Chapter 10
The extra drugs they gave him were enough to take the edge off in every way that counts. Made it easier to let everything awful fade into the background and focus on all the shiny new distractions in this clean, comfortable infirmary.
Easy to avoid dwelling on what was done to him, and drink in the way Ava smiled at him instead. Make bets with her about stupid people carrying too much shit and flirt like someone who does that. It wasn’t even a heavy dose, but he must have a low tolerance.
Those effects are gone now, though. He’s not allowed that much passed the first twenty-four hours of a new injury and they’ve dropped him back down again. His toe has been a dull throb for weeks, anyway. The fresh stitches in his side pull at the edges, but he can ignore that too. What he can’t ignore anymore is the memory of those two days in that shower stall and how every time he closes his eyes, he can smell the dirty water burning his nose hairs.
He slept like shit last night. The last of the meds wore off halfway, and he lapsed into a nightmare that woke him panting and shivering. Counting the ceiling tiles two by two until he wasn’t stuck in some weird, nightmare-induced combination of the prison pod and his childhood home.
Dean used to have nightmares all the time until he’d taken to downing sleeping pills somewhere around age seventeen. He never dreamed after that. His brain couldn’t be trusted not to turn on him, so he preferred the bliss of a drug-induced black hole. He kept taking those for years until one day he’d forgotten and maybe enough time had passed, or he trained his brain by then, he’s not sure, but even without the pills, he slept just fine.
Until now. Until the monster guarding the key to all those dreams got kicked in the balls.
He hadn’t fallen back asleep last night, only laid there watching the view until the stars faded and sunrise lit up signs of life below. People coming and going from the office building across the street. Cars on the freeway making their daily commute half a mile to the left. The bus station spitting out bold green and white buses to pick up their morning passengers. The hustle and bustle had been soothing in a way. It pulled him back to reality until the previous night’s dreams felt distant and unreal.
Ava comes in sometime after eight am to offer his usual dose of pain medication and a cup of water, a bright smile on her face even though she can’t stay. She has a full schedule, and she’s gone again almost as quickly as she entered, but not before telling him she’s looking forward to their lunch.
He has plenty of time until she comes back to ponder that lunch and what the fuck he let slip out of his mouth the other day. How he almost flirted with her as if that’s a normal thing between them when it isn’t. He’s embarrassed and self-conscious, but the fact remains that she went with it and that has to mean something. So he goes over what he might say to her when she comes back because, for him, this stuff is easier when he rehearses it in his head first. He can’t go into it blind. It’s ten kinds of fucked up that he needs to rehearse a simple conversation to avoid saying something stupid or chasing her away, but here he is.
He lets his head flop back onto the pillow with a sigh, wishing he was better at what Boone used to call ‘wooing’ a woman, even if Dean doesn’t think anything Boone did could be called wooing.
Not that he plans to woo Ava. They are only friends. Friends who flirt just a little bit…
She is patient and encouraging and every time he moves further forward, she moves right along with him. That makes it simple to consider that he could have been wrong all those times he assumed no one could tolerate him, let alone feel something more.
When Ava shows up again, he has no time to worry about what to say or how to act because she breezes in with their food and settles into the chair by his bed like she belongs there.
“We really need some air. It’s such a lovely day.” She grabs a set of keys from her bag and gets up to unlock the bars on the window. She pulls them away to get at the glass behind them and pushes that open to welcome in a strong breeze.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he replies, convinced Nick is hiding on the other side of the closed door, with his ear pressed to the wood, ready to pounce.
She stares at the chain securing him to the bed. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere unless you can fit the whole bed through that window. It’s stuffy in here. I’m putting them back.”
She’s right. He couldn’t reach the window if he tried, and she locks the bars in place again a moment later.
“Oh, he’s back.” Ava points to the sidewalk below. “What did you say last time? Coffee? I think I said folders, right?”
Sure enough, the man from the other day has returned with even more junk.
“Ah, coffee I think.” Dean watches with rapt attention as the folders fall from under his arm, papers flying out from their outer shells and fluttering up into the wind.
“I won!” She smiles wide, all big eyes and spread hands and he snorts to himself at how fucking cute she is right now.
“Yeah, you did. Wanna go again?” That sounds vaguely dirty now that it’s come out of his mouth, but she lets it slide and so does he.
“Sure. I’m saying coffee next time.”
“Damn, you took my choice. I say he’ll trip. Just face plant and drop everything.”
“What? That was an option? I didn’t know that was an option.” She plants her hands on her hips in fake outrage. “There are rules to this game.”
“We’re makin’ up the rules as we go.”
She eyes him a second too long, shaking her head softly, her hair fluttering in the breeze. “Yeah, we are, aren’t we? Okay then, guess I should claim my prize.”
He ducks his head at her comment, watching her take up her spot again in the chair and start in on her food. Something she brought from home, a sandwich or a wrap. They’re being ridiculous with this dumb game, but nothing silly ever happens here, so they let it happen.
The air from the open window is fresh and clean as it wafts by his face, highlighting their time together with the smell of rainwater and tree blossoms instead of bleach and antiseptic.
When she offers him dessert, another Hershey bar appearing out of thin air, he doesn’t hesitate to slide the chocolate pieces from her waiting palm. He is slow about it though, wanting to touch her, even as innocently as this, more than he wants the food. It could be too forward to let his fingertips graze her palm at such a deliberate pace, but she doesn’t pull away.
He gets a boost of confidence every time she allows his small efforts, and so when she eats her part of the candy bar, getting a spot of chocolate on the corner of her mouth, it shouldn’t be a shock that he feels emboldened.
“You’ve got some…” He mimics touching the area on his own face.
“Hmm?” She tries and fails at removing it herself, missing the spot.
“Here lemme—” He reaches out without putting much thought to the action, brushing his thumb over the chocolate on her soft skin and bringing the digit back to his mouth, sucking it clean.
She hadn’t moved an inch and now her tongue snakes out to lick her lips while her attention flickers down to his and back up again. The naked desire on her face makes his breath hitch in his lungs and causes him to second guess every single moment he told himself she only wanted to be friends and nothing more.
“Thanks,” she says, that one word is deeper than usual and followed by a hard swallow before she gifts him a smile.
He’s never been so grateful to have a thick blanket covering him as he is right now, or she’d see how fast he’s hardening at such a simple touch.
* * *
The following day is nothing like the previous one.
Ava rushes into his room as panicked as she was when he almost slipped his cuffs. There’s no food in her hands for their lunch date, no indication that she hadn’t dropped whatever she was doing a second ago and beelined straight for him.
She’s standing in the doorway with wild eyes and flushed cheeks like she might rethink her choice and Dean hasn’t got a damn clue what’s going on.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t get your lunch. I said I would and then I forgot because something happened and…and I don’t know why I came here.”
“What happened?” He tries to keep his voice calm and soft and maybe it works because she takes a few tentative steps closer to the bed.
She crosses her arms and shifts her weight. It takes her a moment to respond before she gives in and tells him in a long exhale that trembles at the edges. “One of them touched me.”
“What the hell? How?” He’s gonna lose his damn mind and gut whoever had the balls to think about laying a finger on her. He can’t figure out how someone could have because they’re all supposed to be shackled. He knew all along that leaving her alone with prisoners was a shit idea and Nick should be held responsible for this instead of stuffing his face with another fucking donut.
“It wasn’t even that bad. It was nothing. I was safe the whole time, he was cuffed tight to the rail but when I went in closer to bandage a cut, he grabbed me by the hip. He told me, well it doesn’t matter what he told me, but I stepped back and it was fine. I’m fine. The guard was right there, and he took him out. Wrote him up for it. It’s fine. I don’t know why I came here.”
The more she says she’s fine, the less he believes it.
“I didn’t know what else to do.” She continues. “I just wanted to see you.”
Something scared her and she came to him. The first thing she wanted was his reassurance, and that makes something unfamiliar and unnerving twist in his chest. “You ain’t fine. Come here.”
The chain circling his wrist clinks against the bedrail as he holds out a hand for her, reminding them both where they are and who he is. It shatters any illusion there may have been, but she only hesitates a moment before slipping her palm into his waiting one.
Her face crumbles just like her body does into the chair at his bedside, her palm warm and soft, delicate fingers curling around his rough, large hand. “I was always safe. He didn’t hurt me.”
Dean doesn’t know if she’s trying to convince him or herself, but her words are still shaky and there’s a hint of guilt creeping into her tone like she regrets bringing any of this to him. A part of him understands. They are something to each other, but not in a way that leads to a moment like this. Except here they are, in that moment anyway, and it feels right regardless of how unlikely it should be.
“Something happened before, didn’t it? Before today.” He gestures to where the scar resides on her chest. “There.”
He’s pushing his luck. Pushing her. He has no right to do that and normally never would. He isn’t the type to push at all, but if she needs to talk, then he wants her to know he’ll listen.
Her hold on his hand squeezes tighter, and she nods. He’s about to tell her that she doesn’t have to talk about it, but then she speaks up and once she starts, she can’t stop.
“One of the guards left the cuffs too loose, and an inmate got free. He wasn’t you. He didn’t put them back. He was on me before I knew what happened. Wanted to use me as a shield, maybe? As something to trade for his freedom? I don’t know. I don’t think he thought it through, wasn’t expecting those cuffs to drop any more than I was.”
She pauses, glancing at a mirror on the wall, watching a scene play out in her mind.
“He broke the mirror. Held a piece across my throat but when the guards came at us I felt the tip dig into my skin and I fought him and it slipped, his hand slipped. It didn’t catch me in the neck, it got me here instead.”
Her free hand ghosts over her chest, tracing the outline of her wound from one side to the next. So much bigger than he thought before, so much damage done to someone who didn’t deserve it.
He lets his thumb wave over the top of her hand, caressing the round of her knuckles in soft patterns, hoping it’s enough while knowing it’s not even close.
“I thought I would die that day. There was so much blood,” she says, finally looking at him again, ending with a sort of hysterical half-laugh, a few tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “Shit, I’m a mess.”
Dean wishes he could snag those tears with his thumb and pull her close. Probably could since he can use both arms now, but he is still terrified of getting her fired. Someone could walk in while they’re doing something hard to explain away. Never mind that he doesn’t hug.
“Why’d you come back to work here?” He asks curiously.
“Why didn’t I quit? And go where? There’s a list a mile long at all the hospitals for nursing positions, twice that much at every private practice. I couldn’t leave and hope I found another job. Maybe I belong here anyway…eventually, it got easier again until I stopped thinking of leaving. Dunno if it was the right choice, I mean, clearly I’m screwed in the head now. One guy gropes my hip and I can’t function. I’m losing it.”
“Stop. You ain’t losing it. None of these fuckers should be touching you. The rules are too damn lax, been thinking it ever since I got here. You’re the best thing this place has going for it. I worry about you when I ain’t here.”
That last part came out strangled and unsure, like he’s suggesting that she needs him to protect her, which is crazy since he can’t even protect himself half the time.
“You worry about me?” Her brows knit together, her lips forming a slight frown.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t. You have enough to worry about.”
“Because I care. I worry because I care about you,” he says quickly, not wanting her to think herself a burden.
“Oh.”
She lets out a long breath, steadying herself and looking at him with surprised curiosity. He aches to hold her all over again. Has never wanted to wrap his arms around someone as much as he does in this moment and maybe she wants it too because she leans forward enough to take up more of his space even though neither of them makes that last move that would bring her onto the bed and flush against his chest.
“I haven’t told anyone that. No one that wasn’t there, or who didn’t need to know for a report.” Her grip on his hand loosens, but the gentle weight stays right where it is. “Usually I think it’s behind me. Gone. And then this happens.”
He wants to say something meaningful and solid, but he hasn’t been able to rehearse this. He isn’t good on the spot when it really counts. So he gives her hand a little squeeze and quirks a sad half-smile her way instead.
She tries to return it but it comes out as more of a sniffling, teary upturn that barely lifts the corners of her lips. “I’ll get your food.”
“The guy already showed up and dropped his coffee. So you know what that means,” Dean says with a tease, trying to lighten the mood by reminding her of that stupid bet.
It works. Her next smile reaches her eyes, creasing the edges, feeling like a victory. “If I remember correctly, that means we have lunch together.”
That is always the prize no matter who wins, and he nods with a grin, letting her sit back and pull her hand from his. Then he remembers something he’s been wanting to ask. “Hey, whatever happened to the guard that left mine too loose? Ain’t seen him at all after that.”
“I think he went to the academy for more training. He needed it. He’ll be back though. He’s scheduled for a shift next week. I’ll be back in five. We still have twenty minutes left.” And then she’s gone to fetch his food.
They have a lunch of sweet potatoes, green beans, and chicken noodle soup. He tells her about the accident on the freeway he saw earlier that morning, how the car did two spins before it finally came to a rolling stop. She tells him about the TV show she started watching, something about kids on bikes and mothers with Christmas lights.
They don’t revisit their earlier topic, but she seems lighter for having told him about it, less like she’s holding it so close to her soul that it takes all her effort to keep it there.
Something between them feels different. Better. Stronger.
He tries to ignore the fact that they only have three more days left before he returns to the pod.