In Love and Diplomacy

Chapter Fifty-One: Diagnoses

"And I fell from the pedestal
Right down the rabbit hole
Long story short, it was a bad time
Pushed from the precipice
Climbed right back up the cliff
Long story short, I survived"

- Taylor Swift, "Long Story Short"

Chapter Fifty-One

"Shit, dude, get back in your room!"

The surprised voice of Simon Gatz was too loud for a hospital hallway, but it offered a surprising comfort.

The door to my room was open. It allowed me to hear the arguing voices that grew closer. However, the curtain around the hospital bed prevented me from seeing, so I waited patiently as the voices approached.

"Knock it off, I'm fine," a grumbled voice snapped back at Simon. The strained tone to it squeezed my heart. It wasn't just anger or frustration, it was pain. He attempted to conceal it, but I heard it under the annoyance that dominated his words.

I waited to hear a response from Simon, but was surprised when I heard nothing. It was quiet other than the soft sounds of the hospital, but the quiet couldn't stay.

It never did.

"Motherfu— stop poking me!" Reed's grumbling voice bit out sharply, much closer to my door.

"Well, you're fine, aren't you? Fractured sternum, fine. Strained intercostal muscles, fine. Bruised liver, fine. Black and blue all over, fine. Concussion? Oh right, that's fine too." Simon's voice was sharp and unforgiving outside my door.

"Do you ever shut the hell up?"

"Burns? Fine. Psychological damage from this entire shitty day? Still developing, I'm sure, but would you like to tell me those are fine, too?"

"I mean it, shut up. Not a word, Simon," Reed hissed. They were trying to be quiet now, mindful of their location and surroundings, but failing miserably.

Soft footsteps told me they were entering and nearing, and I braced myself for a flung back curtain like the movies showed. Instead, the curtain rippled, and a hesitant face peeked slightly through the crack in the fabric. Relief flooded the withdrawn, wary expression as the rest of his body slipped into the afforded privacy of the curtain.

"Avery. You're awake." Reed's words were quiet, and I was sure both of our heads were grateful for it. I could see the same dullness in his eyes that clouded my mind. Battered brains needed rest and mine was already hissing under the fluorescent lighting of the hospital.

"Reed."

I swallowed, watching as my love made his way to me. His gait was unsteady and one of his arms still curled around his abdomen like it had in the car. I watched Reed's eyes roam over me, evaluating my injuries, his expression sour and guilty. His throat bobbed harshly as he wobbled over to me. My own face betrayed nothing, and I wore a hardened expression as he slipped into the chair next to my bed and reached for my hand.

I hadn't seen him since we were carted to separate ambulances, and I took a moment. I allowed myself that sweet pause of a settling instant. Just the tiniest of breaks to soak in the fact he was alive and walking, looking worse for wear, but alive. He still had the yellow tint of trauma he had in the car, except I realized it was more likely due to his liver and assorted bruises now. I wondered if it would get worse. He also had red and purple on his body like I did, and I saw it reaching softly up under his shirt towards his neck, where further discoloration from the seatbelt showed.

His fingers reached and intertwined with mine, twisting until our hands laid comfortably on the blanket. He took special care to keep my arm still, knowing a swift movement would jerk the IV lines in my arm. But it wasn't like my other hand could be held. The purple cast keeping my bones in place left no room for romantic gestures.