justdidntseeit | [[ milliways infirmary ]]

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[[ milliways infirmary ]]

[ "s'alright, we're gonna get you looked at." ]

After her fever breaks, Kate doesn't move around much as she sleeps, exhaustion settling like silt in her blood.

She doesn't dream, either, but occasional lines appear between her brows or wrinkle her forehead.

At some point, she takes in a deep breath -- deeper than the others, so far -- and her eyelids flutter before opening.

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Bill hasn't left her side.

Someone was nice enough (or insisted) on bringing him clothes, so he's out of the sleepwear he wore in, and is wearing a pair of jeans and a red T-shirt, slumped in a chair beside her bed.

He's asleep, but only dozing; keeping a vigil over Kate while she recovers.

Her stirring rouses him almost immediately, and he looks over, straightening up in the chair.

"Kate?"

She exhales a soft sigh.

"Mmm?"

Blinking, she tries to clear the soupy fog from her eyes and thoughts.

"Hey."

Looking her over, his concern has a touch of relief to it when she responds to him.

"Hey, how y'feelin'?"

Reaching out, he gently touches her hand with his fingertips.

Her bleary eyes have lost their glassiness, the sheen replaced by redness.

"Fine, I'm -- "

She licks her dry lips; talking is more of an effort than it should be, somehow.

"Did I sleep through the alarm?"

"No, you-- "

His fingers curl around half her hand, and he shakes his head.

"We're in Milliways, darlin'. In the infirmary."

"The -- "

Her brows knit.

"Are you okay?"

Her heart rate doubles, but the confusion and panic she feels floats on a faraway surface while she stares upward from the bottom of a deep pool.

"How bad is it this time?"

He feels a quick spike of something that's both irritation and guilt, but pushes it down quickly.

"I ain't-- you been sick, Kate. Runnin' a bad fever."

Reaching out to feel her brow with his free hand, he gives her fingers a squeeze.

"Dr. Cuddy's been lookin' after you here."

She studies him, the intensity of her stare dulled by fatigue; when what he's saying registers, she looks more worn than ever.

"Oh."

She closes her eyes, silently taking stock of aches and discomfort.

"I never get sick."

He frowns briefly when her eyes close, and draws his hand back from her forehead.

"Y'need anything? Want some water?"

"Water'd be great."

She opens her eyes with considerable effort and refocuses on him.

When her eyes open again he gives her a soft smile, smoothing his thumb over the top of her hand before letting go.

He brings a glass of water back to the bed, offering his hand to help her sit up.

"I can get y'somethin' to eat, too, if you're hungry."

She takes his hand and shifts on the bed, turning onto her side and propping herself up on one elbow.

The room warps around her, and she concentrates on her hand in Bill's to steady herself.

"I'm not really hungry."

She takes a careful sip of water, then another, resisting the urge to gulp the entire glass.

"Just tired."

He keeps a sure hold on her when she shifts, watching her carefully.

"Just lemme know when you are an' I'll go for you."

Brushing a loose lock of hair back behind her ear, he works his throat quietly.

"Do you remember what happened?"

She frowns into the glass, strands of sweat-stiff hair tickling the side of her neck.

She doesn't remember. She should know, shouldn't she?

Handing over the water, she shakes her head.

"S'alright," he assures her, hiding his worry. "You were in the kitchen when I got up, so I'm not sure what happened."

He puts the glass down on a tray near the bed, and sits down again.

"Think maybe y'just wore yourself out some."

She eases down, resettling on the thin, not-entirely-comfortable mattress.

Her muscles feel ready to melt into the sheets.

"In the kitchen," she repeats, her eyes falling to her IV.

"Was I -- "

She looks at Bill.

"What was I doing?"

He hesitates a moment, then shakes his head.

"Don't worry 'bout that right now. You're fine, I got you here an' they've been doin' a good job of lookin' after you."

Just thinking about her on the floor like she was makes his insides twist and his chest ache.

"S'alright."

Her eyes drift shut again.

A dozen blurred snapshots paint the black behind her lids: She's shuffling a deck of cards with Sarah; she's calling June to ask if she can buy couscous in Wheelsy; she's talking briefly with Bill when he stops by the house to tell her he'll be home a lot later than he thought tonight; she's showing Marie a new shortcut --

Marie?

She frowns to herself.

One hand reaches for Bill's. Her eyes remain closed, but she turns her head toward him.

"I went running."

He gives her his hand, nodding though she can't see him.

"Yeah. I wasn't up yet." I shoulda been. "Think maybe y'just overdid it a bit."

His eyes go down to their hands, and his voice is low; throat tight.

"I know y'ain't been sleepin' all that well."

Her fingers curl around his, the brief squeeze a bare fraction of its usual strength.

She remembers how grueling the morning had been, how unsteady she felt when she staggered into the house, lungs and side burning.

(running water and a wave of dizziness)

She must've poured herself a glass of water and all but collapsed in a chair at the kitchen table.

Her eyes crack open; his haggard features swim in her vision while her thumb brushes his knuckles.

"S'okay, sheriff."

It's not.

He's known that she hasn't been resting well, but hasn't talked about it; waiting instead for things to fix themselves. Now Kate's here in the infirmary and it's his fault.

"You'll be alright," he assures her, knowing now isn't the time to talk about it (and wondering if that's just another excuse). "How y'feelin'? You had a fever before, the doctor helped t'bring it down."

"I'm okay."

Her thumb stills, but she doesn't let her hand slip from his.

"Just tired."

And sore; her entire body aches, like she's run two back-to-back marathons.

Her fingers tighten around his again.

"Sorry if I scared you."

"No apologizin'," he says with a soft smile, squeezing her fingers. "I'm just glad you're alright."

'Scared' is putting it lightly. He can't shake the image of her on the floor, or the feel of the heat coming off of her as he carried her, and he's still anxious for her, though he's doing his best not to show it.

One corner of her mouth lifts.

"Sorry," she jokes weakly, her eyes slipping shut.

On some level, she thinks she should be more worried; she's never spent time in the infirmary or a hospital as a patient. But her brain is surrounded by cotton candy, and with Bill beside her, her hand in his, it's easy to relax.

"Dr. Cuddy," she mumbles. "I like her. She was so good with Boo."

"Yeah, she was."

Trying not to think about the kidnapping and how Boo looked after, he reaches his free hand out and gently strokes her cheek.

"I like her, too. Glad the door was workin' an' she was around."

She turns into the light touch, drifting momentarily.

Her eyes open, clouded with worry.

"Boo can't see me like this."

"Kate-- "

He moves his hand from her cheek to take her hand in both of his.

"Don't worry 'bout that. Boo's fine, y'just need to rest. Okay?"

A handful of heartbeats pass before she licks her lips and nods against her pillow.

"Okay."

She exhales, silent and slow.

"I don't want to scare her. Marie was so scared in London when Mom died at the -- "

Her voice is soft; she's almost talking to herself.

"The hospital."

He holds in a frown at the mention of Marie, and doesn't think he'll tell Kate everything about what happened after he found her in the kitchen.

Tightening his grip on her hand, he shakes his head.

"I know y'don't, but she'll be okay. She'd be more upset if she wanted t'see you an' couldn't."

He pulls out a smile for her, and manages a teasing tone.

"Besides, y'don't look so bad. Just tired, is all. Boo's seen you're bed head before."

She breathes a tiny laugh that catches in her dry throat and rolls into a quiet cough.

"So I look pretty amazing, huh?"

He lets go of her hand to reach for her glass.

"Well, y'look better'n I did in your place," he jokes lightly, glancing around unsure if he should call a doctor or not.

She accepts the water, warring with gravity so she can take a slow sip.

"Thanks."

As he returns the glass to the table, her eyes trace the tiredness on his features.

"Have you gotten any sleep?"

She has no idea how long she's been out; it could be a few hours, an entire day, or even longer.

He reaches for the sheet that's drifted low to pull it up on her, avoiding meeting her gaze.

"Don't worry 'bout me, alright? I'm fine. Just you get better."

A slight frown breaks through her internal static; one hand finds his wrist, her fingers curling around warm skin.

She opens her mouth to tell him he needs to rest, too, but her voice feels as far away as Mount Kilimanjaro.

Her eyes close and she doesn't even manage a nod of concession before she's asleep.

He watches her, listening to her breathing even out, then smooths the sheet over her shoulder.

Leaving his hand in her weak grasp, he settles in his chair again. His eyes stay on her, and he'll drift eventually, but it'll be a light sleep.

He's going to look after her, like he should have been doing before.

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[[ milliways infirmary ]]

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