Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

26. No Bed of Roses

I walked into work Friday evening with an unusual spring in my step and a grin plastered on my face. I had made plans to meet with Charlie and some of my friends from the Hazbin Hotel the following week, and the thought of finally seeing them again after months filled me to the brim with excitement.

Well, there was that, plus I'd also just had my guts rearranged before Striker left that afternoon.

I bit my lip, trying to stifle the giggle bubbling in my throat as I entered my unit and prepared to start the shift. I passed by the room where Stolas had stayed to find it empty. The door was wide open, and the bed was made with fresh linens. An IV pole stood at the bedside, cleaned and ready to be used for a new patient.

I frowned, a little disappointed I hadn't received any news from Stolas about his discharge. Still, I continued to the nurses' station and got my assignment together.

"Oh, good, you're here," sighed one of the dayshift nurses as she grabbed her report sheet. "Come get your people. I'm ready to go."

"Please don't say it like that," I groaned. "You make it sound like this assignment's shit."

"I mean, what else is new?" she remarked, stepping beside me at the counter. "And I hate to break it to you, but your favorite patient is gone."

I uncapped my pen and began writing down the patients on my assignment. "Yeah, I saw the room was empty. When did he leave?"

"I wheeled him out maybe two hours ago."

Ah, that explains it, I thought. He's probably still trying to get settled back at home.

The imp nurse leaned on the counter, holding her chin in her palm. "It was a major pain getting him outta here, but fuck, am I glad he's gone. I don't understand how you put up with that shit."

I raised an eyebrow, silently insisting she elaborate.

"You know how it is when we get a VIP patient," she continued. "But he was super VIP."

"Yeah, I know," I said matter-of-factly.

"You must not care too much about your job, seeing how you talked to him. It's like walking on eggshells dealing with the royal family. One wrong move with these guys, and you could be in some deep shit. Bunch of tight-asses." She crossed her arms, a hint of condescension flickering in her eyes. "Of course, you probably thought you could get away with that kind of thing, huh? Because you know the Morningstars, or whatever."

I scowled at her, impatiently tapping my pen on my clipboard. "Do you want to give me report, or not?"

---

"Wait, none of them liked me?"

I shook my head, setting my demitasse and saucer on the table. "None," I emphasized. "They were all pretty much complaining that it was like walking on eggshells with you around. And one had the audacity to call you a tight-ass. You, of all people, a tight-ass. You were hands down one of the easiest patients I've ever had to deal with, living or dead."

Stolas scoffed as he gave his demitasse a gentle swirl. "And after I went out of my way to avoid being an inconvenience to them."

"Right? And they all started giving me shit because I didn't brownnose or act super rigid around you."

He smiled. "You were the only one who didn't treat me like I was made of glass," he said, picking up his spoon and stirring a small scoop of sugar into his drink.

"Because you aren't," I said plainly. "You're not some ticking timebomb that'll go off if you make even the tiniest slipup. You're royalty, yeah. But . . . you're just a guy."