What Do I Deserve?

16

  A normal shower for me on a good day is no more than ten minutes, going through each step of my hair care even. But today doesn't call for normal as I'm swiftly reminded of the gash on the side of my head that has only been healing for a full twenty four hours now.

  It hurts to the touch and I even mill around the idea of asking Chris to help me with washing it, knowing that an actual set of eyes on it might make the situation easier. Instead, I grin and bear it, patting the spot with soap rather than massaging the scalp like usual. 

  I have no idea how long I've been in the bathroom, but become startled with a knock to the door. "You alright, Ophelia?"

  My reflection grimaces back at me as I begin to cry again, the comb slipping out of my hand and onto the counter. "Yeah," I whimper. I pull the door open, uncaring that my hair is still a giant wet knot. "Sorry, I took so long." I grab up the comb and towel, and attempt to shuffle past his body that now crowds the door.

  I feel a pull against my hand, the comb sliding out easily as Chris takes it from me. "Sit," he instructs, motioning towards a kitchen chair with my navy comb. 

  "You don't need to-"

  He interrupts me, gently taking my shoulders in his hands to guide me to the seat. "I don't need to do anything, but I want to. Sit," he tells me once more, releasing his grip. I sit up straight in the chair, rigid against the wood back. "Relax, Pooh." My stature doesn't change as I'm already prepared for the pain, my teeth clenched as I wait.

  Chris takes the comb and begins at the ends of my hair, taking a small section into his hand, holding it tightly between his fingers so it doesn't tug at my scalp. When the lower parts are unknotted, he moves up further being more gentle than I've ever known him to be.  I find my shoulders dropping at bit, relaxing as I let myself not worry so much about the gash for at least the next few moments.

  "It's starting to heal," he says quietly, keeping his opposite hand over the spot, protecting it from an sudden sharp tugs.  "Looks like you could've used a couple stitches though."

  "When did you go to medical school, Dr. Evans?"

  "Oh, I'm a graduate at least three times over," he chuckles. "Marvel Med School to be exact."

    "Isn't that what stunt doubles are for?" I somewhat tease him, but am also genuinely concerned for any injuries he may  have endured.

  "When I'm smart enough to use them," he answers quickly. "This last one though, messed up my arm pretty good."

  "Am I allowed to know how, or is that still a secret?" I wince slightly, the comb coming too close to contact with the wound.

  "Sorry," he apologizes. "Well, since it's in theater's already I suppose I can tell you. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you didn't run out and see it."

  I push down the lump that appears in my throat, swallowing as hard as possible while my fingers tap against each other. "I, uh, I haven't seen any of them," I admit, my hand coming up to take the comb from him now. 

  "Why not?" he asks as I stand. One look at him and I see him saddened by my admission. 

  I shake my head, walking back over to the bathroom to put away the comb and grab the hair dryer. I start it immediately, drowning out his repeating question.

Flashback

  "Damn it!" I hear yelled from the gazebo, the angry voice coming from Jon. He continues with his obscenities but Tara's cheers almost drown him out completely. But it's the sound of crying I hear coming from Maggie that makes me pull back from the most incredible moment of my life.