs giving him that faraway look in his dull eyes. For the first time in a while, James' eyes drifted sideways as they noticed the card Amy had left on his bedside table. There was an envelope next to it now, but he went for the card first.

Amy watched from the corner of her eyes as she finished his set of vitals. James' eyes remained distant as he gathered as much information his drugged mind could collect at once before weakly tossing the card aside. It bounced off the side of the table and sailed to the floor, sliding under the bed. Amy watched him fumble for the envelope next, but it was a bit too far to reach. Yet still he struggled, stretching his arm and brushing his fingertips against the object of interest.

As much as she would have loved to watch and see how long her patient would persist, Amy decided it was just too pathetic to watch. She set her forms and pen on James' tummy, then plucked up the envelope and neatly opened it. The intern removed the letter inside and unfolded it, holding it in front of the man's face close enough to read. James reached for the page, and Amy smacked his hand away, firming her grip. He squinted, lifting his head and mouthing words as he struggled to read the twelve-point Times New Roman text.

Fine. Amy pushed his head down with a commanding finger between his eyebrows and spun the paper around to face her. "Mr. Hunter," she began in a clear yet still slightly annoyed voice. "I would like to first and foremost to apologize for my blatantly malicious and violent actions toward you. I was not thinking of the consequences my tackle might have had on your person, and your career. I do not wish to continue our feud, and ask that you do not press charges, though such a decision is well within reason. My Sincerest Apologies, Alexander Jackson Striker."

And that letter meant absolutely nothing. Just like the visits, the bruit basket, the card. Amy put the letter aside and made unwavering eye contact with James, awaiting his reaction in silence. He was lost again, staring off into another universe, contemplating the letter and probably the events necessitating it.

Oh, this isn't just some dumb sports injury. Honey, you got checked, Amy though sarcastically. Let me guess, you were trying to hit a small rubber disk into his net, he was trying to hit the same disk back into your net, and things just kicked off from there? But there was a hint of sympathy in that internal voice. Today's development only proven that human beings really were horrible creatures. Striker didn't care that he hadn't just ruined somebody's career, but somebody's life. James might never walk again, and if he did, it would not be normal. He would limp, if he was lucky. Because an injury like that would never heal properly. The doctors didn't need time to decide that particular outcome.

"I won't press charges," James muttered under his breath, eyelids growing heavy and his body limp. "What's the point... what's the... point..."

What a thought to fall asleep with, Amy sighed and gathered her paperwork, but yet again found herself filling the chair by his bed to do her homework while he slept in silence. There was nobody else to fill it anyway.
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Chapter 18

Postby stormy and rescuer » Thu Dec 14, 2017 5:12 pm

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Q and A Time
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Amy entered room 200 at her usual time that morning, clipboard in hand, strolling straight to the vitals machine. James paused his channel surfing, putting the remote aside and switching off the small television with a bored sigh as Amy wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his bicep and started the machine. He closed his eyes and relaxed complacently and opened his mouth so she could insert the thermometer, lifting his index for the small grey clip.

When the squeezing and beeping was done, Amy started to put the equipment away. James stopped her again as he nodded at the clip on his finger.

"What's that for," he yawned, and Amy realized how tired he looked. Not just from medication and taxing procedures either. This was fatigue caused by lack of sleep, a look he was just starting to develop now, since his diminishing doses of drugs were rendering him less susceptible to unconsciousness.

"That measures your O2 levels," Amy explained, removing it and reaching up for his IV drips to check the flow. "It's making sure you have enough oxygen in your blood."

James nodded twice, very slowly, watching her with sharp eyes as she adjusted his flow rate. Clearly, this was far more interesting that anything his television could provide. She finished and he returned his stare to his leg, eyes growing dull once again.

"Staring at it won't change it," Amy said, with a level of sternness to her tone, yet a very thin layer of sympathy. Wow, she was getting soft...

"I know." Those two words were worryingly quiet. "It's not going to get better, is it."

"Not the way you want it to, no," Amy replied bluntly. She never sugar-coated anything. He needed the truth, not some softly-woven and indirect tale of how things could still work out, that he would be fine, and he needed to be positive. He had absolutely no obligation to be positive about facing the loss of a good chunk of his mobility at least. "But you're in the clear for infection. Lucky you, you get to keep it," she nodded her head toward his leg. Lucky you indeed. If things had really gone to the dogs you wouldn't have a leg to externally fixate. Now there's one positive you can certainly take home.

"I suppose I won't be going for any walks anytime soon." Or maybe never, Amy heard that silent addition to his heartbreaking comment.

"No, you won't. And you won't be leaving this bed for a while either. Depending on how well you heal, your leg won't be able to bear any weight for another six weeks at least," Amy explained, picking up his reports and sliding out the report. He scanned it for a moment, then handed it back, rubbing his face with a hand.

"Would you pass me a banana?" he asked meekly, and she obliged, picking the nicest banana she could find from his fruit basket. He was slow getting it peeled, but he got there in the end, leaning back against his pillow and getting to work on the fruit. Amy noticed then too how much weight he had lost. He'd come here roped with thick muscles, but in the time he had been here his muscle mass had declined visibly. Yet those shoulders were still broad, that chest still sucking in powerful breaths. James was an athlete, no doubt about it.

Well, he had been.

"I have some work to get done," Amy explained, gathering his forms and heading for the door. "Wendy will be by a little while later to check on you, take your vitals, and clean your pins."

James was opening his mouth to say something, panic in his eyes as he tried to swallow his mouthful of banana before she could go, but he was too late. Too slow. Amy quickly left the room, sensing another question. No, she had no desire to stick around and explain to him the chemical compounds of morphine, or the different kinds of breaks in his leg that were threatening his future functionality.

No, she could not bear it. Sorry James, but there's only so much of you I can handle in one day, when you're conscious anyway. Yes, please do get better so you can leave and stop bothering me, but maybe just conveniently be asleep every time I come see you.

Still... it was a shame he had to spend his waking hours alone. His teammates hadn't come back, and no-one else had come to claim him, or show any interest in his condition. Just nurses. And he hardly seemed to be enjoying all the nice ladies looking after him.

Huh, maybe he's more into Dresden, Amy smirked at the thought and went to work on her homework.
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Chapter 19

Postby stormy and rescuer » Fri Dec 15, 2017 7:06 pm

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Deal or No Deal
draft 1


Amy arrived at her usual time to find her patient much more drugged than he'd been in a couple of weeks. She frowned and checked his flow rate just as Wendy entered.

"Ah, Miss Pearson," Wendy smiled, a couple of doctors following behind, Dresden included. "Perfect timing."

"What'd he do?" Amy asked blandly. Bite a nurse? Escape? Do I even want to know? Yeah, she did. Because extra sedation meant something, and Amy had a whole list of possibilities in her head, which she was sifting through now. Oh well, at least he won't bother me so much once again.

"Bad dreams," Wendy explained. "It would seem that without heavy enough medication, he thrashes. We noticed just in time. You would not believe how strong a sleeping man in panic is." She shook her head and gave a small chuckle.

I think I would. It's not like you're suggesting the existence of aliens, Amy kept that to herself and joined the entourage for her new instructions.

"We'll try to keep him as sedate during the night, and cut back slowly to see how he does. At least while he's still in this condition. When he's not in traction and we can remove the external fixators, we'll remove him entirely. The last thing he needs is to accidentally jostle something that ultimately needs to stay as still as possible," Wendy passed Amy the blood pressure cuff.

Yes, that made sense. Amy nodded and wrapped the cuff around her patient's arm. Just as she was tightening it, his bicep flexed. The intern glanced up to see his hazy eyes squinting lazily at her hip. Amy followed his stare to her name tag. For some reason, she felt compelled to flip the tag to conceal her name. His finger floated toward the tag, nudging it in an attempt to flip it back as she chased after it with the clip. Amy smacked his hand back and wrestled the clip on. A small, weak giddy chuckle escaped James' lips.

Drugged people really are the worst, Amy scowled, unaware that Wendy had paused to watch their brief interaction.

Wendy and the doctors finished their checks and left Amy to clean James' pins by herself. She pulled on her gloves and started her work, ignoring her patient. James was watching her intently, too drugged once again to register that it was his leg she was taking care of. Right now, the procedure was simply intriguing. Amy had to admit, she enjoyed his curiosity, especially when it didn't have to be paired with despair when he became aware enough to process his condition. Amy heard James mumble a few things under his breath, and if they were for her he did not pursue answers, so she ignored his drunk ramblings.

At last, the intern was done, packing up her supplies and cleaning her area. Amy finally tossed her gloves in the trash, and walked over to collect her things and head to the break room to finish her homework. A weak hand clutching the back of her scrubs top stopped her. Amy slowly turned around and found damp green eyes staring up at her. Oh no, I know what's coming.

And he looked so sober. With it. Alert. And tired. And didn't he just sound it too. "C-can you stay?" Came the request she knew was coming. And as if looking for an excuse, James gave a small but obviously forced cough. It would have been cute if it weren't so sad.

I never thought puppy eyes would work on me, but dammit you have the dampest, saddest eyes James Hunter. "I have homework to do. You should really get some sleep, Mr. Hunter." was her cold reply.

"W-what do you w-want?" he was asking. He was offering something in return, she realized. What could he possibly give her? Maybe she'd have asked him to help her move some heavy boxes in her rented room, shift a book case or something, but that wasn't happening. Not now, maybe not ever. She wouldn't dare ask him for something physical in his condition.

"I don't want anything," Amy retorted, taking his hand from her shirt and pressing it against his stomach. "I want to study, I want to pass my finals, and I want to get my scholarships so I can afford rent. I need my grades for that. So I need to study in silence."

"I'll pay for your school," James replied, probably without thinking, the words rolling off his tongue. "I'll pay for your rent."

Right, he's a hockey player. He could probably buy this hospital and still have change for a Porsche. I can't imagine how much money he's made in his career. Amy glared down at him, daring him to follow through, daring him to keep fighting for her company. Wow, he really must be desperate if he wanted her to stay.

"Anything. Just give me an account number," James continued, flustered and pink in the face as he struggled to get out everything he wanted to say, anything to convince her not to leave. "Sixty thousand. Sixty grand straight into your account, and you stay here in your free time. Please..." he was reaching for her hand now, but Amy was pulling away, stepping back out of reach.

She watched his face fall, watched him grasp for her a moment and then return his hand to clutch at his blankets desperately, speechless as she spun and left his room.

But that grief-stricken, teared-up expression melted into a grateful chuckle as she returned, books and schoolwork in hand, and took her place in the chair by his bedside. Amy dropped her bag of books beside her, and they made an annoyed thud as he placed his hand over his eyes and sobbed silently against his hand, shivering as he fought to stop it.

"Sixty grand, and you don't cry," Amy growled. She hated crying. On her list of most annoying things, it was near the top.

James nodded imperceptibly, wiping at his face, lips sealed shut, drifting back into his drugged slumber. Amy sighed and pulled out her books to begin work, a warm glowy sensation in her chest which she decided not to think about too much for fear spontaneous poetry may occur. And poetry was certainly on that aforementioned list.
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