rohanson: (Green jumper)
[personal profile] rohanson
Paris: Sighing, I let my head drop back and close my eyes for a moment. It’s gonna be another half hour at least before they see me, and I suppose it’s time to phone Dave, let him know about my ungraceful trip that’s left me with a badly twisted ankle after only one week working on the beach house. Ryssa and Ben gave me heaps of reassurances that they could cope, and it is Friday, but still. A nurse walks by and smiles and I return it as I dig in my pocket for my cell. Hitting speed-dial, I sigh again as I listen to it ring, exasperated at myself for not taking more care.

“Hey babe. First, I’m fine, really, but I’ve twisted my ankle. Ben dropped me off at the emergency room and I need you to pick me up. No hurry, they haven’t seen me yet. How was your day?” I try to joke, but I’m feeling pretty miserable and sore and wish you were already here.

Dave: I'm glad it's just a minor injury, but it's a reality-check that your work can be a bit dangerous at times. "Ah, Paris! I'm sorry, that's got to hurt. I'll be right over. At least I can sit and wait with you." Twenty minutes later, I'm poking about the busy hallways, until a nurse sees the lost look on my face and helps me find you. I slip into the chair next to you, steal a kiss and grab your hand. "I've warned you about tap dancing on the roof, haven't I?" Yeah, leave it to me to make a silly comment, but I just need to see you smile, or at least try to.

Paris: “Yeah, you have.” I manage a small, self-pitying smile, and then rest my head on your shoulder with another sigh, so glad you’re here. It’s not like my foot’s hanging off, but my ankle is throbbing and my foot and calf are aching, and it’s bloody annoying that something so simple could keep me off my feet.

A couple of minutes later, it’s my turn, and I tug you with me. They give me some strong painkillers after asking me a heap of questions and checking my records, and I’m getting a little fuzzy round the edges by the time they finish strapping it up, giving you a pile of instructions on when I have to take stuff, when to take the bandage off which is just as well, because I’m not gonna remember any of it …
As we drive out of the car park, I remember where we need to go. “Can we stay at the warehouse tonight? Théo still wants to shift in tomorrow. He hasn’t seen Éomer for over a month …” Then my focus slips again, my full attention switching to watching your hands as you drive.

Dave: You're starting to sound drifty, and I just want to get you home and propped up. Maybe we can just have a quiet night, snuggled with a movie and some Chinese takeaway. I'm pretty startled when you tell me Theo's shifting in tomorrow, and I'm not sure that's a good idea at all. "Paris, can't he wait a bit? Yeah, I know a month without Eomer's got to be driving him nuts, but you're hurt. You need to rest." I can't help it. If it comes to a choice, I'm always going to put what's best for you first.

Paris: “He promised he’d take it easy.” I bite my lip while I think about it again, and watch the streets go by outside as we travel through the city. “You could talk to him early tomorrow? It can be your call on whether he stays or not. He’ll agree with that. He tells me he “values your friendship and opinion”, and I trust you.” Smiling, and wondering why I feel so out of it, I rest my head against the back of the seat as we arrive at the warehouse.

Dave: I can't help smiling just a little. You're trying so hard to make sense (and actually doing a decent job of it), but your neck's having trouble holding your head up. "We'll talk more inside. Gotta do the hard part now, getting you there." I park and run around to your side of the car and help you get out, letting you lean as much of your weight as you can on me.

Once you’re settled on the couch with a pillow on the coffee table for your foot, I settle in next to you, my arm around your shoulders, stroking your hair back out of your eyes, thinking about what you've proposed. Finally, I nod, sighing a little. "I'll talk to Theo tomorrow, sure. If he can convince me he'll take proper care of your foot, then... well, we'll see. But that's tomorrow. You're here tonight, and you're hurt and dopey. What can I do for you, love?"

Paris: Right now, this is all I need. Your hand on my hair is relaxing me so much, I'll be asleep soon if I wasn't fighting it. I'm hungry too, didn't have much lunch today. Ryssa told me off, told me I have to keep my strength up for … can't remember, but she's usually right about stuff. Gah, don't like feeling so drugged up, gotta focus. I look up at you with unintentional big eyes, and smile at the look on your face and the protective note in your voice. Then with a happy sigh, I stop fighting and go with it, wrapping my arm round your waist and snuggling closer. "More of this then something nice to eat?"

Dave: I should feel guilty about enjoying the look on your face right now, considering what you had to go through to get that expression, but well... all right, I do feel a bit funny about that. It's to your advantage though, because you're going to get quite the pampering out of the deal.
I kiss the top of your head and nuzzle your hair. "That sounds like a plan. Mmm, how about a breakfasty supper? Cheese and veggie omelette and hashbrowns? You can stay right here and I'll even feed you. I think the instructions on your pills said that you shouldn't operate heavy forks under the influence, love.”

Paris: “mmmmm … breakfast. That sounds good.” I murmur into your chest, snickering softly at the though of you feeding me. Sounds appealing though. I’m not sure how good my co-ordination would be right now. I get the feeling if I concentrated harder, I could almost shake this off, but really, why would I want to? You’re warm and comfortable and you smell nice, and the ache in my ankle feels like its a million miles away …

Dave: Your head slumps against my chest, and I feel your breathing even out. "Paris? Hey, sleepyhead, you still awake?" Nope, he's out. I don't mind, I'm comfortable. I nudge the remote control forward with the toe of my shoe on the coffee table, and lean carefully forward to reach it. You bend with me but you don't show any signs of waking up. I settle back, put my feet up and flip the set on, keeping the sound low, idly channel-flipping. Ah. Cartoons. The decent sort, American stuff from back when I was a kid, none of this modern crap that passes for entertainment. I idly play with your hair as you sleep, kept company by a smartass roadrunner and a very wily coyote. I really should have invested in Acme Company…
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