The Waiting
By Vickie Moseley

Summary: Mulder is waiting for word on Scully, as seen through
the eyes of an independent observer. Set during Beyond the Sea
Category: V A UST
Spoilers: Beyond the Sea (duh)
Surgeon General Warning: This product is cancer free.
Rated: PG-13, pretty tame
Disclaimer: They own 'em. The shadows known only as Ten
Thirteen. Oh, yeah, they'd like us to believe that they're just a
television production company, but face it, we've been led astray
before. Think 'grassy knoll'. But since they are omnipotent, I will
take the cowards way out and not challenge their copyright. Heck,
I'm so nice, I won't even infringe on it. But Claire is all mine and I
won't let them take her!
Archive: Put anywhere, the newsgroup, the archives, I don't
care--just let my name and disclaimer stay attached.
Comments: I warned you, I was working my way through the first
season. Only 20 more stories to go, by my count. Then again, I
might skip 'Space'. Let me know if you liked this one or if you
have any requests--vmoseley@fgi.net

The Waiting
By Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net

Usually I prefer the late night shift. It's quieter. Most everyone,
except the new admits, are sleeping. There's the perennial mid shift
check of vitals that everyone claims is so disturbing and some sleep
meds _do_ wear off and have to be given again, but aside from that,
there are fewer complaints on the late night shift, which is a big
plus.
But that night I was doing a favor for a friend. A big favor. A big
date, the possibility that 'this was the one'--the guy she'd finally
settle down for--what could I say? Been there, done that, you gotta
kiss a lot of toads? I kept quiet about all my reservations and just
gave her a 'sure, no problem'.
I'm a nurses aid. Not fancy, but I'm taking classes during the day
to get my RN. I didn't start out in medicine, I just sort of ended up
here--the most recent of a long road of career choices that was
almost as miserable as my choices in men. Can't really blame either
of them, I'm not the commitment kind. But I've been at this job
longer than most, almost three years and from all indications, I'll
get my RN in one more semester and finally settle down myself.
The 'man' part of my existence can hold for a while. One thing at a
time.
My friend and I work post-op. Lots of gall bladders, hernias, things
that really hurt. And since most times the women coming out of
surgery end up on the gyne ward, it tends to be a 'male dominated'
floor all the way around. Lots of fun.
I'm not being overly critical when I say men are consummate babies
when in pain. It's a fact of life, just like the sun rising and the rain
coming right when you've planned a day at the beach. It's one of
those things I just don't question. But what I've never understood
was why, since they hate pain, some of them hate medication
almost as much? Seems sort of contradictory to me.
Oh, I know for some of them, it's the 'macho' image. "I can take
it." Yeah, right. Then, as the sun sets and they realize there is a
nice long night of endless torture ahead of them, they _beg_ for that
shot in the ass, believe you me.
I am not a member of the Spanish Inquisition. I prefer to have the
patients under my care be 'comfortable'--or at least a passing
resemblance to that state of being. I hate seeing people in pain, so I
encourage them to ask when they're hurting. Good grief, we're
running a hospital here, not a prisoner of war camp!
I was warned as I came on that Room 356, bed 2 might be a
problem. A celebrity. An FBI agent. The one that was in the
papers that morning. Two kids from the college had been
kidnapped and the Raleigh police had requested the FBI get
involved. Really scary part was the nutcase out at the prison who
said he had voices in his head telling him where the kids were.
Anyway, the night before the 'good guys' had staged a bust and got
one of the kids--the girl. She was on fourth floor, in fair condition.
But in the process of trying to retrieve the boy, one of the agents
took a bullet in the leg. The paper had said he was in critical
condition--it was the early morning paper. They'd let him out of
ICU about 2 in the afternoon and now we had him for a couple of
days until he was well enough to be shipped home, wherever that
was.
I've never treated a cop before, but I've heard the stories. All the
people hanging out in the room--usually too many at a time. All the
flowers, the balloons, you'd think it was a florist shop. And they
tend to be REAL babies, too. And complain--I've heard stories
that would curl your hair! Then there are the ones that try to sneak
out--they are the real trouble makers. If they get past you--your
butt is in a sling for a month! So I wasn't all that happy when I,
being the sub, pulled him on my patient list. Oh joy.
I stopped in when I arrived, my little introductory meeting. He had
a visitor, only one. That surprised me a little, but then, he was from
out of town. She was pretty, a red head, and was fussing over his
blanket in a way that said 'private property'. When I came in, she
looked up, a little embarrassed, I think, and sat down in the visitor's
chair.
The patient was lying flat in the bed, an IV in his left arm, heart
monitor beeping maddeningly and an oxygen tube just under his
nose--already beginning to chafe from the looks of it. Although I
couldn't see it, the chart informed me that he had a major incision
from his groin to just six inches above his knee and 47 stitches
between the incision and the exit wound. Not to mention a chipped
and hairline fractured femur that would have to wait a few days
before being cast in plaster. He'd been given a hefty dose of
morphine before the day shift left, some twenty minutes ago and it
was starting to hit him.
"Hi, I'm Claire" I said slowly and distinctly and with a big smile.
"I'm your aid for the evening. We're running a little understaffed
tonight, but I've been told that you're a 'big wig' so I'll be
watching you like a hawk," I teased lightly. Agent Mulder was
circling for a landing space on Venus and couldn't be bothered, but
his friend in the chair cracked a smile.
I'd been warned that he was cute, but with the post-op paleness,
the dark shadows under his eyes and the lids at that morphine
induced 'half mast' stage, he looked like a guy I'd picked up in a
singles bar only to find out he was married with three kids in the
morning. I shuddered to myself. "See, Scully, I'm fine. Claire here
will be watching me," he said, barely more than a whisper and
giving me the single most hang dog expression I've ever seen.
That really got a short laugh out of his friend. "Maybe I should
give Claire my spare weapon, just in case you get out of hand,
Mulder," she said, and I almost think she meant it. She then made a
point of watching over my shoulder, in a sort of casual way, and
nodding at the readings I was getting. Thankfully, she seemed to
approve. His vitals were well within the normal ranges and as I
took his pulse I noted that he was struggling to stay awake through
the festivities.
"Well, you got your pain meds just a little while ago, so you'll be
due after supper. Dr. Clarke has you on a liquid diet until
tomorrow. Do you have a jello preference?" I asked.
"None of the above," he said with a grimace. I had to bite back a
laugh--jello was usually the downfall of most hospital cafeterias.
His friend, however, didn't find his comments as amusing.
"Mulder, I'm coming back after we're finished tonight, and you had
better be a member of the 'clean plate club' when I arrive," Scully
said, in a voice that I sure wouldn't argue with.
"In that case, something red or orange," he grumbled. "None of
that yellow or green stuff." He almost didn't get the last word
out--he'd finally lost his fight with the sandman.
"Duly noted," I said with a smile. I started out into the hall and felt
something tug at my sleeve. I turned around and saw that 'Scully'
had followed me.
"Something I can do for you?" I asked. Sometimes it's a long time
between 'chats' with the doctor and nurses are the next best source
of information--but there is a lot we can't tell people without
authorization. Still, it didn't look like she was seeking information
as much as wanting to impart some.
"Claire, I'm Dana Scully, Agent Mulder's next of kin. We're
partners," she explained and the way she said the word, it was as if
that should handle any and all questions. "I'm going to be 'out of
pocket' for a while tonight. It should be fine, I expect he'll be out
of it, especially when he gets that shot later. I'm just telling you in
case--well, if you need to get me, if it's an emergency, here's the
number for the Raleigh PD. They can get to me in a flash." She
handed me a business card, her own, with a hand written number on
the back. "Just in case anything comes up," she said again, and I
could tell she was praying it wouldn't be necessary.
"Sure thing, uh, Miss Scully?" I said taking the card.
"Agent Scully," she said with an indulgent smile. "I'll be back
before nine, I hope. The morphine really knocks him out, so you
should have a quiet night."
"We'll take good care of him, Agent Scully," I reassured her and
watched as she went back into her 'partner's room. I had a whole
list of others yet to see.
The next couple of hours went by pretty quickly. We got a couple
of new admits, another gall bladder, a partial lung removal and an
appendectomy. I wasn't BS-ing when I told Agent Mulder that we
were short handed--it was two nurses, another aid and me handling
a ward of 10 rooms, most of them doubled up. The first time I got
a chance to notice the time was when the orderly brought the food
trays up at 6.
I'd had a couple of chances to glance into Agent Mulder's room
during the afternoon--he'd been completely zonkered. Now, I
peeked under the cover of his tray and made sure that he was
receiving the 'red' jello and not the 'green'. Sure enough, they'd
screwed it up in the cafeteria, but I noticed that Mr. Genova had
ordered red jello and he'd been released at noon, so the switch was
an easy one. I scooped up the tray and took it over to Agent
Mulder's room.
I don't know if I woke him or if he was starting to wake up on his
own, but his eyes fluttered and stayed in the 'open' position when I
walked in. I'm pretty sure he muttered the name 'Scully' before he
managed to focus on my face and realized I wasn't who he thought
I was.
"I brought your red jello, Agent Mulder," I said, my voice chipper,
but soft. He was still pretty much asleep, but his eyes didn't know
it.
". . . jello?" he asked and for a moment, he actually looked like he
was going to try and sit up. I plunked that tray down fast and
'helped' him back down on the bed. It didn't take much effort on
my part, he was too weak to go very far. When he was settled, I hit
the button on the side rail and raised the head of the bed.
"Better?" I asked. He nodded. I pulled the tray table around so
that he could reach it without straining, took off the covers from all
the items and unwrapped the straw. He looked totally
overwhelmed at the prospects of lifting spoon and fork to mouth. I
glanced over my shoulder out into the hallway and decided he was
probably not going to get any of this meal into himself without
considerable assistance. I pressed the nurses call button and
quickly informed Vickie at the desk that I'd be helping Agent
Mulder with his supper.
He sort of frowned at that, but didn't object when I lifted a spoon
full of jello to his mouth. He ate most of the jello, drank about half
the broth, but shook his head weakly when I tried to get the hot tea
down him. I didn't push him, he'd eaten more than I expected him
to. When I put the cover back on the tray, he sunk back into the
pillows and seemed to take a lot of effort just breathing and
watching me.
"It's time for your meds again," I told him, figuring that he was
probably ready for them about then. He slowly shook his head.
"Where's Scully?" he asked, not bothering to explain why he didn't
want the morphine.
"She said she was going to be 'out of pocket' for a while
tonight--whatever that means, but that she'll be here about nine. If
you take you're shot now, you might be awake when she comes," I
offered.
"She's going after him," he said, more to himself and the walls than
to me.
"Excuse me?" I almost didn't say anything. Maybe this was
something just between the two of them.
"Lucas Henry. She's going after him. He's holding Jim Summers.
He'll kill him tonight if they don't get there in time," Mulder
rasped, and shifted while grimacing, trying to find a comfortable
spot on the bed.
"She won't go alone, will she?" I knew next to nothing of police
procedure--law enforcement being the one field of endeavor I'd
managed to avoid so far.
"Oh, she'll have a team with her. But they won't know her, won't
know her style. Scully always likes to hang back, then moves
forward. And when she has a choice, she prefers to go to the left.
They won't know that. They won't know the looks she'll give
them." He closed his eyes and hissed at the pain, not just in his leg
but in his heart and mind as well. "I should be there," he added so
softly I could have missed it if I hadn't been concentrating on what
he said.
"She'll feel better knowing you're safe," I offered. It seemed true,
too. She'd been more relaxed after I took his vitals and she saw
that he was indeed stable and improving. I could almost feel the
worry seep out of her a little as we stood in the hallway exchanging
phone numbers.
He tried to smirk at that, but his leg wasn't giving him any relief
and his expression was more of a grimace. "I'm not supposed to be
'safe'. I'm supposed to be watching her back--or she watching
mine." He closed his eyes for a moment and I was hoping he'd fall
asleep--no such luck. In a flash, he'd blinked them open and
focused on me again.
"Agent Mulder, your partner thinks you're sleeping," I said, hoping
that invoking her image would convince him that he needed to take
his medicine and do what she expected him to do. I need not have
bothered.
"She does that a lot," he said casually. His voice was still soft, but
the pain was getting worse. His teeth were clenched and the pain
lines around his eyes were clear as day.
"The time would go faster if you weren't hurting," I reasoned.
"Besides what can you do now? It's not like you can call her."
That earned me a glare that would have turned a fainter heart to
stone.
"I'll take the morphine when I hear from Scully," he hissed out.
I stood there beside the bed, not very happy with him at the
moment. I've been around stubborn men in my life--packed a
couple of bags and left them on the doorstep a few times--but this
guy was topping my list. And as long as he was reasonably
competent, in other words lucid, there was not a darned thing I
could do about it. Well, maybe one.
I could bluff.
"Are you refusing your medication? Your doctor left explicit
instructions and he won't like it if you ignore his orders," I told him
through gritted teeth, trying to put as much warning into my tone as
I possibly could. I hoped I was giving him visions of a team of
doctors and nurses rushing into the room at the mere snap of my
fingers, strapping him down and forcing the pain killer on him
whether he wanted it or not.
To my great dismay, it didn't work.
"I am refusing a pain killer. It is within my rights. I'm not refusing
the antibiotics or any other agents that you are giving me to reduce
the chances of clots in my leg--refusing those might endanger my
health," he said evenly, slowly, as if talking to a recalcitrant student.
"And I'm not hysterical, so you can't make me take a sedative,
either." He glanced over at the heart monitor and nodded toward
it. "And as long as that stays below 70, you couldn't sedate me
anyway. It's contraindicated."
Damn, he knew the guidelines and even had the jargon. I was
starting to get pissed off and I think he knew it.
"Look, I just want to be awake, OK? I'm not being an asshole, I
just don't want the pain killer." He sighed, the conversation was
taking a lot out of him, but his eyes were not wavering. He was
going to wait for his partner and I and the rest of the hospital could
go to hell and have a party for all he cared.
I took a deep breath, trying to decide if the battle was worth it. As
long as he could take it, I could. I mean, it wasn't my leg that felt
like it had been sawed off with an emery board. Besides, he wasn't
the only guy on my dance card. I had a whole ward full of
whinny-crying males of the species. I gave him a shrug.
"Fine, then," I said, as if the whole thing really wasn't that big a
deal. "I'll be back in a while to check on you." I headed out the
door, but couldn't leave before I tossed him a snotty "Call us if you
change your mind."
I'm not sure, but I think he flipped me the finger as I closed the
door behind me.
After making sure everyone had their tummies full, it was time to
make the rounds with the meds. I explained to Vickie that Agent
Mulder was foregoing his pain killer--for the time being, so she
doled out the other meds, the ones he wasn't receiving IV, and put
them on the cart. "Dr. Clarke isn't going to be a happy camper if
he refuses more than just the pain killer," she told me, and I figured
that message was supposed to be handed along to Room 356's only
occupant.
"I tried telling him that. He's a veteran patient, Vic. Quoted me
chapter and verse on his 'rights'."
"I hate treating feds," she sighed and went back to filling out the
patient charts.
"Like we have a lot of them come through," I teased her and she
just stuck her tongue out at me. I went back to handing out
laxatives.
I was in Room 348 when the crash came. It was pretty loud, and
sounded like a bomb. Running on pure instinct, I headed for the
sound, and wasn't too surprised to be standing in the doorway of
Agent Mulder's room. Vickie and Carol were there already,
struggling to pull up the IV pump that was turned over on the floor,
along with the phone and most of the items that had graced the top
of the cabinet next to the FBI agent's bed. The patient was white
as a sheet, clutching his left hand to his chest, sweat pouring down
his face and his eyes clenched so tightly shut that I think we would
have needed the 'jaws of life' to open them.
"What the hell?" I greeted everyone.
Carol looked up, pissed as all get out. "Stupid here just tried to use
the phone," she huffed angrily, until Vickie shot her a vicious look.
"Sorry," she atoned, half heartedly. "The 'patient' decided to try
and call his partner," she amended. Carol was a nursing student,
too, but with her mouth, she was likely to end up assisting
autopsies if she graduated at all.
Vickie moved aside to let me help Carol with the IV pump and
pole--thank god those things are sturdy because all the others we
had on the floor were in use--and she pulled up the lab basket to
restart the IV, this time in his right hand. Once the stand was up
and it appeared that all systems were still working, Carol went back
to her rounds with meds.
"Agent Mulder, I really think it would be for your own good to let
us get the shot now," Vickie tried to reason. "Now your hand is
probably hurting, too."
Mulder would make a great mannequin--he stared at her, jaw
locked tight, eyes never wavering. He'd pried his eyes open once
the IV was in, but he was still cradling his hand.
"Fine, it's just to help you, you know," she said, keeping a more
neutral tone than I was feeling at the moment. "No phone calls, by
the way. If you need to call someone, ask one of us and we'll help
you. You aren't supposed to be reaching that far--Dr. Clarke
wants that leg stable, with no movement. It's why you're not off
the catheter yet," she added and I knew from working with Vickie
that this was her way of rubbing salt in the wound.
If I hadn't spent ten full minutes staring him down earlier, I would
have missed the little hate dagger he threw at her, but Agent
Mulder was a man of few words. Actually, right then, he didn't say
a damned thing. Just sat there like a statue and stared at the two of
us until Vickie threw up her arms and stalked out of the room,
leaving me behind.
"You are really just being stubborn, aren't you? How does she put
up with you when you're like this?" I asked him, knowing he'd
understand I was talking about his partner.
"She's just better at it than you are," he shot back, finally slumping
into the pillows now that the room had cleared of 'observers'.
"Does your hand hurt much?" I asked gently, nodding toward his
cradled fist. It had to, he ripped the needle right out of the skin.
Even when 'eased' out those things sting.
He attempted a shrug. "It's not that bad--keeps my mind off other
things," he added with a glance to his elevated leg.
"Did you get her on the phone?" I knew that was who he was
calling. He'd not had any other visitors and no one had called
about him at the nurses station.
"No," he admitted sadly. "I dropped the phone before I got that
far. The cord got tangled up with the pump cord and--well, you
saw the resulting disaster." He looked almost apologetic and I
wished I'd had a camera so I could show that face to Vickie.
I reached over to the phone and picked up the receiver. "What's
the number?" The smile he shined on me was worth all the trouble.
The cellular customer we were attempting to locate was not
available at that time, or so the little recording told me. I pulled the
business card out of my pocket and dialed that number, then handed
the receiver over to Agent Mulder. He fumbled with it for a
second, not wanting to let go of his hand, but he finally secured it
between his chin and shoulder.
"I'd like to speak with, ah, Detective Mason, please," he said into
the phone, flashing me a look. I didn't really want to eavesdrop,
but there was no way in hell I was leaving and have him attempt to
put the phone back by himself. "OK, then, uh, I guess I need to
speak with--" he scrunched him face up trying to pull a name from
his memory, "Akers, Chief Akers." While we waited, I gently lifted
the blankets and checked the bandage on his leg. He glared at me,
but didn't say anything.
"Chief, this is Agent Fox Mulder. I understand Detective Mason is
providing back up for my partner, Agent Scully." A pause. "Well,
actually, I'm feeling a little better, thank you for asking, but I
wanted to know when they left--if there's been any word."
Another longer pause. His face shifted to a worried expression.
"And that was the last you heard?" He'd gone a little pale and I
began to rethink this little escapade. "Yes, well, if the attack nurses
will give me the message," he said, staring directly at me, "I would
appreciate it. Thank you." He let the phone drop to the bed.
"What's the news?" I asked, and it crossed my mind that he might
just tell me to shove it. But he didn't.
"Last report he had, the coroner and two ambulances had been
dispatched. The suspect, Lucas Henry, is believed dead at the
scene. Jim Summers is alive, but no word on his condition
otherwise, and--" he stopped and swallowed, "an FBI agent was
injured. No word on how badly. No word on who it might be."
Once the words were out of his mouth, he seemed to wilt right in
front of me. He slid down in the pillows, and I had the undeniable
urge to grab him before he fell--but he was lying on a bed, with rails
up and he wasn't going anywhere. A spasm hit his leg and he
arched his back in response.
"Agent Mulder, please," I pleaded.
"No. Not till I know."
I wracked my brain trying to think of how I could find out if the
injured person was his partner. But there was no telling where
they'd found this Henry character and the boy. No telling what
hospital might have been closer. Obviously the Raleigh PD wasn't
up to speed on the situation, so who the hell did I think I could call?
One thing was certain. I wasn't going to leave Agent Mulder
alone. At least, not for long. I trotted out to the desk and told
Nancy--Vickie was with a patient--that I was going to be sitting
with Agent Mulder unless they absolutely needed me. She started
to object, she'd missed out on our little circus earlier, but then she
glanced at his chart, noted that he'd had no visitors other than his
next of kin, and nodded her approval.
I walked back in and Agent Mulder turned his face away from me,
wiped the back of his hand across it. I wasn't here to intrude. I
was here to help. I busied myself with straighten up some of the
stuff that had been knocked on the floor earlier, making sure
supplies were full, got him some fresh water. By the time I turned
back to him, he was under control.
"You don't have to stay," he said. I had to remind myself the man
was an FBI agent, after all. He had figured out my 'MO'--as they
say on all the cop shows.
"Hey, if I decide to goldbrick, I can do it where I please," I shot
back with a grin.
He didn't like that, but he must have figured out that nothing he
could say would make me leave. He might be able to refuse meds,
but when he started throwing nursing staff out of the room, the big
guns stepped in and his ass would be grass.
"I don't need a babysitter," he said, again trying to find a
comfortable spot. By this time, with his meds having worn off a
full two hours before, 'comfortable' was no longer in his
vocabulary.
"Funny, from the looks of it, you already have one," I replied
casually. If looks could kill, I'd have been ash and cinders.
"She's my partner," he said evenly, but his eyes contained enough
heat to know I'd stepped on some pretty big toes.
Sometimes, talking really can take a person's mind off the pain. He
didn't seem as pale now that we were on a subject he could focus
on. I decided to stay with it, regardless of how many times he
ripped me to shreds with his eyes. "You know, she mentioned that.
The way you say it, both of you, there's a whole lot more in that
word than agreeing on where to stop for donuts in the morning," I
shot back at him while I pulled my chair a safe distance from the
bed.
He almost laughed. "You make it sound like a 'daytime drama',"
he said, shaking his head. "She got assigned to me about a year
ago. We've been through a lot. I half expected her to take off by
now, request a transfer, leave the Bureau. But she hasn't. She's
stuck it out. She's tough." He picked at the blanket on the bed a
minute. "Tougher than I'll ever be," he whispered, and I don't
think I was supposed to hear it.
"Her dad died five days ago, did you know that?" he asked. "I
wanted her to take some time, you know, let herself grieve. But
she came into the office, took her lunch hour for the funeral. We
were on a flight here two hours later. But I know it's hurting
her--" He stopped, he probably felt he'd said too much. "It's hard
to stay focused when you're mind is playing tricks on you," he said,
and I wasn't sure if he even knew I was still in the room.
"She'll be OK," I said, and I hoped against hope that I wasn't
making an empty promise.
He looked up at me and smiled. "I want to believe that," he
answered.
We talked for a while more, about little stuff. I told him all my
various career experiences. Once, he asked why I'd never thought
of psychology. I laughed and laughed at that one. I explained that
I was too close to my RN and not getting any younger. At 30, it
was time to find a job and stick with it. He smiled and nodded.
I could tell that he was tiring, but that he couldn't fall asleep. He
was fighting both the exhaustion and the pain, now and it was
definitely taking it's toll. I wanted so much to try and convince him
to take the pain killer, leave it all behind, but I couldn't do that to
him. I couldn't take from him the moment when he found his
answer, whether good or bad. I didn't want him to wake up,
knowing that he'd missed something while he was asleep.
It was a quarter of ten and I knew they needed me to do final bed
checks, but I wasn't about to leave him. He wasn't talking much
anymore, just nodding when he could, and he was straining to focus
on me, on the window--but never the door. He refused to look at
the door. Whenever he wasn't looking directly at me, I looked at
the door for him. I think when I heard street shoes on the tiles in
the hallway, I was ready to stand up and shout for joy.
His partner, Agent Scully, pushed the door open all the way and
looked at him, worried expression firmly in place this time.
"Mulder, the nurse at the desk said you aren't taking your medicine.
What's up?" she scolded.
If he hadn't been so sick, the look on his face would have been
pretty funny. First, it was relief, pure, blessed, golden, like stepping
into a cool shower after a hot, tiring day relief. In seconds, that
was replaced with what can only be described as 'hand in the
cookie jar' repentance. The look every six year old practices in the
mirror just to save their ass when they do something they know
they shouldn't. I could only thank God that I wasn't his mother.
Or his partner, for that matter. But that all dissolved when a
muscle spasm hit full force and he jerked and arched his back again.
"Get his shot--NOW!" Agent Scully ordered and was next to him
before I could move. I hurtled the chair and didn't even bother
with the call button--I ran out into the hall and called for Vickie to
bring the med. Thank heavens, she wasn't busy with another
patient. She was there as fast as her little legs could carry her.
When Vickie had administered the medication, I stood in the
doorway a minute, watching the two of them. She was holding his
hand, whispering that he was an idiot for not taking his medicine
and who did he think he was, anyway, and all sorts of scolding that
I knew was running off him like water on a duck's back. It was the
tone of voice that he was concentrating on then. A tone of voice
that told him she was there, she was safe, he could go to sleep now
and leave all the pain behind. In just a few minutes, his eyes slid
shut, all the while she was telling him that it would be all right, she
wasn't going anywhere.
Before my shift ended, I peeked in on them again. He was
completely out of it, she was sound asleep in the chair with a
blanket thrown over her to keep out the chill. In the light from the
hallway, he looked different. Younger, perhaps. But more than
that, for the first time, he looked comfortable.
I pulled the door shut, and let them sleep.

the end

Vickie

Stand up for what is right,
Even if you stand alone.
quote from a poster