A/N: sometimes i hate school...writting an essay per week, not fun.
discaimer: i own nothing, even at this very moment i'm using a computer that doesn't belong to me. sitting in a chair that's University of Texas property...so don't sue me.
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“Laura!” the deafening silence permeating throughout the ICU was shattered by Remington’s frantic cry. Laura should be there, by his side, but she was dead he’d let those thugs kill her and now he was alone.
Panic raced through his body as he struggled against the myriad of wires and tubes attached to his body. With each twist of his body sharp, edge-like, pains were shooting through his torso. A quick search of his side revealed a large bandage soaked with fresh blood. Panting, Remington swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet upon the cold ground. With a massive push he managed to right himself, and took one baby step forward.
SMACK! One-hundred and fifty-five pounds of wounded private detective hit the hospital’s cold unforgiving tile floors. The sound was similar to a slice of luncheon meat being slapped against a wall. Pain shot through Remington’s entire body, he nearly blacked out from it.
His arms trembled as he tried to set himself straight, but he lacked both the energy and the strength to do so. For the first time in almost ten years He cried. He cried for his lost love, and their short time together. He cried for all the missed opportunities in their lives, thought of all the times he should have told her he loved her. He cried because he knew her death had been violent-knew that she had suffered a great deal before her passing.
His lips trembled, his body shook, and his fists were drawn tight with rage. They would pay all of them would pay for Laura’s death. Whoever they happened to be, he would make them suffer a fate worse then death. He’d take delight in their misery; take pleasure in their pain, he would make sure there was no place on earth they could hide.
“Mr. Steele?”
One sweat drenched eyelid opened in the blackness of the room. Standing at the door, clipboard in hand, a man in a white coat was eyeing him with equal parts curiosity and confusion. Rem could only assume this person was a doctor, either that or his room was closer to the mental health ward then he’d originally thought.
“What are you doing out of bed? Your stitches could rupture, and then you’d bleed to death. I’m certain your wife would take considerable acceptation to your demise. Seeing as Superman had to practically drag her from your bedside.”
“Laura’s alive?” Steele asked his voice slightly above a nervous whisper.
“Yes Mr. Steele, your wife is very much alive. She’s down in the visitor’s lobby.” As if suddenly realizing there was a bleeding man sprawled on the floor the doctor leaned outside the door and called over two heavily built orderlies.
With a few clipped instructions, Remington found himself being lifted into his bed again. A nurse scurried in to reinsert his IV, and reconnect his heart and blood pressure monitor.
“If you would be so kind as to get fresh bandages for Mr. Steele Joyce, it appears he got tired of our little institution and decided to make a break for it.” The young nurse nodded at the doctor’s instruction and fled the room with barley a backwards glance at the two men. She may have been a rookie to the night shift, but Dr. Bloom’s temper was legendary.
“I am Dr. Bloom by the way” he said in an offhanded fashion. Remington had the impression that this man wasn’t used to dealing with his patients directly. Most likely he sent his PA to do most of the leg work, and he just signed off on the charts. The arrangement sounded eerily familiar.
“So, are you going to lay there like a sack of potatoes for the duration of my visit, or are you going to explain why you decided to take up professional floor hugging.”
Rem would have laughed at the man’s dry wit if he didn’t think his side would split open at the mere suggestion of laughter.
“I thought Laura was…” he trailed off unable to finish the gruesome idea.
“You thought your wife had died during your attack.” Dr. Bloom finished ignoring the flash of pain behind Remington’s eyes. “Well I can assure you that she is not, and I can also say with a great degree of certainty that she will be glad to know you’re willing and able to mutilate your own body to avenge her supposed death.”
“Now, as to the reason I’m here. Your blood work came negative, so that’s good. You’ll be happy to know you aren’t pregnant.” Bloom chuckled at his own joke and continued flip through his charts “No major organs were ruptured, though there is some minor bruising to the kidneys consistent with blunt force trauma. A couple of your ribs were cracked and of course you have a hole on your side the size of a fifty-cent piece, but other then that you’re in top physical shape. I wouldn’t suggest trying to walk though; you may find that in your weakened condition supporting all of your weight is almost impossible.”
“The hell you say.” Remington bit out, his tone sarcastic and dangerous all at once.
Bloom smiled slightly. His sarcasm made him a pariah to most of the hospital staff, but he did genuinely care for his patients. Most of his cynicism derived from seven years as doctor without borders to pay his student loans. He’d spent the majority of his time in Africa. After about the eighth bloody ethnic cleansing he’d lost all tolerance for incompetence. Some people decided to interpret this as elitism, because he was without question the most talented M.D in Metropolis, but he could care less. As long as he did the job to the best of his ability and exhausted all means of medical technology to help his patients, he could handle some interoffice politics.
“Ah Joyce, would you please re-apply Mr. Steele’s bandages while I inform his lovely wife that he’s come around.”
With a turn of his heel Bloom left the exhausted detective and the more then intimidated nurse alone. “I’m sorry about him” Joyce apologized, as if she were responsible for his brusque behavior. “He’s not very people friendly. Actually most of the other staff here try to avoid him if possible.”
Remington nodded absently as she carefully removed his old bandage and gauzed, and proceeded to sanitize the wound. For the first time Steele had the chance to gaze at his assailants handy work. He fought hard not vomit as he glanced at the massive yellow and blue bruise surrounding, a row of black stitches. A small trickle of blood seeped from one of the sutures prompting Joyce to apply light pressure to staunch the flow.
“You must be a pretty popular guy” Joyce said
“Why’s that?”
“Well you’ve had a whole lot of visitors since you’ve been here.” Joyce blushed as his blue eyes regarded her. He was really quite handsome, when he wasn’t unconscious, she concluded.
“What sort of visitors?”
“Well, first there was Superman, and I gotta tell you he’s shorter then I thought he’d be. Television is so disillusioning, I mean he looks eight feet tall on screen, but then you see him and he’s like average height guy. But I guess he’s actually shorter because he wears boots, and those give him at least two inches if not more and—“
“Uh Joyce” Remington cut in feeling a headache coming on.
“Sorry. Anyway there was this other guy he didn’t’ leave a name but he tried to smoke in the hallway, even though there’s a whole bunch of no smoking signs up. I mean hello, what does he think this is a bar!”
“The others?” Remington prompted saving himself from another off topic rant.
“Your wife came of course” she said off handily “And some old English guy, was he your dad? Seeing as you’re English and all”
“No, my Dad’s—“he trailed off the memories of Daniel still too painful to discuss.
“Well, all done!” she squeaked a bit too cheerfully, as she disposed of the used bandages, and old gauze. “I’ll just go and see if your wife is ready to come in yet.”
As it turned out there was little need for Joyce to leave, because Laura slammed through the door at that precise moment. She instantly went to Remington’s bedside her face stained with old tear tracks. She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her. How could she express her relief at his well-being. What words could she use to describe how angry she was at the bastards that did this to him. No phrase could describe the heart ache of watching the man she loved bleeding to death on the filthy city streets, while she sat helpless mere inches away.
Sensing her inner struggle Remington spoke “Who knew we’d have to go all the way to the other side of the country to experience a real mugging. I mean we live in L.A. it’s almost a right of passage to get mugged there.”
Fresh tears shone on Laura’s face “That’s not funny Rem” she said her voice hoarse “You almost left me today”
“I know love, I’m sorry” he cupped her cheek in his hand and gently wiped the tears from under her eyes. Laura’s hand came up to rest on his, and she turned her head slightly so she could kiss his palm. Remington drew her as close to him as possible, and kissed the wetness from her skin. Laura’s free hand stroked the side of his face, brushing away his own tears.
The sound of a throat clearing interrupted their reunion, and Laura looked to the source of the disturbance.
“I’m sorry folks, but Mr. Steele really needs to get some rest…” Dr. Bloom stood in the room’s doorway, his clipboard dangling from one arm.
“I’m not leaving.” Laura said, her tone challenging anyone to suggest otherwise.
“I anticipated that Mrs. Steele, Joyce, and Eric will be bringing in a spare bed for you to sleep on.” Laura thanked him with her eyes. Remington reassessed his first impression of the man, and decided he liked him. Most doctors would have thrown Laura out on her ear. Especially in the ICU.
“Think of it this way Laura” Steele drawled suggestively “if you get lonely I’m only a few feet away” he waggled his eyebrow devilishly at his wife causing her to smile slightly.
“I don’t think you’re ‘up’ to anything of that nature Mr. Steele” Laura said in an equally suggestive manner, Remington chuckled at her innuendo. Joking was good, for the moment it distracted them from asking the tough questions they knew would come in the light of day.
