Archer #2
“I’m at a three.” She slows by Steve’s door, blinking and gulping her nerves down.
“Three is manageable. Three means it’s annoying, because the bandage makes it hard to walk without looking like an idiot, but taking the bandage off removes the pressure I need to stop the bleeding.
” She stops and nods. “It’s a three. You ready? ”
“Me?” I study Steve’s door, knowing she’s asking herself: is she ready?
But I inch forward and push the door open, gently sweeping the curtain aside to reveal the old man all alone in his room.
Machines beep, and his rhythmic breathing creates a beat in the air.
The lights are out, shadowing the space and creating an almost nighttime essence.
“I’m ready,” I whisper and gesture forward. “After you, Chief.”
Her fiery attitude falls away, and her prepared lecture dissipates, replaced by glittering eyes and hands that fuss over the man’s blankets.
He’s not on a ventilator. That much, I know. And the machine tracking his pulse remains steady and strong. My medical education doesn’t stretch far, but the fact that he’s breathing and his heart is beating bodes well.
“He’s all alone.” She inches forward, licking her lips and eyeing the monitors. She reads the same numbers I do, but the way her brain processes them is entirely different. “How’s it possible no one else is here to see him?”
Not married. Never had children.
She begrudges the man his desire to guard our stairs and keep watch over his residents. But she doesn’t understand that that’s how he creates family. Those are his children.
She is his child.
“Others will have been by today.” I meander to the end of his bed, resting my hand on the steel bar. “I know for sure Cato was here. He texted me a selfie.”
Mildly amused, she glances back and hits me with eyes that sparkle. She hurts. So fucking much. “He sent you a selfie of an unconscious man?”
“I told him it was a little tacky to do so.” I force a soft chuckle. Something to give her a reason to smile. “He sat here with Steve for hours.” I come around the bed and press my chest to her back, my chin on top of her head. “He’s not alone. We’ll make sure of it.”
“He can’t go back to his apartment after this.” She sniffles, though she turns the sound to a huff. “Not for a while, anyway. It’s not safe unless he has live-in help and a nurse to watch over him.”
“So we’ll get him a nurse. Or we’ll find him a room at a care facility. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll get it done.”
Steve’s hand twitches. Such a slight movement, but it may as well be a cannon blast with how Minka’s breath catches.
“Hey, Steve.” Sniffling again, she leans closer. “Hey. It’s me.”
“Minka.” He says her name in a quiet, dry rasp. Achy and crackling. His eyes remain closed, but his fingers move a second time. “Min…”
“Yeah, it’s me.” She drops the side rail of his bed with an easy flick of her wrist, then she rests her elbows on the mattress, her face just inches from his. “I’m here and you’re safe.”
“Min…”
“Shh.” She pats his hand, coughing and clearing her throat. God forbid the man hear the emotion in her voice. “You need to rest. You don’t have to talk.”
“Sleepy…”
“I know you are.” She twines her fingers with his, careful not to disrupt the wires coming from the top of his hand.
“You’ll be tired for a while. Your body has worked extra hard over the last twenty-four hours.
You nearly checked out on me, you big jerk.
” She tilts her head and swipes her cheek on the shoulder of her shirt.
“You insisted on being everyone else’s watch commander, but you forgot to look out for yourself.
I’m pretty mad at you about this whole mess, but seeing as how you’re tired right now, I’ll save the lecture and deliver it when you’re more able to listen. ”
I rest my hand on her hip and snicker. “Magnanimous of you, Chief. Your restraint is amazing.”
“Shush.” She moves over the old man and presses a long, quiet kiss to the very middle of his wrinkled forehead.
“Archer’s been picking on me since yesterday.
So maybe you could wake up, get strong, and kick his butt for me?
My dad isn’t around to take care of business, so I was kind of hoping you’d step in and do that. ”
“Oh, good, you’re here.”
I turn and use my body to shield Minka and her vulnerability, but then I lock eyes with a doctor. Not Nicki, the one I know. And not Doctor Gale, the former—now incarcerated—cardiothoracic surgeon.
This one is different.
“Doctor Fielder.” The woman steps in with two others on her wings. Interns, maybe. But they’re not important enough to warrant an introduction. “I operated on Mr. Morris last night. You’re Chief Mayet. We spoke on the phone earlier.”
“Yeah.” Minka straightens out, sliding her free hand into mine. “He spoke a moment ago. Just a couple of words.”
Fielder nods, clutching a folder to her chest, and though she stares through a pair of dark eyes, hard the way only some people have mastered, she still manages to soften and peek down at Minka’s other hand wrapped around Steve’s.
“As discussed, we brought him out of his medically induced coma this afternoon, and since then, we’ve noted a couple of moments of lucidity.
Mr. Morris’ neural tests have come back positive.
His blood count is up, and his heart is ticking along nicely.
We expect a reasonably uneventful recovery from this point forward.
We’d like to get him up and walking by tomorrow, if possible.
And if all that goes well, we’ll be looking at discharge early next week.
” She lowers the folder, but studies the pages on top.
“Mr. Morris’ health directives indicate decisions are yours to make, which means—”
“Why?”
“You are…” Fielder stumbles on her words and brings her eyes up again, squinting as she processes Minka’s question. “What?”
“Why was I named POA? How were these directives finalized, when he’d never uttered a word to me about them?”
“Well…”
“Why wouldn’t he allocate someone else? Or at the very least, tell me, so I could be prepared?”
“I’m not sure, Chief Mayet.” She looks back down at her papers. “I did not meet with Mr. Morris prior to his arrival at our emergency room, so I can’t say—”
“But he made these new directives in the last year and a half.” Minka tugs on my hand.
“We didn’t know each other before that. And chances are, he didn’t change his directives the day we met.
So that leads me to believe he changed them recently.
That implies he might’ve known this was coming.
It asserts that he has a primary care physician, and possibly a lawyer, who helped draft these directives.
Why me?” She swings her gaze back to the man in the bed. “Why me?”
“‘Cos you’re smart,” Steve rasps thickly.
“You’re awake, Mr. Morris?” Startled, Fielder stalks closer, setting her folder on the bed by his feet and moving to the machine that tracks his heart rate. “Are you in pain? Do you know where you are?”
“You’re a doctor.” Steve pushes each word past dry lips, his lashes kissing the tops of his cheeks and his pulse skipping just a little faster for everyone to hear. “And you’re smart. I knew you’d make good choices.”
“You should have discussed this with me before!” Minka lowers again, resting her elbows on the bed and staring, staring, staring at the side of his face. “You knew something was wrong, didn’t you? But you screwed around and neglected yourself, anyway.”
His lips curl on one side, a saucy smile breaking through the exhaustion weighing him down. “Women usually live longer than men, and men who know smart women usually live longer than the idiots who don’t.” He gently squeezes her hand. “I’m okay, kiddo. You did good.”
“You traumatized Cato, just so you know.” Her words come out in a biting tone, like she’s scolding a naughty child.
“I suspected you were unwell, but I didn’t know, so I left Cato in charge of looking after you.
You selfishly chose to drop dead while he was right there, when you could have waited just two more minutes and we could have avoided a memory that’ll haunt his dreams.”
“He’s a good kid.” He sinks deeper into his pillow, his face softening and his grin falling to neutral lines. “He’s a really good boy.”
“Good traumatized boy. You selfish jerk.”
“The nurses will be by in just a few minutes to administer Mr. Morris’ pain medication.
” Fielder turns from the machines and looks down at her patient.
“I don’t expect he’ll be awake much longer, and if all goes well, I’d like him to have a big, long, restful night.
If you wish to go home, you could do that. He won’t know any different.”
“Go,” Steve rumbles. “Sleep.”
“I’m staying until you’re unconscious again.” Minka blindly reaches back and snags a visitor chair, dragging it forward and sitting on the very edge. Her knee hurts, but she’s not going anywhere. “You don’t have to talk, because it’s a lot and it hurts your throat. But I can talk.”
“You?” He tries to laugh, but it turns to a grimace. “You hardly talk.”
“I can carry the load for us tonight.” She sandwiches his hand between hers, bowing her head over them.
“Aubree’s still working, even though she’s supposed to be on leave.
She went home just before me, but only because Tim came to the office and kidnapped her.
She promised to come visit you tonight, though.
And Cato isn’t actually mad at you, just so you know. ”
“He’s not?”
She chokes out a hitching breath. “No, he’s not. He’s worried. He was scared as hell, because underneath all that big talk and obnoxious charisma is just a kid begging for direction. When you dropped, he freaked out a little bit.”
“We’ll go.” Doctor Fielder grabs her folder and tips her chin in my peripherals.
“If you have questions or would like to discuss Mr. Morris further, I’m available.
Otherwise, I’ll be back in the morning to check in.
” Fixing her coat, she takes the lead and walks out of the room ahead of her silent entourage.
“Cato’s probably at home right now.” Quietly sniffling, Minka rests her chin on their joined hands. “Doing inappropriate things to a woman entirely outside of his age range. Because that’s how he copes with stressful situations. But he’s going to be okay. He’s not mad at you.”
“Like I said,” Steve mumbles, already halfway back to unconsciousness. “He’s a good boy.”
“Doctor Raquel—you know her, right?—well, she asked Aubree for two plus ones to the wedding this weekend. Which means we’re probably finally going to meet this dude, right?
Taylor.” She tests the name on her tongue, rolling each syllable past her lips.
“Aubree said his name today like I was supposed to know it already. Like we’d met or something.
Like I’m the idiot for not remembering. But I’m not an idiot.
She’s never said his name before, right? ”
Fuck knows, he’s already out.
“Raquel wants to bring Taylor to the wedding, but her baby sister, Eliza, will be in town, too. So she’s bringing both.
And, oh God,” she snickers, watery and sad.
“Cato already hit on Eliza once. She slammed him. Like, literally to the ground. She had her foot on his throat because she’s a fighter.
One of those professional ones. And he’s so messed up, he asked her to do it again.
Which is just so…” She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head side to side.
“He’s so weird. He had a shitty dad, and then he had Felix.
And Felix is a decent guy… ya know, compared to Satan.
But he’s erratic and impulsive and obnoxious, so although he was the best thing Cato was ever going to get as far as a father figure, he was still not exactly the best guy for the job if we wanted a normal, humble, non-weird human at the end.
But don’t you see? That’s why he likes you.
” She swallows, bowing over their joined hands.
“He likes you because you’re quiet and protective.
You take care of business, but with none of the drama and fanfare.
He had Felix, and he learned so much from him, and now he has you, so he’s learning from you.
He’s learning how to be a good, decent man who doesn’t need to announce his entry to every room.
You can’t die,” she whimpers, “because he’s not done learning yet. And I… I…”
She needs her dad. But not the one biologically related to her.
“You’re not allowed to die yet.”