𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒! | harry styles

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈

"GUESS what I've got," Zoey sing-songs to me as she makes her way over. I stop sifting through my lunch – stale cafeteria fries and a soggy hotdog, both smothered in an ungodly amount of ketchup to cover their taste – long enough to look up at her.

"What is it?"

"I got the code to the OR locker room."

"Zoey!" I admonish. "I'm not snooping through the locker room. There are probably cameras. You're not freakin' Magnum, P.I. here."

"No, I'm much cuter. I can get information Magnum would never dream of."

"Please don't tell me you flirted with Dr. Walker…"

"So? It worked, didn't it?"

"God, Zoey," I groan. "What would Gabe think of this?" Zoey has gone into investigator mode ever since finding out about the missing drugs. She says the hospital isn't doing enough, and obviously there must be some raging drug user on the loose, but her ideas were previously just that - ideas. But now...

"This isn't about Gabe. It's about helping you. Come on, Cameron said he'd cover for us if we go real quick. We can see if anyone's there."

"It's lunch time. Of course someone'll be there."

"It depends on if there's any surgeries right now. Come on!"

I argue some more, but Zoey is persistent. Against my better judgment, I let her lead me down the hallway to the elevators, but she bypasses them with the simple explanation that she hasn't worked out in forever and her butt's jiggling like a slab of Jello in an earthquake. She wants to take the stairs instead.

"We'll just poke our heads in," Zoey explains as we descend. "If there's anyone there, we'll just say we're lost and turn around."

We're nearly at the bottom of the first flight of stairs when my foot catches on—what? Air? Dust?—I have no idea, but never mind, I lose my footing and pitch forward face-first into the solid wall of hard cement directly in front of me. Apparently my reflexes are crap, because I barely have time to comprehend that I'm falling before my face strikes the wall, glancing off of it at a slight angle. I don't even reach out to catch myself, I just fall into it like a sack of potatoes, luckily returning to my senses fast enough to stick my arms out before doing a second face-plant into the dirty linoleum floor below.

I stay there on my hands and knees, chest heaving, while Zoey drops beside me and immediately thrusts two fingers in front of my face. "Oh my God. Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?"

I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut. The left side of my face throbs, but mostly I'm just stunned from the impact. I ease into a sitting position and gingerly touch my cheek, but all feels normal aside from a slight, fiery burn.

"We need to go to the ER," I hear Zoey say, and I shake my head again.

"I'll be fine."

"Fine? That wall just kicked your ass. There's no way I'm gonna let you go home and die in your sleep tonight."

I try to argue, but Zoey is yanking me to my feet with a hand under my armpit. "Do I need to get you a wheelchair?" she asks, exasperated at my resistance.

"We're in the stairwell, Zoey," I try to reason. "Thanks to your jiggly ass and all."

"Well if I would have fallen, I would've simply turned at the last moment and hit the wall with my ass like a landing pad. Nothing would've been hurt, except maybe the wall."

I smile despite myself.

* * *

"How many fingers am I holding up?"