Work Text:
Abigail flexed her hands around the pickaxe, the nerves of her arms still vibrating from the impact of the sharp pick against the rock. She bent to pick up the filthy chunk of ore at her feet and stuffed it in her pack. Straightening, she gave the dimly lit space around her one last sweeping glance before deciding it properly looted to her satisfaction. Pulling a scrap of paper from her pocket, she added a slash to the end of the neat row that marched along the page. Her eyes flicked through the marks as she did a quick mental calculation of her progress.
29, she noted. This is the end of the line.
She hefted the satchel hanging from her back in an attempt to gauge her haul. During these recent forays into the mines outside of Pelican Town, she had gotten quite good at determining her bounty from the simple weight of her bag. The pleasure she felt at the speed with which she’d cleared the levels was quickly offset by the light weight of her satchel. Unfortunately, this excursion was not proving as abundant as previous trips.
Chewing on her lip, she looked to the cage of the elevator idling open across the expansive room. The dim single bulb affixed to the back of the tiny space glowed a soft amber in the gloom. A quick check of her wristwatch reminded her that the hour was growing late.
If I leave now, I can make it home before Mom pitches a fit, she presumed.
The promise she’d made to her mother rose up in the back of her mind. Because of her family’s recent financial troubles due to Joja Corp expanding in Pelican Town with the help of the new farmer, Abigail’s mother, Caroline, had finally relented in her strict mandates on Abigail’s thirst for adventure and conceded to let her only daughter journey deeper than the entrance to the mines. After a hard fought battle, they’d compromised that Abigail was to go no further than the 30th floor.
For a time that had been enough. The ore and stone had been plentiful in the early days of her adventuring. Now it seemed the yield was not as high or as profitable. More and more, Abigail had been leaving with a pack lighter each time.
If I go down just a few more floors, who knows what I might find. Mom doesn’t even have to know.
She wavered for only a moment; the temptation of unknown plunder proving greater than the certainty of her mother’s disapproval.
Just this once.
Even as the thought popped into her head, Abigail recognized it for the lie it was. The comfort the fib brought eased her concern, however, and she warmed to the new idea immediately. With her mind made up, she hurried to the ladder leading to the next floor and slipped down.
Floor 30 was a somewhat familiar sight, as she’d sometimes lost track of her progress and accidentally ventured to meet it, despite its lack of activity. She didn’t waste time on the empty floor; instead quickly exiting to the level below.
I don’t have to go any further than 31.
Warming to her spontaneous rashness, the pep talk ran through her brain automatically.
I bet it’s not even that bad. I’ve handled everything so far easy peasy. What’s one more level?
Despite her reassurances, a chill chased up her bare arms as she let go of the ladder. Her feet hit the ground with a muted thud. Gaining her balance, she surveyed her new surroundings.
As she turned in a tight circle, the crunch of her boots seemed to echo in the cavernous space. To her surprise, the entire floor was almost completely absent of even the barest illumination. Only the faintest glow of the elevator’s number panel in the distance broke through the ceaseless void. All the previous floors she’d traversed had been lit with braziers left behind by some other helpful soul. Trepidatiously, she peered into the inky blackness that hovered menacingly at the edge of the small halo of light emitting from her glow ring, searching for some clue as to her surroundings.
She coughed on the stale air, the scent of minerals and dirt thick on her tongue. Her pulse picked up in her ears, the rushing drum drowning out the vacant absence of sound. Fear prickled her senses, and she considered heading straight for the safety of the elevator.
Don’t be such a baby, she chided herself.
Determined to advance despite her initial misgivings, she unsheathed the steel shortsword at her belt. She lifted her other fist bearing the weak glow ring up in a vain attempt to dispel the burgeoning shadows. A shuffling sound came from somewhere deep in the darkness. She took a few hesitant steps forward, sword firmly in hand.
A bat squeaked shrilly behind her, startling her. Its heavy leather wings flapped closely, sending a rush of dry air breezing against the hair at the back of her head. She spun, bringing up the sword just in time to slash at the creature and send it reeling. Guilt soured her stomach, having to harm the little beast, but she remained steadfast in her defense. Undeterred, it swooped in again with its taloned feet extended to attack, and she drove it back with a hearty swipe of her blade. This time it fell to the ground, lifeless and swallowed by shadows.
Panting, Abigail’s head turned side to side, wary of additional assailants. At the very periphery of her halo of luminescence, she caught sight of a faint familiar gleam. She hurried towards it. Sticking out of a rough hunk of rock was a large chunk of copper ore. Eagerly, she resheathed her sword and pulled out her pickaxe. Immediately, she beset upon the stone with zealous swings. Bits flew up and snicked against her boots and denim clad pantlegs. Her arms began to ache from the constant jolt of metal meeting rock. At last the sizable piece of raw copper broke free and rolled off its perch against the mound.
She bent to pick it up and stuffed it in her bag. Beside it was a fat lump of glimmering stone about the size of a large egg, its iridescent shimmer catching the light of her ring.
A geode, she recognized with a flush of excitement. Must be my lucky night.
If that luck held, there might be something quite precious inside. She ran to the next boulder in hopes of finding more. After chipping away all the valuable minerals from that rock, she didn’t have to go far before she found another bountiful stone.
Lost in the rhythm of repetitive action and deaf to all but the continuous ring of the tool in her hand, she wasn’t aware of the gathering mist that swirled around her ankles until it was thick enough to blot out the tops of her boots.
Confused, she straightened from her work and wiped the sweat from her brow. From behind her came a low moan that sent a chill down her spine. She whipped her head around just in time to spot a shadow detaching itself from the blackness and reaching for her. Its clawed grasp snagged the flesh of her shoulder. Crying out from the unexpected attack, she spun away and managed to deflect the brunt of the assault with the bulk of her backpack. Her sword parted from its sheath with a strident swick as she rounded on her attacker.
The monster's dull glowing yellow eyes stared unblinkingly at her as it shuffled forward once more. Quick on her feet, she dodged, using the movement to circle around it and chop at its flank. It took the blow effortlessly, the blade sparking off its stone-like skin. She slashed again, this time at its neck in an attempt to decapitate it but its tough carapace prevented the blade from breaking the surface of its throat.
What in the void is this thing, she thought with a whisper of panic.
The floors above had been populated by slimes and all manner of creepy crawlies, and despite her disgust at cleaning their guts off her equipment, she’d slain them easily and without aplomb.
This was a new foe entirely; one, that although seemingly mindless in its pursuit of her, was relentless.
It lurched for her again and she withdrew back a few steps to gain some space. Her boots slipped on small chips of demolished stone, pitching her off balance. Another of the shadowy creatures, a twin to the one she faced, lunged forward to meet her. Its claw caught the fabric of her jeans, rending the sturdy denim as easily as tissue paper and opening the flesh of her thigh underneath. Pain erupted from the wound, a searing sensation that stole her breath away. Unable to correct herself in time, her rear hit the ground with a teeth clacking impact. Fear, bright and metallic, mingled on her tongue as she rolled to gain her feet again.
In light of the second combatant and the injuries she’d sustained, she knew forfeiture was her only option. Without wavering, she bolted away from her bizarre assailants. Even with the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the searing agony in her leg forced her into a hobbling limp. Warm stickiness saturated the inside of her pant leg, dribbling down to her knee with every stuttered swing of her gait.
The thin mist she’d first noticed had coalesced into an almost impenetrable fog that obscured her vision as she fled. Hidden in the haze, bats’ frantic screeching added to the cacophony of her thundering pulse and the guttural hissing howl of the shadow monsters.
A swarm.
No sooner had the realization hit home, then the thick rubbery stretch of the varmints’ many wings smacked against her head, face, and shoulders. The shrieks of the persistent creatures assailed her ears. Both arms up to deflect the attacks, she could only swipe at them ineffectually with her sword while she ran in the direction she prayed was the elevator. It seemed every beast she beat away was replaced by two more in its vacancy. Blood dripped into her eye from a scratch on her brow, a companion to the oozing line on her cheek.
Her throat raw from screaming, she finally spotted the inviting glow of the lift. She ran for it at full speed; her hand reaching out instinctively to smash the button for the first level as she passed through the open cage and crashed into the wall at the back. The door creaked closed and the ancient machine ground to life as it began to usher her upwards.
Vicious squeaking and painful clawing at her ear alerted her to the lone bat that clung to her hair. With a disgusted shriek, she ripped it from her head, threw it to the floor, and stomped on it in terror. She kicked its little carcass away in guilt-tinged mortification.
Breathless, she collapsed, her back sliding down the wall of the elevator. Tears streamed down her cheeks, the salt stinging her wound but she couldn’t stem the tide. As the floors ticked by slowly, exhaustion overcame her. Unconsciousness beckoned to her like a siren upon a rocky shore and she surrendered as willingly as a bewitched sailor.
()()()
“Abigail, can you hear me?” A man’s voice broke into the depths of her inertia.
Her eyelashes fluttered as she twitched. The sound of her name prompted her to pry her eyes open slightly. Bright light pierced her vision, making her cringe away. A headache spiked in her temples.
“Ugh,” she groaned as she lifted her hand to shield her eyes. “What— what happened? Where am I?”
“You’re at the clinic. Linus found you unconscious in the mines,” the man said. Despite the succinctness of his speech, his rich baritone was heavy with concern. “You’re lucky he came along when he did and brought you here.”
The words spoken in the familiar voice sent forth a wave of recollection, sending her head spinning again.
Oh no, Mom is gonna kill me.
The thought had her trying to sit up. “I– I have to get home,” she groaned
A warm hand touched her arm before she could rise fully. “No, no, hang on. Not so fast. I still need to attend to your injuries.”
Blinking, her eyes finally adjusted enough to see the town doctor leaning over her. Harvey’s face was strained. The fine grooves around his eyes were deepened with worry, obvious even behind his glasses. A furrowed crease formed between his dark brows. Under his trim moustache, his mouth was a grim line.
“Ah, don’t worry, doc. I’m peachy,” she said flippantly. “It’s nothing some bandages and a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”
At odds with the lighthearted tone she attempted, the rasp of her raw throat made a liar out of her. She tried for a smile to help her cause but the pain in her shoulder and leg as she sat up had her grimacing instead. Favoring her unharmed side, she managed to lever herself upright at last. The impeccably neat spread of the bed she was sitting on puckered under her weight.
A quick survey of the room confirmed her suspicions. She’d been taken into the recovery wing of the clinic. Folding room dividers in an unattractive shade of hospital green partitioned her from the rest of the sparsely decorated space. The air smelled acerbic and sanitized, a far cry from the dank musk of cave and earth that clung to her tattered clothes.
“I’ll be the judge of that, young lady,” he intoned wearily. “And just from the lacerations on your face and the blood on your leg, I’m confident you’re going to need more than a simple bandage. Now, will you please sit still and tell me how this happened? What were you doing in those mines?”
Chewing on her lip, she considered putting up a fuss but rejected the notion immediately. It was not lost on her that she was better off having a professional give her first aid in the clinic, rather than to stumble home next door and risk scaring her poor mother half to death. Even without a mirror, she had no doubt she was quite a sight to behold, considering how grimy she felt and the puffy tenderness of her eyes from the tears she’d shed. The myriad of scratches on her neck and face stung like she’d stumbled head first into a nettle bush; the deeper ones on her cheek and brow worst of all. Her leg and shoulder throbbed with every stuttering beat of her heart.
“I was attacked by a swarm.” In light of his obvious disapproval, she opted to keep her explanation brief.
“A swarm? Of what exactly?”
“Bats, mostly.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Mostly? What else? The more you can tell me the better I’ll know how to treat you.”
Resigned, she blew her bangs out of her face. “Look, doc, I’m not sure what the other things were, okay? It was really dark and they jumped out at me. First it was just one and then another came out of nowhere. As soon as I realized that I was outnumbered, I…” she trailed off as humiliation curdled within her. “I was leaving when a swarm of bats attacked me. After fighting them off, I must have collapsed.”
“I see.” To her relief, he didn’t launch into the lecture she assumed was coming. Instead he asked, “As to your injuries, is there anywhere else I should know about beyond the obvious?”
“Th– the back of my shoulder,” she muttered reluctantly, gaze downcast. “But it’s not that bad. Just a little scratch.”
Hands on his hips, he grunted a note of skepticism. “That may be the case but I should check for myself. First let me see your leg.”
Vigilant to his reaction as he leaned over to gently shift the torn fabric of her pant leg aside, she noted with a sick feeling the slight widening of his eyes. Yet, his professional demeanor never faltered.
“That looks pretty serious,” he said gravely. “Unfortunately, with this and the wound on your shoulder, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to remove your clothes, so I may treat them. I’ll give you a gown to wear.”
“Wait, what?” Abigail protested, shocked. “It can’t be that b—”
“Abigail,” he cut in, speaking her name with quiet authority. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. From what I can see right now, I believe you will need stitches. And even if that’s not the case, I’m going to need to properly clean and disinfect all of your injuries before I can address them fully.”
“Sti–stiches?” she stuttered on the word. An image of a huge gleaming needle as big as her sword popped into her mind, crashing a wave of nausea upon her. “Are you sure? I mean, can’t I just stick some gauze on it and…” She trailed off as he shook his head.
“Oh, all right, I guess,” she yielded woefully.
“The supplies I will need are in the exam room. Are you able to make it across the hall?”
She nodded glumly.
“Good. Would you like a moment before we go?”
“I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with,” she grumbled, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.
She wobbled as she straightened, vertigo making her tipsy.
“Whoa there.” His hand cupped her elbow, long fingers tucking around her arm. “Are you sure you can make it?”
“Yeah,” she sighed tiredly, pulling free from his gentle grasp. “Just stood up too fast, that’s all.”
She shuffled forward a tentative step and faltered again.
“Here, take my arm,” Harvey suggested, stepping closer to stand beside her.
Hesitant, she glanced up to meet his gaze. His eyes were kind, even as the smile he offered was tight but cordial. Flushing at her own weakness, she took his offer begrudgingly and let him assist her the short distance to the next room. The cut on her leg screamed each time she put the slightest bit of weight on it. She grit her teeth, determined to maintain what little dignity she had remaining to her.
After they crossed into the small exam room, he withdrew a folded hospital gown from the cabinet under the sink. The clean, starched fabric felt coarse to the touch as she took it from him.
“Everything but your underwear has to come off. Take all the time you need. I’ll be right outside,” he said, automatically stepping to the door to give her some privacy. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”
The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence that followed. She glanced at it and had to stifle a groan. It had been many hours since she’d last checked the time, and the grace period before her mother would typically start to worry about her had come and gone.
Yoba, please let Mom be asleep by now.
Pushing the stress of a possible confrontation from her mind, Abigail began the painstakingly slow process of undressing. In the absence of adrenaline, a bevy of aches and pains sprung forth, making the normally simple task a laborious one. She swallowed the painful hiss that whistled past her lips as she peeled her pants down, crusty dried blood on her leg snagging against the wound there. Naked save for her underwear, she pushed her soiled, bloodstained clothes and heavy boots into a corner with a nudge of her bare foot. She unfolded the gown and slipped it on. Unable to tie the back closed without further agitating her shoulder, she left it open instead.
“All set,” she said loudly to the closed door. Her skin pimpled in goosebumps from the slight chill of the air.
There was a brief knock and then the doctor poked his head in.
“Ready?” he paused, his brows raised, waiting for confirmation.
“As I’ll ever be, I guess,” she replied.
“Let’s get you up on that table, then.”
With his assistance, she managed to haul herself up to perch on the edge of the vinyl exam table, the paper cover crinkling as she adjusted. Once she was settled, he said, “Shall we see what we’re dealing with? If you would lift your gown a little, please.”
She did as he instructed, biting her tongue against the discomfort caused by the exposure. He leaned closer, and together they looked down at her wound. About six inches in length, three scratches ran at an angle across the front of her upper thigh. Bathed in a thin stain of scarlet, a goopy line of dark coagulated blood seamed over the middle one. The twin parallel lines bordering it were an angry crimson but not nearly as ragged.
“So…” Nervous, she peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. “What’s the verdict, doc? Am I gonna live?”
He straightened, breathing a soft exhale through his nose. Gaze rising to meet hers, his expression was grim. “I’ll know more once we get it cleaned up but I’m afraid I might be correct about the stitches. This one—” he traced a finger in the air above the deepest of the trio, careful not to touch it “--- is very concerning. But the coagulation is a good sign. It’s not actively bleeding, which means it didn’t nick a blood vessel.”
The confirmation of stitches had Abigail swallowing a groan. As she was still processing this unfortunate turn in events, Harvey was moving around the edge of the table.
“You can lower your gown for now, if you’d like,” he said, “I’m going to see about your shoulder. Which side is it on?”
“The left.” Gathering her hair out of the way, she slumped forward slightly in preparation. The wound awakened like a feral beast in the sterile air as he delicately shifted the tunic aside and she winced.
Awareness sent a tickle dancing down her spine at his proximity. Hands in fists in her lap, she willed herself not to shiver.
“Fortunately, these scratches don’t appear as deep as the one on your thigh.”
Her relief was palpable as she dared to ask, “So, no more stitches?"
“Not here, thankfully. It looks like a few suture bandages should do the trick.” His shoes scuffed slightly against the tile floor as he stepped out from behind her. “Now that I know what we are working with, I’m going to get washed up and then we can get started.”
At the sink, he twisted the facet on. The steady drum of water flowing into the stainless steel basin drowned out further conversation. His back to her, Abigail watched him quietly as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows with quick, practiced movements and briskly started washing his hands. Something about him was different, she noted with a curious tip of her head.
His jacket!
Absent was his familiar green suit coat, the one he always wore. Instead, he was clad in just a white, faintly wrinkled button-down shirt and tan trousers.
A strange twinge swelled within her, seeing him out of his usual wardrobe. It reminded her of when she was a child, and would happen upon one of her teachers outside of school. She’d always found it bizarre to imagine them with lives of their own outside of the interactions she had with them.
Reflecting on it, Abigail supposed the informality of his appearance shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise, considering the time of night. It clearly being after office hours, he must have been up in his apartment when she had been dropped off at the clinic.
The line of his shoulders shifted in a gentle rhythm as he scrubbed his hands, drawing her eye. Maybe it was seeing him out of his typical attire, but she couldn’t help noticing how broad his back looked as it flexed with the movement. That peculiar twinge morphed into a hum in her blood as something unfurled in her belly, flooding her system with a startling but pleasant rush.
The steady stream of water cut off, severing her idle engrossment. She startled, realizing she’d been staring. Alarmed, her gaze immediately fell to her lap and she pretended to be interested in the state of her manicure.
What the heck, Abby? she chided herself, picking at the dirt caked under the chipped violet polish of her fingernails. You must have taken one serious knock to the head.
“Normally, in a case like this,” he spoke, oblivious to her silent musings, “I’d have a nurse on hand to assist me in order to speed things along, but, under the circumstances, I hope you don’t mind that I have to do it all myself.” Offering her a quick apologetic glance over his shoulder, he began assembling paraphernalia from the medical supply cabinet onto a tray. He moved with the ease of someone safely in their element, the tension from earlier gone. ”I think we should begin with your leg first, since that’s the most serious of your injuries, then your shoulder, and we’ll finish up with those lacerations on your face. I did see you have some more superficial cuts on your neck. We will get those cleaned up too. Sound like a plan?”
Abigail’s easy affirmation dissolved on her tongue as soon as she spotted the packet holding the surgical sewing needle. The silver half circle gleamed in the fluorescent light, winking at her menacingly under its clear plastic covering. Thoughts of a giant fishing hook arrested her as she was certain she caught a glimpse of a barbed end before he picked up the tray.
Heart hammering in her ears, she looked to the door, mentally calculating the probability of making an escape.
“Abigail?”
She jerked, her gaze snapping to Harvey’s at the sound of her name. He was peering at her inquisitively, head tipped down in concern.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“N– nothing,” she blurted, heat prickling along her neck. “I’m fine. Well. Besides the… you know.” She waved a hand to encompass her general state of disarray. “Can we, um, get this done quickly? I could really use a shower.”
“Well, on that note, I have bad news. I don’t really recommend getting your stitches wet for at least 24 to 48 hours. A sponge bath is probably your better choice in the meantime.”
“Aw, c’mon, doc. Two days?” Abigail jeered lightly, latching onto the safety afforded by the change in subject. “I spent most of today in the mines. I could really use an actual shower.”
He frowned as he regarded her. She offered him a hopeful grin in an attempt to coax him along. Finally his expression relaxed.
“All right,” he sighed. “I can put a waterproof bandage over it but you must not soak it and make sure it's changed immediately afterwards.”
“Sure thing,” she said, mood buoying with the compromise. “I can do that.”
“You know, if you hadn’t been in those mines at all, you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place,” he admonished as he set down the tray beside her on the exam table.
“And miss out on seeing you after hours? Yeah, right.” Familiar with his brand of well meaning censure, she dismissed his statement with a joke and the flip of her hand. “This is like VIP treatment. A girl would be a fool to pass this up.”
Her teasing was rewarded with a modest quirk of his lips and a slight shake of his head. Plucking a pair of rubber gloves from the dispenser on the wall, he tugged them on one at a time.
“Whatever you say, Miss VIP. Now, if you’re ready, let’s get you cleaned up.” With a practiced sweep of his foot, he rolled his stool over, settled upon it, and scooted closer beside her. Taking a large, thin absorbent pad from the stack on his tray, he unfolded it. “Lift your hip for me, please. This is to prevent too much of a mess.”
She rocked onto one side to allow him to lay the pad beneath her leg. As she shifted back into place, he took a pliable plastic bottle from the items on the tray and another smaller cotton pad.
“The first thing I’m going to do is wash the wound. This is a simple antibacterial solution,” he said, giving the bottle a gentle swirl. “It shouldn't hurt, but it might feel a little cold. That’s normal.”
Her knee jerked when the chill liquid splashed against her leg, drawing a yelp of surprise from her. He halted immediately, his worried gaze questioning.
“You’re right. It’s cold,” she admitted, bashfully. “I’m okay. It just surprised me, that’s all.”
With her approval, he continued. The bracing stream of fluid flooded into and over her cuts, loosening up the dried blood. Crimson tinged rivulets trickled down either side of her leg and the doctor blotted them delicately away. With the extra care and the flesh being exposed, her pain increased exponentially. Vile curses backed up on her tongue as he continued dousing the wound, her body tensing.
“Almost there,” he murmured absently, obviously sensing her discomfort. “Just one more good splash… All right. That's done. I’m going to clean the sides where the sutures will go and we are ready for the next step.”
Freshly washed, the ragged trench of the deepest scratch shone meat pink in the bright light. Fascinated by this unusual insight afforded by the cut, she squinted at it, as Harvey began tearing open a pair of small paper packets. It was unsettling to be able to glimpse under the surface of her skin to the flesh and tissue that comprised every human body, but she couldn’t look away.
“Now a quick wipe here. This may tingle but if it stings, speak up. We don’t want any of this disinfectant getting into the wound and that’s a sure sign of it.”
He ran the wet paper tissue down the length of the deep line, one on one side and a fresh one on the other.
“We are going to give that a few seconds to dry.” He waved a hand at it to quicken it along. “In the meantime, I’m going to get the anesthetic ready.”
Abigail looked up at the statement, its meaning triggering a cascade of realization. As she feared, Harvey was splitting open a sterile package, the plunger end of an injection needle sticking out. Extracting it, he took a small vial from the tray and inserted the long metal tip inside.
Heat flushed across her skin, nerves on high alert as she cringed back from the sight. Nausea climbed the back of her throat, forcing her to stamp down a gag. A wave of dizziness accompanied it, swirling her brain like water down a drain. Her breath coming fast and shallow, she squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to will herself to calm down.
It’s just a needle. You can handle this. No different than getting a flu shot and you do that every year.
The pep talk did little to soothe her mounting agitation. Her hands bunched in her gown, twisting at the fabric.
Yeah, because the size of that needle is smaller than my pinkie, she argued with herself. This one is massive! And he’s going to stick it in my cut, I just know it. He’s going to miss and make a mistake and stick it directly into the scratch. And it’s going to break off somehow and be stuck in there forever!
Rational thought completely abandoned, her breathing sounded like a locomotive as it whistled through her clenched teeth, barely audible over the jackhammer of her pulse.
“---igail…”
Her head jerked at the sound, but she couldn’t bear to open her eyes. A muffled curse and the snap of gloves being removed followed, registered only barely in the dark void behind her lids.
“Abigail… Abigail, look at me.”
The strongly spoken words paired with the warm, firm hands that gripped her biceps finally had her eyes popping open. Harvey bent over her, his face swimming in her vision. She locked eyes with him, his steady gaze behind his lenses a haven from the spiraling panic bubbling inside her.
“That’s it. Come back to me. It’s okay,” he spoke soothingly. “You’re safe. Everything is all right, I promise.”
Hysterical, Abigail gasped, the air constricted in her windpipe. Terror seized her anew as asphyxiation became a tenable possibility in her overwrought mind. Reaching out, her fingers found purchase in the rolled sleeves of his shirt. Having something solid in her hands helped ground her slightly.
“D–doc…” she wheezed, the pitiful utterance a frightened plea.
“You’re okay. It’s just a panic attack. What you’re feeling is scary, but it’s not dangerous. You need to breathe; that will help. Take a deep breath.”
Unable to gulp more than what felt like a thimble-full of air, she began making a hiccuping strangled sound in her throat.
“Okay, okay, hang on. Let’s slow it down. I want you to breathe with me. Can you do that?”
A panicked bounce of her head up and down was the only answer she could articulate.
“Great, that’s great. Let’s try it together. Slow inhale,” he demonstrated, sucking air into his nose with a slight nod as she followed along, “...and exhale. That’s good. Blow it all out. Now again. In… and out.”
Gradually, her breathing began to deepen with each directive. The tightness in her chest alleviated and her mind started to clear of the anxiety that had overcome her. Pulse still echoing in her ears, the steady rush of sound kept time with the ache pounding her temples. Her shoulders drooped from the effort of holding herself upright.
“How are you feeling?” Harvey asked, stooping more to catch her eye again. “A little more stable?”
Overwhelmed, she managed a small nod. Her head felt like a balloon on a string, empty and floating somewhere in the atmosphere. As she slowly came back to herself, she released his sleeves from her tight grip. Her fingers were cramped into claws that hurt to flex. The fear that inundated her was immediately replaced by shame as reason reinstated itself in her mind.
He didn’t follow suit in her retreat. His firm clasp on her biceps remained, and under her burgeoning mortification, she was grateful for the comforting warmth of his touch. It centered her, even as humiliation cloaked her like a storm cloud.
“Good,” he exhaled a brief sigh of relief of his own. “Now can you tell me what happened? Do you know what brought that on?”
She stared at her trembling hands in her lap, fighting back the burning sting of tears that threatened.
I am not going to cry twice in one night and definitely not right now.
“The n—needle,” she finally admitted, bringing voice to the absurd terror that had plagued her. “I— I’m afrai—” Disliking the verb, she stopped, swallowed the emotion that clogged her throat, and started again. “I don’t like needles.”
“Oh.” The single word was a hushed whisper of understanding.
He straightened, and she yearned for the return of the reassuring weight of his hands on her arms. The ensuing silence that followed was as heavy as a stone around her neck, dragging her deeper into her misery. Restlessly, she anticipated his reaction, positive a rebuke was coming, likely some condemning remark about her irrationality over the simple inanimate object.
“I’m— I’m so sorry, Abigail.”
Stunned by the unexpected apology, she hazarded a glance at him through her damp lashes.
With a hand to his forehead, his expression was one of pure contrition. His downturned gaze was rife with humbled atonement. “I had no idea. If I’d known, I would have taken different precautions. I should have asked. That was a terrible error on my part.”
Her heart twisting in empathy for his blatant guilt, she shook her head and hurried on shakily, “N–no, it’s okay. I should have said something first. It’s just that normally I can handle it better. I’m f–fine now. I– I can…”
She stalled out, mouth opening and closing futilely as the words stuck to her tongue like glue. No matter how badly she wanted to tell him that she could manage, to prove that she was more than her fear, irresolution stole her courage.
“That’s not necessary,” he quickly reassured her, already clearing things away. Renewed in his anxious energy, he was a bustle of movement once more. He swiftly deposited the needle in the hazard collection box on the counter and out of sight. Opening a drawer, he withdrew a large paper packet, similar to the other he’d used earlier. “We can use a topical anesthetic instead. It’s not as efficient, but I would have started with that had I’d known about your phobia. Again, I am so very sorry.” Turning to her, he paused, tender apprehension plain on his features. “Are you okay to continue or do you need a minute? I can get you a drink of water or—”
“Thanks, doc, but I’m ready.” Touched by his concern, she offered him a shy half smile. “No offense, but I kind of just want to be done so I can go home.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” he nodded understandingly. Grabbing a fresh pair of gloves, he resumed his seat on the stool before her and put them on. “Let’s get this taken care of quickly, then.”
Back to business, he ripped the end off the paper packet and squeezed the contents onto his gloved fingertip. He lathed the heated skin of her thigh with the clear goop with a delicate touch.
“It might tingle a little bit at first,” he murmured, concentrating on spreading it evenly. True to his words, a mild sensation awakened under his treatment. “But eventually it will start to become numb. That will take a few minutes.”
Sitting back, he gave the site one last survey before deeming it finished.
"Let's get started on your shoulder while we wait.” He rose from the stool and stripped off the gloves. Grabbing a fresh pair, he tugged them on as he rounded the edge of the table. “By the time I’m done here, that should be completely numb.”
“I think it’s working already,” she said optimistically. While not completely absent, the pain in her leg had muted considerably.
“Excellent. Then, it should be ready by the time I finish back here.”
The cleaning and dressing of her shoulder was mostly painless, much to Abigail’s solace. An eye on the clock as it ticked ceaselessly on, she tried to keep her thoughts away from veering into remembrance of her earlier episode. Yet, as the residual adrenaline slowly leaked from her veins, flashes of recollection played out in her mind. Behind her, Harvey supplied a murmured commentary as he worked. She concentrated on his voice, finding the deep richness of his inflection an oasis from her thoughts.
“Since you insist on taking a shower tonight, I’m going to put a bandage over this site too,” he said, as he finished. “But you don’t have to replace this one afterwards, not until you bathe again at least. That is all set. Now I’d like to clean some of these scratches on your neck. They don’t look deep, so we won’t need to bandage them at all.”
With the bracing sting of the antiseptic he’d applied still pricking on her neck, she was given a moment of reprieve as he once more rounded the edge of the table to her side.
“How is that leg feeling? Is it numb yet?” he asked, reclaiming his stool and scooting closer.
“I think so. It doesn’t hurt anymore at least.”
He gently pressed a gloved fingertip to the side of the wound on her thigh. “Can you feel that?”
“Not really.” She shook her head. “It’s just a little bit of pressure, that’s all.”
“Perfect, that’s what we are looking for. Unfortunately, we can’t get it completely numb with just the topical anesthetic but this will help with any pain during the procedure.” As he spoke, he started preparing his tray for the sutures, mindful to keep the surgical sewing needle hidden from her view. Task complete, he looked up at her. “Now comes the hard part, I’m afraid. Would you like to lay down for this? I imagine it isn’t something that you would like to see.”
“Uh–uh,” she made a noise of rejection, squaring her shoulders. The scratch there protested dully at the movement but she ignored it. “I’m good here.”
“Are you sure?” he questioned, brows pulling together in concern. “It’s no trouble to—”
“I’m a big girl, doc. I can do this,” she cut in, warming to the opportunity to redeem herself and champion her fear.
As he opened his mouth to object further, she interjected, “It’s fine. I’m just not going to look, okay?”
He gazed at her quietly for a beat, a pondering gleam in his eye. “All right. If that’s what you want to do. But you have to promise me you’ll say something if you feel any more symptoms like you did before. Nausea, lightheadedness, shortness of breath, tightness in your chest, anything like that. Deal?”
“Deal,” she vowed, pleased he’d relented. She gave him a wry smile. “Just, uh, do me a favor, and don’t tell me everything you are doing as you do it. At least not while you’re, you know, sewing it up.”
A bewildered look flickered over his face before understanding dawned.
“Oh, of course, yes. Sorry, an old habit I picked up in the bygone years of my residency,” he explained, flashing a disarmingly boyish grin. In that brief moment, she caught a glimpse of the young man he’d once been that long ago. Her heart skipped a beat and she realized this was the first real smile he’d cracked all night. “I find that some patients prefer to be informed as things progress. But, yes, I will refrain. Now, are you ready to begin?”
With her nod of agreement, he returned to her leg. Determinedly, Abigail fixed her focus on the ceiling, trusting him to the procedure. Dull pressure bunched over the dead feeling in her thigh.
“Any pain here?” he asked, the question directed at her wound.
“No,” she affirmed, blind to what he was doing.
“Good. Now a fair warning,” Harvey said softly, “You might feel a slight tug, but if you experience any pain at any point, say something and I’ll stop. We can add more anesthetic, if need be.”
On cue, a bizarre pulling sensation rose up from under the heaviness on her leg but, however disconcerting the feeling, it wasn’t painful. The ticking of the clock on the wall thudded rhythmically in the silence of the room, as steady and loud as a hammerfall.
“I bet you didn’t plan on spending your evening like this, huh, doc,” she muttered idly, for want to distract herself. “It must be pretty stressful, having the entire town rely on you in emergencies like this.”
“Hmm,” he hummed a noncommittal note. “I’d say I’ve been fortunate for the most part. People around here don’t seem to need urgent care all that often.” His tone shifted to one of dry amusement, “But, if I didn’t have adventurous folks like you showing up on my doorstep in the middle of the night, I might lose my touch for such predicaments."
Adventurous.
Her lips twitched at the word. Because she’d never been one to shy away from danger, the adjective wasn’t something she’d often been associated with positively. For as long as Abigail could remember, her mother was always complaining about her daughter’s restless spirit, affinity for the strange and unusual, and youthful recklessness. Even Abigail’s friends didn't share her taste for daring, consistently giving her strange looks whenever she suggested any activity that was even mildly risky.
“I don’t know how ‘adventurous’ I am,” she said, with a self deprecating huff of a laugh, “considering how I lost my cool over a little needle.”
Although she was happy they had moved past the incident without further comment, the humiliation still simmered in her blood.
“Don’t sell yourself short, my dear,” Harvey replied quietly. “I’ve seen some of the strongest, most courageous people fall victim to trypanophobia before.”
An irrational flush of pleasure blossomed within her at the endearment. Flustered by the odd reaction, she scoffed, “Yeah, right.”
“It’s true,” he confirmed. “Many years ago, when I worked in the city, a firefighter came in for a tetanus shot after scrapping against a rusty nail while on the job. He hit the floor harder than a sack of bricks as soon as he saw the needle. A man who devoted his life to saving others from burning buildings, and he fainted at the prospect of a little poke. We are all afraid of something, be it big or small. The important thing is how we manage it. Personally, I think you’re very brave.”
“B—brave?” Stunned, she almost choked on the word. Automatically, her eyes dropped from the ceiling to look at him. Still bent over her thigh as he worked, the angle of his head fortunately blocked her from catching sight of his progress. “You’ve got to be kidding. I almost passed out like that firefighter.”
“Yes, but here you are, not only awake but sitting up and facing the cause of your anxiety,” he murmured. “Bravery isn’t necessarily the absence of fear, Abigail. It’s the act of remaining steadfast in spite of it.”
She fell silent as the truth of his words resonated in her mind. Staring at the top of his head, that perplexing hum started singing inside her again. As she gazed at the rich texture of his thick brown hair, her fingers itched to smooth through the silken strands. Her hand tightened into a fist as she looked away again, disturbed by the compulsion.
What in the void is wrong with me tonight, she questioned.
“All right, last one…” She was saved from further rumination by Harvey’s hushed narration. “Now I just have to tie it off and… done.”
Sitting back on his stool, he pushed his glasses up with the heel of his palm. She bit her lip, inexplicably charmed by the unconscious gesture. His eyes found hers behind the lenses, and he grinned triumphantly. “See, you did it. And the best part, no more needles for tonight.”
Flummoxed by the strange medley of emotions that were swirling through her body, she didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she glanced down at her wound as Harvey rose to dispose of the needle. The straight, tidy row of black stitches along her thigh immediately captured her attention, chasing away her reticence.
“Wow,” she gasped, impressed. “Nice job, doc. Who knew you were such a seamstress? Emily has got competition, if you ever decide to switch careers.”
Her comment warranted a soft chuckle from him, the sound of which elicited a pleasant frisson along Abigail’s skin.
“I don’t know about that, but I’m pleased you think so.” Seated again, he opened a tube of antibacterial ointment and began thoroughly smearing the thick contents over her sutures. “Now this will help keep it moisturized as well as clean, so the stitches won’t stick to the bandage. I’ll be sending you home with a tube and some other items. Make sure you apply it as often as needed, especially when you change your dressings after a shower. You do not want this to dry out because that will be very painful. Understand?”
“Yeah,” she replied distractedly. Her focus was devoted to the tenderness with which he touched the neat procession of coarse thread binding her wound. She couldn’t feel anything, but his patent sensitivity captivated her.
Once he was finished, he ripped open a large bandage, with a deft hand lined it up perfectly over the affected area, and gently smoothed it down. “All right, that is taken care of. You can lower your gown. Our last step is to clean those cuts on your face.”
He got to his feet and exchanged his soiled gloves for new ones before approaching her again.
“The good news,” he said as he soaked a small, square cotton pad with disinfectant, “these scratches are very shallow. So, much like the wound on your shoulder, we can get this done quickly and with nothing more than a couple of butterfly bandages.”
“And the bad news?” she prompted as he stepped closer.
He’s so tall, she realized with a jolt.
Having had to look down at him for most of the evening while he was perched on the stool, his height hadn’t really registered until he was standing before her, his chin at her eye level. Awareness fizzled along her nerves.
“The bad news, I’m afraid,” he exhaled softly, “is that this is going to hurt a lot worse than the cuts on your neck. The face has thinner skin and more nerve endings than the rest of our bodies, which means it is more sensitive. All I can ask is that you bear with me here, and I promise it will be over soon.”
“After what I’ve been through tonight, doc,” she deadpanned sardonically, “I think I can handle it.”
Her tenacity earned her another brilliant smile. “I know you can. Of that I have no doubt. So,” he sobered again, “are you ready?”
“Ready,” she replied, heartened by his confidence. Shutting her eyes, she angled forward in preparation.
“Tip your head up for me just a little bit,” he encouraged with a gloved finger under her chin. “Right there, perfect. Hold still as best as you can. I know this is going to be painful, so feel free to take my hand and squeeze if you need to.”
He offered out his other hand with a touch to the back of her wrist, which she accepted automatically. As the antiseptic met her brow, she immediately started squeezing.
“Deep breaths,” he coached. “In… and out, just like we practiced. You’re doing great. Just a bit more.”
The stinging started afresh in her cheek as he dabbed at the cut there. She stifled the agonized whine that climbed her throat, turning it into a pained grunt. Concentrating on the feeling of his firm hand in hers, his presence tethered her to something substantial in the ocean of hurt that saturated her brain.
“And… all done. Great job." Behind her lids, she sensed him shift back a step. “I’ll give you a second to catch your breath.”
She opened her eyes as the pain began to subside to find him watching her quietly, a warm patient smile waiting. Belatedly, she realized she was still clutching his hand, the back of his palm tight against her chest and the rapidly drumming heart inside.
Instantly she released his grip, embarrassment chasing away the remaining vestiges of prickling from the treatment. “S–sorry,” she muttered meekly.
“Not a problem. You did phenomenally,” he assured her. “Now that the hard part is over, all I have to do is dress them.”
Somewhat mollified by his encouragement, she watched as he prepared the suture bandages one at a time, removing each from their packaging and lining them up on the back of his glove for ready access. Her eyes tracked over the edge of the rubber encircling his wrist to his forearm. Sleeves still rolled to the elbow, the length of strong muscle there flexed under a fine dusting of dark hair. She was bizarrely scandalized by the sight. Fascinated by this rare peek of skin, a brief imagining of what the corded veins and soft fuzz might feel like to the touch popped into her tired brain.
He turned to her again, bandages at the ready, when he hesitated.
“Abigail, are you feeling feverish? Your face is awfully flushed.” The observation was laced with worry.
“Um, uh, no, I’m okay. It’s probably just from the antiseptic,” she fibbed. Eyes on her lap, her cheeks burned hotter.
“Hmm,” Mercifully, he let it go without further remark. “Chin up again, please,” he directed, with a slight tip of his own head. “Perfect. Stay just like that…”
Unsettled and exhausted, Abigail purposely kept her mind blank and her gaze fixated elsewhere for the remainder of her treatment.
“All done,” Harvey said as he finally stepped back. “That’s the last of it.”
A rush of air whistled past Abigail’s lips as she relaxed.
The job complete, Harvey took the tray to the counter with its heaping mess of torn packages and used pads, and began cleaning up. As he worked, he spoke, “Because of the cause and nature of your injuries, I strongly suggest a booster tetanus shot. But…” he raised a hand to stall the protest already forming on her tongue, “in light of everything you’ve been through this evening I think we can wait until a follow-up appointment for that. I would like to see you again in a couple of days, just for a cursory exam to make sure the wounds are healing nicely and there is no sign of an infection. In the meantime, I’m going to give you a regiment of antibiotics. You don’t have any known allergies to medication, correct?”
“None that I know of,” Abigail confirmed, relieved that the evening was finally nearing a close.
“Excellent. I can get that together for you as well as some of the other things I was going to send home with you while you get dressed.”
The detritus cleared away, he stripped off his gloves for the final time.
“Um, about that,” she started, bashfulness overwhelming her, “I know this is kind of a weird thing to ask but…”
Brows raised, he waited for her to continue.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, she stumbled on, “M–My pants are basically ruined and I know I only have to go next door, but can I borrow—”
“Oh, yes, right.” Seeming to finally understand her meaning, he headed for the door. “I might have something that will fit you. I’ll go check.”
Before she could clarify she simply wanted to borrow the gown she was currently wearing, the door had shut with a click behind him. Left alone, she fidgeted in the empty space, rubbing a thumb against the edge of the bandage on her thigh.
It wasn’t long before a knock at the door announced the doctor’s return. Upon her invitation, he entered, folded clothes in his hands. Dangling from his finger was her backpack, the sight of which roused her significantly.
“I forgot to bring this to you earlier,” he said, setting it on the floor. “And here are some clothes. Nothing fancy but hopefully it will suffice. When you’re ready, I’ll be at the desk with the rest of the supplies for you. Take your time, no rush.”
Just as quickly as he’d entered, he’d left again. Abigail slipped off the table, gingerly testing her weight on the injured leg. To her immense relief, the pain had subsided to only a dull but persistent ache.
Shedding the gown, she tugged on the loose shorts he’d brought, the hem of which hung below her knees. She held up the t-shirt he’d given her, momentarily baffled by the odd wardrobe. Printed across the front of the plain gray cotton was a university name in faded burgundy. With a blush, she realized the clothes he’d offered were from his own closet. A welcome smell of clean laundry wafted around her as she slipped the shirt over her head. Tucking her nose under the collar, she took in a deep lungful to combat the austere aroma of the exam room. The pleasing scent flooded her brain with tranquility.
After stuffing her soiled clothes in her bag, she hefted the pack over her uninjured shoulder. The other strap was slashed and hanging on by a few thin, stubborn strips of leather. She jammed her feet into her boots, not bothering to retie them for the short walk to her home next door.
Satisfied, she exited the exam room and made her way down the narrow corridor to the reception desk at the entrance.
Harvey stood behind the counter, a patient file open in his hands, presumably hers. He glanced up from the notations he was making and smiled.
“All set?”
“Yeah, I think so,”
“Great.” He opened the appointment book on the counter. “As I said, I’d like to check back with you in a few days. When works best for you?”
“Any day, really. I’m not picky.”
“Okay, how about Wednesday, the 3rd?”
“Sure.”
He made a note in the ledger and then straightened. “I'll see you then. But in the meantime, here are the supplies you will need.” He offered her a small canvas bag. “Now, remember what I said, don’t soak your bandages…”
He reiterated his previous instructions, then went over the course of antibiotics he’d prescribed. Finally, he clasped his hands together and said, “Well, I think that’s about all. Do you have any questions or concerns for me?”
“Nope, I’m good.”
“If anything does come up or if you spot symptoms of an infection, don’t hesitate to come back sooner. Any time of day or night, I’m here if you need me.”
She grinned at the obviousness of his statement, as he’d proven that truth this evening.
“Sure thing,” she nodded. With a little half wave as she turned for the door, “I’ll see you later.”
“Good night, Abigail. And please take care of yourself.”
“I will.” Her boots chuffed on the tile floor as she halted abruptly. Glancing shyly over her shoulder, she added, “Uh, thanks, doc, you know, for—- for everything.”
The slow, sweet curve of his boyish grin coaxed butterflies to take flight in her stomach. “You’re welcome, my dear. I’m happy to help.”
The soft night air was a welcome relief after the claustrophobic confines of the clinic. Taking the few paces needed to cross to her family’s general store, Abigail paused to enjoy the gentle kiss of the river-scented breeze playing against her flushed cheek. Crickets sang a joyous tune in the bushes nearby, their melody infringing on the otherwise silent evening The last week of summer was always one of her favorites. The unrelenting heat and soupy humidity had finally abated enough for comfort, and her anticipation for the changing of the season was high. Autumn was whispering on the wind like a prima donna rustling offstage, anxious to make her colorful debut.
The brief moment of reprieve over, Abigail unlocked the door. With a calculated movement, she reached up a hand to enclose the bell above the entrance before it could clang her return. She slipped inside and shut the door with nary a jingle.
Toeing off her boots, she stooped to pick them up and started her silent creep through the dimly lit store. Once inside the home beyond, she set about quietly stowing her gear. She poked her head around the corner into the living space and breathed a silent sigh of relief to find no one waiting for her. A single lamp burned in the corner as the lone vigil for her safe return.
She flicked it off and softly padded towards the bathroom in the dark, the small canvas bag of supplies in hand, eager to make good on her commitment to showering off the rock dust and blood that still clung to her skin. Just as she reached the doorway, her parents’ bedroom door opened with a muted click. She froze in the shadows, shoulders tense with the possibility of a confrontation.
“Abby?” Her father’s voice whispered into the gloom.
She let out the breath she was holding and replied quietly. “Yeah, Dad?”
“Are you just getting home?”
“Um, no,” she lied. “I got home a while ago.”
His silence was more telling than any reply could be. Abby chewed her lip nervously waiting for his response.
“Is everything okay?” he asked finally.
“Yeah, of course.”
“All right, good night.”
“Night, dad,” she whispered before gently shutting the bathroom door. She sagged against it and said a silent prayer of gratitude to Yoba that it hadn’t been her mother to catch her sneaking back home at this hour. Her father had a much more detached opinion on his daughter’s choices, only interfering if absolutely necessary.
Turning on the tap for the shower, she twisted the hot water knob to full blast. After she’d stripped naked, she caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. She almost didn’t recognize the harried woman looking back at her. The dark circles under her eyes bore a faint pastel resemblance to the shade of her hair, which itself was a dusty mess of violet clumps. The twin cuts on her face looked less aggressive than she’d suspected, likely due to Harvey’s attentive care when cleaning and dressing them. Hopefully with some rest and a fresh face of makeup in the morning, her mother wouldn’t notice, although she highly doubted that outcome no matter how much she wished for it.
She stepped into the shower letting the steaming hot water pelt her selectively. As much as she longed to step under the heavenly stream and let it saturate her from head to toe, the doctor’s repeated warnings about not soaking her stitches played through her head. Likewise, she attempted to wash her hair as best she could while keeping the shampoo away from the scratches on her neck and shoulder.
As the dirt spiraled down the drain, so did her energy. With leaden limbs and a numb brain, she dragged herself out of the shower. She wrapped herself up in a towel, using another one to dry her hair with efficient swipes. Stooping to collect the clothes off the floor, the tug of her stitches reminded her of Harvey’s firm instructions to change her bandage after bathing. She stifled a sigh and sat down on the closed toilet seat lid to attend to the task.
As she smoothed the fresh covering over the site, the memory of the finesse with which she’d witnessed Harvey perform the same task returned to her. Her cheeks prickled with heat anew at the recollection of his nearness. Chasing the errant thoughts away with a shake of her head, she rewrapped her towel around her and shuffled to her room.
Safe in her own space, she crept quietly over to check on David, her guinea pig. He was hidden from sight in his little plastic igloo, so she left him in peace after a murmured greeting. Turning, her gaze landed on the computer and an idea occurred to her. She sat down at her desk to shoot off a quick message to her friend Sebastian.
‘If anyone asks, I was at your house tonight.’
Despite the lateness of the hour, his reply was instant.
‘K’
She frowned at the single letter, assuming he’d ask for an explanation in return for the dishonesty. Her hands rested over the keyboard as she prepared to elaborate, but she thought better of it and turned off the monitor instead. Although she was confident Seb would follow through on her request for a cover story, he genuinely didn’t care or want details about what she’d actually been up to.
As she toweled off, her eyes tracked over the floor, searching the abandoned and discarded articles of clothing for something clean enough to sleep in. She spotted the clothes Harvey had loaned her, the gray t-shirt and too long shorts lumped together in a wad. With a mental shrug, she slipped them on once more. The tranquil laundry smell enveloped her again, furthering her exhaustion.
Bone tired, she crawled into her messy unmade bed. It took some adjusting to accommodate the newly tender parts of her body, but as soon as she was comfortable, sleep settled over her like a veil. Floating in that nebulous space of half slumber before full rest, her dreams conjured up images of a sweet smile, dark hair, and sincere brown eyes shining warmly behind a pair of studious glasses.