His Little Heart

What We Don't Know

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I don't know how long I stayed there in Dr. Hiddleston's hug. I didn't, couldn't, keep track of the seconds that ticked by as we sat there together, quiet and still. I didn't want to, and I was very grateful I couldn't see any clock in the room we were in.

It let me not think of things I did not want to think about. The absence of time let me not worry about the bad I was going through right now, and instead, gently forced me to focus on only the good. This good, however brief it was to be, was the simplicity of just having someone near to me that I was softly beginning to trust. I didn't need much right now, I just needed someone to keep me company until I could settle with being alone again....

Dr. Hiddleston hugged me, his arms, a safe cocoon of white and unspoken security. He didn't move, didn't dare, as I stayed close, my head leaning against his chest. His chin was placed gently on top of mine, and his heartbeat let out a comforting rhythm. The blue blanket, he somehow managed to bring around me into a warm swaddle of sorts. At one point, as I relaxed against him, my fingers had started playing with the blue soft fabric.

We were like that for a good while. Me held in his arms safely as he embraced me. I don't know how long, but the time did not matter, or if it did, I didn't think much of it. I just let myself be, let myself drift, let myself relinquish Dr. Hiddleston as he cradled me.

It was the sound of a very quiet growl that drew our embrace apart.

Dr. Hiddleston peered down at me. "Hungry?" he softly asked me.

I wanted to shake my head no in hopes of staying in his hug longer, but another growl, louder this time, emitted from my tummy. He chuckled at the noise.

"Erm...," I said quietly. "I may be just a little hungry."

"Well then," he said, sitting up a little straighter. "Let's see what we can get you."

He untangled himself, and me, from the hospital bed, raising. I saw his coat was a little wrinkled, and when I went to apologize about it, he shooed my apology away with the reassurance that a few wrinkles weren't anything to worry over. He tapped in a message on his pager and told me breakfast was on its way down.

"Come in," Dr. Hiddleston called out when a knock sounded outside the room, and a moment later, the familiar figure of Dr. Cumberbatch appeared with a small tray of food.

I grinned at him, thanking him quietly when he set the tray down.

"Of course," he told me.

The breakfast he'd brought in was some porridge, cut up fruit, and two drinks. I said nothing when I recognized the red cranberry juice, quietly reaching for the water first before picking up the spoon to start on my porridge.

Dr. Hiddleston sat down in a chair next to the bed, observing me as I ate. Dr. Cumberbatch took a seat on the opposite side of the bed, both watching me with mindful expressions. I tried my best to concentrate on my meal, each bite an effort to keep from thinking of the nausea I'd apparently endured last evening.

Halfway through with my bowl, I set my spoon down. I glanced at the fruit, my appetite vanishing as my brain, tired and weak, struggled to remember my sickness. I chewed on my bottom lip, sucking it in.

"How bad d-did I get sick?"

"Bad?"

I looked at Dr. Cumberbatch. "You said I got sick. I threw up." My stomach affirmed that statement as a phantom wave of nausea went through me. "H-How bad was it?"

"You were very distraught last night, and your body didn't react well to it," Dr. Cumberbatch answered quietly. "You threw up more than we would've liked."