Swooped | ✓

Chapter 51: Sauce for the Goose is Sauce for the Gander

"I'm fine, I really don't need to be wheeled in like this," I complained, the nurses around me ignoring my words as they pushed my hospital bed into the secluded Parliament wing. I fingered the ugly hospital gown they had made me wear, though I kept my mask on, wanting to at least try and hide my identity. Lark's father, who had been clued in on who the Parliament really were, had selected only a handful of nurses to help treat us, binding them to legal secrecy. 

"You fainted in the ambulance," Lark's dad said as he followed close to my bedside, flicking through some papers. "It's probably just from exhaustion, but you're severely dehydrated and have lost quite a bit of blood, so we don't want you walking around. Your wounds are superficial enough, though, and the paramedics already dressed them. What you need now is copious bed rest. Hence the bed."

"Yeah, dude. You really freaked me out when you just flopped over in the ambo," Geoff said, laughing at my expense. My friend was skipping alongside us, completely fine - understandable, considering he hadn't been kidnapped and barely broke a sweat beating up a psychotic ex-military mercenary. 

Note to self: never piss Geoff off.

"Fine," I huffed, flopping back onto the slightly scratchy mattress, letting the good doctor and nurses wheel me into one of the rooms in the wing. "But Lark?"

"I'll check in on her. Gia's been with her this whole time, though," Geoff said, patting my shoulder before disappearing into a curtained room - Lark's, I guessed. 

"Don't you dare give my daughter cannabis again! She's ill and feverish!" Dr Larsen yelled at Geoff just before the door closed behind him, and I gave him a perplexed look, the man sighing. "He and his sister visited Lark yesterday. It was lovely, to see that they care for her so much, but... when I came in to check on her, I caught them lighting up a joint."

"Oh," I said, suddenly itching for a joint myself. Dr Larsen just narrowed his eyes at me, before shaking his head, turning back to the charts in his hand.

Soon, at around 4am, I was wheeled into what I figured was my room right next door to hers. I was surprised to see Milo sitting there, hands fidgeting with a wheel-able IV drip and donning a white and blue printed gown. The moment he saw me, he quickly got up, probably a little too fast since his eyes lost focus for a second and he stumbled, gripping onto the IV stand. He recovered quickly, before rushing over, wheels of the drip squeaking against the floor.

"I remember prescribing bed rest to you too, son," Lark's father sighed, shaking his head when Milo completely ignored him, grabbing my hand once the nurses pushed my bed into position. They slung a similar IV bag connected to my left hand onto a stand, sticking some monitors on my chest and and clipping something onto my finger to keep an eye on other vital stats, before the doctor nodded and they left.

"Don't do anything too strenuous, the both of you," Lark's dad said, eyes knowing, though he pushed a chair closer to the bed for Milo to sit on, chuckling to himself. "You've both been through a lot, so please just rest. There's a call button behind you if you need anything." Lark's dad left without much else, pulling the blinds to the room closed before shutting the sliding door behind him. 

With Lark's father gone, the small hospital room fell silent, save for the constant beating of the machines around me. The sound was more reassuring than annoying, confirmation that my heart was beating, and that I was alive. Alive, and here with Milo.

My boyfriend slowly lowered himself into the chair next to my bed, not letting go of my hand. His own shook as he clumsily knotted his fingers with mine, and he pressed the back of my hand to his mouth. I felt his trembling breath dust over my skin, and his warm tears that slipped down my wrist as he cried, shoulders slumped with relief.