Stay
Nicole Clevenger (June 2014)
Notes: Here I am again, bringing poor Nico more plotless pain. (I really wish someone else would Whump on him for a while, so I can stop. Please please please?) This was inspired in part by ponyperson's "Two Men and a Lady," in so much that it made me want to do my own take on Nico showing up at Dani's house in the middle of the night. I recommend you go read that one – it's far more entertaining than this.
As always, I make no money because they don't belong to me. If they did, we'd get to see all the goodness that we know was coming in Season 4. And, clearly, Nico Careles would be a lot more broken.
She isn't sure what woke her. Laying in her bed in the dark, Dani tries to decide what it was and whether or not it's worth getting up for.
A look to the nightstand clock tells her it's just after three AM.
She stares at a ceiling she can't see and waits for something to happen. Sleep stretches its long fingers back around her, pulling her again into the haziness of dream. Her body begins to relax, her eyelids sliding closed…
And the noise comes again, startling her back awake. It sounded like it came from outside.
Her heart is beating faster now, adrenaline rushing her into alertness. Dani gropes a hand under her bed, feeling for the baseball bat she's kept there since Ray left, her eyes on her bedroom door as if she expects an invasion at any moment. The room is cold when she slips out from under the covers.
Weapon in hand, Dani slowly opens her door and moves out into the hallway. Her eyes automatically shift to her children's rooms, grateful that they're with their dad. The noise is probably nothing. A stray cat. But still she feels better knowing that it's only herself she may have to defend. She peers over the railing before she starts down the stairs, but she can see nothing in the shadows. There's no hint of movement down there, though.
Dani chokes the bat into a more defensive hold and heads down into the darkness.
Her bare foot is on the bottom step when there's a crash outside the back door. Her head snaps quickly in that direction, but her body has reduced its speed to a cautious crawl. Dani creeps toward the door, one foot tentatively in front of the other. Her breath sounds loud in her ears.
She flips the outside light on as soon as she reaches it, hoping to scare whatever it is away. It's a long moment before she can convince herself to lift the edge of the thin curtain covering her back door window and peer out. When she does, the air rushes from her in a relieved escape; the bat falls to her side, the tip bouncing off her kitchen floor.
Damn raccoons have been in the trash again.
Dani laughs shakily at herself, leaning on the wall beside the door. Sometimes, she admits to no one, it's nice to have someone else around. She tries not to think about what she would've done if it had been a person outside. No point. She does, after all, want to get back to sleep sometime tonight.
But first, she supposes she should clean up. She sets the wooden bat on the kitchen table, unlocks the back door and lets herself outside. Dani shivers when the night air brushes over her bare shoulders; the cotton shorts and tank she's wearing, though perfectly reasonable in her comfortably heated house, are doing her no favors out here. She thinks about running back upstairs to get her robe, but immediately dismisses the idea. She won't be out here long.
The lid of her plastic trash can is yawning open, the bag on top suffering the indignity of a roughly clawed hole. Dani stoops awkwardly, grabbing the few discarded pieces of trash scattered on the ground and shoving them back into the bin. Closing the lid, she looks around her for something to hold it down; she knows from experience that her planters, if used, are likely to be smashed by morning. She rubs at her chilled arms, looking around her feet. Where's a giant rock when you need one?
After a few more minutes the fatigue comes inching back; she straightens up, decides she doesn't really care. Let them have it if they want it so badly. She'll deal with the potential mess in the morning. She starts to go back inside, her hand halted on the door handle, when a car parked at the curb grabs her attention. She can't see the driver's seat from this angle, the big tree at the edge of her lawn positioned just perfectly to block it from view. But it's the familiarity of the front end that catches her notice, that makes her take a second look.
Is that Nico's sedan?
It certainly looks similar, at least from here and in the dark. But why would Nico be here at three in the morning? Is there something going on with the Hawks she hasn't been told about? Some threat? Is he stalking her? Surely not, though with the mysterious Mister Careles she's not entirely positive.
Trash forgotten, Dani crosses her lawn to find out.
The damp grass is cold on her bare feet, the long blades pushing their way up between her toes. She hugs herself more tightly against the chill, making a mental note to have Ray Jay mow sometime next week when he's home. Dani wonders at Nico's choice of parking spaces - she's almost across the yard now and the tree is still blocking her view. If he is watching her, how can he possibly see from there? It's probably not even his car, she decides.
She really should be back in her bed. Her toes find the edge of the sidewalk as she finally clears the tree.
There's someone slumped over the steering wheel in the car.
The lurch in her stomach tells her it's Nico long before her brain catches up. By then she's already around to the driver's side door, tiny chips of loose gravel biting cold into her tender feet. The window's all the way down; he's got an arm slung up over the wheel, his forehead heavy on his coat sleeve. Not moving. Drunk? Unconscious? She can't see any of his face.
She forces her voice calm and slow as she looks him over. "Nico?" Nothing. She swallows against the lump in her throat. "Nico, it's Dani…"
His head twitches, gradually lifts from its pillow. He blinks without focus. "Dani?" His confusion rattles her. His eyes slip from her to the yard to the house, grounding himself. "Ah," he breathes, his surroundings apparently giving him the answer he needs.
But no answers for her. She fights back the urge to reach in the car and shake him, to demand to be told what's going on. The unfamiliarity of this moment gnaws at her, chews at nerves whispering that all is not well. The lateness of the night only adds to the foreboding tingle. Nico drags a hand over his face, his head falling back against the seat rest.
"What's going on?" she asks him. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," he tells her. Dani feels the word would carry more weight if he'd opened his eyes to say it. "I was in the area, needed to stop. I didn't mean to wake you."
It's the needed that gets her, her attention reaching groping fingers to snag it for her as it goes casually by. "You didn't wake me," she says, studying him for clues. Then, carefully: "Have you been drinking?"
His laugh is a puff of exhale; his eyes are still closed. "No."
"Okay, then…" Her voice wanders off, her gaze turning to the empty silent street. A lone bird chirps at the coming dawn. People will be getting up soon. Dani shivers, a fresh wave of goosebumps running up her bare legs. "Look, at least come in the house. It's freezing out here, and I'm not exactly dressed for it. Plus I don't need my neighbors calling the police to report an unconscious man practically in my driveway."
His eyes open now, sliding in her direction with barely a move of his head. They track lazily over her exposed skin, and Dani shivers for an entirely new reason. She quickly pushes that away, waits until his look comes back up to meet hers. She wants him to be clear that she won't take no for an answer. "Well? Come on."
His reactions are too slow, like a man still half asleep. His attention drifts away from her, his eyes falling to the steering wheel as he seems to consider his options. She needs to get him inside, into better light, to figure out what's going on. She wonders if he's taken something; she wonders if he's been hit on the head. Her own thoughts are swirling a vortex in her brain, warring with her purposeful pretension of calm.
"Nico?" she tries again.
Long minutes later he finally nods, lifts his head from the seat. Dani steps back as he opens the car door, biting her lip when it takes an obvious effort for Nico to pull himself out. He stops once upright, leaning his weight on the top of the car and the door, breathing roughly. His eyes are on the ground when he quietly asks, "You have a first-aid kit, I assume?"
It shakes her, even though it's been clear from the start that there's something wrong. But he's out of the car now, at least, and she's wary of saying anything that might make him balk. So she injects as much lightness into her voice as she's able. "Of course. I'm a mother."
Her instincts have served her well; this earns her another nod, and Nico pushes himself up straight, closing the car door. He says nothing, his face a granite mask, but he's apparently waiting for her to lead the way. And so she does, retracing her steps across the wet grass, through the quiet of the lingering night. Despite her slow pace, Nico follows behind; she consciously lets him be, refusing to let herself turn every breath to check on his progress. She feels like she's trying to coax a stray animal in out of the cold.
Dani opens her back door and lets them inside, the warmth of her home wrapping itself around her numbing skin. She turns to face him in the bright light of her kitchen, only to find that he looks much worse than he did in the dark of the car. He's holding his right arm stiffly against his side, his left bracing himself up with a hard grip on one of her chairs. There's the beginnings of a bruise on the side of his jaw and a gaping tear in the shoulder seam of his coat. His dark eyes stand out sharply against the paleness of his skin.
His arm is trembling under his weight when she rests her hand lightly on his bicep. "Why don't you sit down and tell me what's going on?"
Nico shakes his head, a few strands of hair falling loose to brush against his forehead. "No, I just need to take care of something, then I'll go. I don't want to wake the kids." He grunts as he pushes off the chair. "First-aid kit?"
The brush-off annoys her; it's too late to be playing twenty questions. "Under the sink in the bathroom," she says a little curtly, waving her arm in the direction of the downstairs room. If he notices the shift in her mood, he doesn't comment. She watches him leave, a little unsure of what to do with herself now. She goes upstairs, puts on her soft grey robe; comes back down and makes sure the door is locked. Thinks about making tea. Finally she sits down in the chair he was leaning on, waiting to corner him for answers when he comes back.
Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.
She knows, because she's watching the clock. The way you do when you're aware you should be sleeping, your brain calculating and recalculating how much time you still have left to rest before morning. She's watching the time tick away, wondering how long this is going to take. Wondering what it is that he's doing in there.
When fifteen begins inching closer to twenty, she decides to go check on him. Dani knocks on the bathroom door, worry rising rapidly when there's no immediate answer. She tries again; same lack of response. Fortunately, the knob turns easily under her hand when she goes to open it. "Nico? I'm coming in," she says unnecessarily, as she swings the door carefully ajar.
The first-aid kit is open on the counter, various components scattered around it. Nico's slumped on the tile between the cabinets and the far wall, the side of his face pressing against the wood drawers.
And there's the blood.
He's managed to get his shirt unbuttoned, but the dark red slick of his right side clings stubbornly to the rough white of the fabric, spreading across the material and sticking it to his skin. Dani grabs a nearby hand towel without thinking, goes down on her knees beside him. He flinches when she peels away his ruined shirt and presses the cloth to his side, but it does seem to rouse him. He looks at her now, bringing a hand up to hold the towel himself. "Not as bad as it looks," he mumbles.
A nervous laugh bubbles up unbidden at this. "Really? Then why are you on the floor?"
He shifts, immediately preparing to get up. "Dizzy. I'm fine." Using the counter top, he drags himself to his feet; Dani gets up more quickly, grabs his arm when he sways into the marble. There's blood smeared over his hand, drying between his long fingers. "I'll deal with this," he tells her, dark eyes meeting hers in the mirror.
It's a clear sign for her to go, but Dani refuses to budge. He's got a white-knuckled hold on the edge of the counter, blood already seeping through the ruined towel at his side. If possible he looks even paler in the light of her bathroom, sweat beading along his hairline. But there's no question of his desire to get her out of the room to handle the situation on his own.
Too bad she has no intention of doing that. "Sorry, but it's my bathroom you're bleeding all over in the middle of the night. I think that gives me the right to stay."
A fleeting scowl brushes his features. "If you'll recall, I had no intention of coming in here in the first place."
Dani nods at his reflection, uncowed. "And you can explain all about why that is once you're no longer bleeding. Unless you'd rather I just call an ambulance?"
The sharp glare he gives her in the mirror is not an expression Nico has ever directed her way, and it catches the breath in her throat. "I'll be gone before they get here," he growls lowly, eyes narrowed. It's not a threat, but a promise.
She resists the urge to take a step back, not there's much of anywhere for her to go. Instead she takes a breath, deliberately meeting his eyes again. "Fine. Then sit down and we'll figure out what we need to do." She points at the closed toilet lid, refusing to look away from him. Dani's an expert at stubborn, too.
Nico opens his mouth like he intends to argue, but something in her reflected face makes him decide that it isn't worth it. His shoulders sag; he drops his gaze, moves stiffly to sit where instructed. A hiss of pain escapes as he lowers himself down; Dani busies herself with a quick inventory of her first-aid supplies and pretends not to hear. She gives him a moment before she turns to him.
"So are you going to tell me what happened?" she asks, taking the bloody towel from him and throwing it in the sink. She purposely does not look up at him, focusing instead on gently cleaning some of the blood from the wound. His entire body flinches minutely each time she touches the skin around the gash in his side; Dani pretends not to notice this either. When he doesn't answer, she risks a glance upward. Nico's watching her work, his mouth set in a thin line. He doesn't meet her eyes.
"Broke up an argument between Jackson and his brother," he says tightly.
It doesn't take her long to run through her mental roster of Hawks players and come up with the face to match this name. "Ronnie?"
"Yeah." It comes out as a grunt as she hits a particularly sensitive spot.
Dani's yet to have any personal dealings with Ronnie Jackson, but she's made it a point to at least be aware of all the players on the team. Her main recollections of the man are of a quiet figure hanging in the background of team meetings, of a big kid with a charming smile. He's always been polite to her, but that's about all the insight her memories can offer.
The uncovered wound is still bleeding, though thankfully it doesn't look quite as bad now that it's been cleaned up. The gash stretches above his hipbone, six inches of red stark against his skin. Dani's loathe to push any buttons, but she's not a medical doctor. "Nico…" she starts carefully, "… I think this might need stitches."
Nico shakes his head, adamant in this refusal. "No hospital. Just bandage it up and I'll get out of here."
Lack of sleep fuels a surge of anger; she suddenly has no patience for this tough guy act. "Don't be ridiculous." She grabs a gauze pad, ripping the packaging open with more force than necessary. "I'll drive. We'll be done before you know it."
His hand comes up to cover hers where she presses the bandage to his side. "Dani, no." Something new in his voice causes her to look up at him again for an explanation. "Hospitals are required to report gunshot wounds to the police. The team doesn't need that."
This new information slaps her upside the head. Her jaw drops. "Gunshot wounds? He shot you?"
Nico vaguely waves away the horror in her question, his head falling back to rest in the corner where the two walls behind him meet. Dani can see that whatever energy that was keeping him going is rapidly slipping away. She wonders how much blood he's lost. "Accident," he says, eyes closed. "Didn't mean for the gun to go off."
"Oh, I guess that makes it all right then." The corner of his mouth quirks upward at this, but Dani doesn't see anything amusing about the situation. Her fingers are trembling as she tapes the bandage down. "Nico, this is serious. Why does Ronnie have a gun in the first place? Does he still have it? I need to go talk to him –"
She gets to her feet; Nico grabs her wrist. His eyes are hooded, pain and exhaustion having their way. "I've got the gun," he tells her quietly. "And if he doesn't come talk to you tomorrow on his own, he knows I'll be dragging him in. Kid's terrified – I think you'll be seeing him."
His fingers are warm on her skin as she weighs this information. Nico's looking at her like he's still uncertain about her next move if he lets her go; she wonders if he'd actually have the strength to stop her if she decides to leave. His eyes bore into her, demanding an assurance that she'll stay.
"I can appreciate that you're looking out for the team, Nico," she says carefully, "but right now I'm worried about you. I still think –"
"Been shot before," he grinds out through clenched teeth as he lets her go to push himself up. He pauses, head hanging low as the counter takes his weight. "Trust me, this is nothing. I'll be fine."
"Just because you keep saying it doesn't make it true."
He looks up at her reflection again, but doesn't respond. Truly, he appears ready to collapse. With his ruined shirt hanging open, Dani can see the way his stomach muscles tense with every shallow breath. She doesn't doubt this man is well accustomed to taking care of himself. She just wonders when the last time was that he let anyone else try to do it for him.
"I should go," he finally says. "It's late."
"It is," she agrees. "Which is why you're staying here." A flash of something like surprise crosses his mirrored features, but it's gone before she can be sure. "You can't drive anywhere like this," she presses on, taking advantage of the silence while she controls it, "and there's no point to sleeping in your car. I'll make up the guest bedroom, and we can both get a couple of hours of rest before morning."
She thinks he's considering this; she's actually turning to go get started when he shakes his head. "No, I've brought you enough trouble already. I'll –"
"Dammit, Nico!" It's louder than she meant it to be in this small space, but she's got his attention. "I'm tired, I'm cranky, and we have a meeting at eight AM. You're here. You're staying."
This time his expression is not in doubt: he's angry. "You think you can keep me here?" It's almost a snarl.
They stare each other down in the mirror. Eventually Dani sighs, her irritation dissolving into her own fatigue. She's backed him into a corner, the wrong way to go about all of this, and his frustration is causing him to lash out. She understands; she should have expected it. She needs a different approach. So she softens her tone, lowers her voice. "No, I don't. But I really don't think you should be leaving. So I'm asking. Stay?"
This loosens some of the tension in his posture, smoothes some of the sharpness from his eyes. Without the anger, he just looks drained. Dani wonders what time it is; she's tired of having a conversation with a mirror. When he doesn't argue any further, she decides to take his silence for acquiescence. "I'll go get things ready. If you take off that shirt, I'll throw it in the wash with the towels – I doubt it's salvageable, but at least it'll stop you from trailing blood throughout my house."
He offers no response to this either, just continues to stand there, eyes on her reflection. She debates volunteering to help him with this task, but she gets the feeling she's already seen him more vulnerable than he's at all comfortable with. It would probably be best if she gives him some space.
The yawn sneaks up on her as she turns to leave; she almost misses his words because they're pitched so low. "Couch is fine," he tells the back of her head. "Don't go to any more effort."
Dani pauses, thinks about arguing the point. But he's agreed to stay, and she decides it's probably best to take that small victory. "Shirt," she says tiredly, leaving him leaning there on the counter. "I'll go get some blankets."
It's past four now, the hallway clock tells her, and the bathroom door is still mostly closed when she passes it by with her armful of bedding. She gives him a few extra minutes while she makes up the couch, but when she catches herself absently fluffing the pillow she's brought him, she decides it's definitely past time for bed. She can hear the water running in the sink, and, for a brief moment, all she can see is remembered blood. Dani takes a breath to steady herself. Her face is composed when Nico comes out of the bathroom.
She doesn't expect the flush of heat that runs through her at this first sight of his shirtless body, failed to consider this aspect in all that's going on. Her eyes jump dangerously over a myriad of tiny scars, over arm muscles and the thin trail of hair leading down into his waistband, finally landing safely on the ruined shirt wadded in his fist. She frantically hopes she's not blushing, unprepared for this new image of him. She tells herself to stop acting like a teenager. She has to force herself to meet his eyes.
But any notice of this on his part seems lost in his exhaustion, and she's able to get herself back under control and to the situation at hand. Dani's nothing but professional when she reaches out to take the destroyed lump of fabric from him. Her fingers brush the back of his hand; he blinks at her, wavering slightly in the dim light of her living room. She's never seen him so unfocused, so tired.
"Don't bother," he murmurs as she takes the shirt from him. "Just throw it away." He slings his coat over the arm of the couch, wincing as he carefully sits down. "You should sleep," he tells her carpet, head hanging low.
"So should you." Her gaze travels over the tendons in his neck, the lines of his bare shoulders.
"Aren't you worried about what your children might think when they find me down here?"
This isn't the first time tonight he's mentioned a concern for her children, and Dani appreciates that he's thinking of them. But she wonders if he isn't still trying to grope for an excuse not to stay. "They're with their father," she says. "They won't be back until tomorrow night."
He nods without lifting his head, apparently unable to do much else. Dani ducks into the kitchen with the bloody shirt, finds a plastic grocery bag to put it in. When she returns she finds him already lying down, exhaustion winning the argument at last. "Can I get you anything?"
Dark hair brushing against the white pillow case with a weak shake of his head. "Done enough," he mumbles, sleep fighting hard to claim him. "Go back to bed."
At the moment, Dani wants nothing more. "Get some rest," she tells him, turning to head for the stairs.
She doesn't think she imagines the whispered "thank you" that follows her up to her room.
Morning comes far too quickly; she's just closed her eyes when the beeping of her alarm drags her back out of sleep. Dani moans into her pillow, reaching reflexively for the snooze button. But the events of hours before flood themselves into her sleepy brain, reminding her that this is no ordinary morning of routine. She's got a house guest to deal with downstairs.
She pulls her robe over her shoulders. The smell of coffee hits her before she's half way down the stairs, the ever faithful machine doing its automatic duty. Nico doesn't stir as she creeps past into the kitchen, the early light slowly inching dim tendrils across the floor. She pours herself a cup, taking a moment to stand there with it in her hands, the rich aroma filling her head to clear out a few of the cobwebs. But it's too hot when she takes the first sip, and she scowls at the numbness now spreading over the tip of her burnt tongue.
It's going to be a long day.
She wants to leave him to sleep, but she knows he's going to have to go home before heading to the meeting at the Hawks' offices. She isn't entirely clear on where it is that he lives, but it's already six-thirty and she can't imagine that he's going to be moving any more quickly than she is. So she pours him a cup of coffee to match her own, and carries them both out to the living room.
He's got his back to her, legs bent to fit on the too-short sofa. The blanket covering him has slipped to the floor sometime in the last few hours, leaving his upper body exposed to the air. The bandage on his side stands out against the color of his skin, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each breath. Her eyes trace over a short jagged scar resting far too close to his spine.
But what she'd hoped is a restful sleep seems to be anything but. This close she can see the unnatural tension in his body, the way his hand spasms in and out of a tight fist against the cushions. A frown etching itself deep into what should be peaceful features. Lips moving soundlessly and quickly, quivering with inaudible words.
She sets the cups down on the low coffee table, intending to wake him from the nightmare. Because it's clear this is not a happy dream. "Nico?" she calls softly, hoping to rouse him. But exhaustion and pain have pulled him well below the level of his customary alertness. He doesn't react at all to the sound of her voice.
"… out… move…" he mumbles, pieces of sentences surfacing to sound. It's urgent, almost frantic. She can't just stand here and watch this, can't leave him to these demons she knows nothing about. Tentatively she reaches out. Her fingers brush his shoulder.
And the relative peace of her morning explodes.
It happens in a matter of seconds, a sequence of tiny events not recognized until it's over. Soldier reflexes unbidden by consciousness, a hand locking around her wrist and pulling her off balance. Her hip hits the table on her way down, and the shattering of ceramic fills the room. Her own reflexes send her scrambling away from the couch; his have him up and on his feet. The space of a blink from then to now, and Dani's on the floor with Nico looming over her. For a frozen instant, there's not a breath between them.
Now the moment breaks; Nico grabs instinctively for the frame of the sofa to support himself as he sways in the blood rush catching up to his brain. They're both breathing heavily, and some part of her mind recognizes that he looks as terrified as she feels. Her heart is pounding in her ears. They stare at each other like strangers.
"Shit," he growls, covering his eyes with a hand. When he drops it a second later, the intensity in his look is almost too much for her to handle. "Did I hurt you?" he demands urgently. She's suddenly his only focus. She can't make her voice work. But she manages a small shake of her head.
He swallows hard, his eyes sweeping the mess of the room. Abruptly he turns, staggering to the bathroom. The door closes solidly behind him, and the sound of muffled retching drifts her way. Dani doesn't move. Can't move. The frightened adrenaline pricks tears behind her eyes.
Slowly she comes back to herself, forcing calming breaths between huge gulps of air. She can hear water running in the bathroom now. Her hip throbs in time with her pulse; her arm feels bruised. Her hands are shaking as she begins to gather up the pieces of the broken mug. There's coffee everywhere, dripping off the table, pooling in the carpet fibers beneath her bare knees. She needs to get up and get a towel from the kitchen. She doesn't think her legs will hold her just yet.
When the door opens, she doesn't look up. His black trouser legs come around the couch and into the edge of her vision. For a moment he just stands there; somehow she can still hear his breathing over the deafening volume of her own. Slowly Nico eases down onto his knees in front of her, and she can't honestly deny the flicker of animal panic that reflexively flares.
Can't deny it… but she can certainly try to defy it. Dani makes herself lift her eyes up to his face.
He's too pale, the dark smudges beneath his eyes echoing the deepening bruise on his jaw. Long strands of hair hang loose over his forehead. "Are you sure I didn't hurt you?" It's spoken more softly this time. In all the signals her brain is sending, it occurs that she's never before seen Nico in need of reassurance. He may be able to still his expression, but there's no hiding for his eyes.
Eyes which drop away from hers once her lips shape the word no. They fall to her arm, as if he can see through the fabric of her sleeve to the skin. "I didn't… Dani, I wouldn't…" The words trail off inadequately in the coffee scented silence. Instead Nico reaches out for the ceramic silvers collected in her hand. "Let me –"
They're both surprised when she flinches.
Nico recovers first, getting to his feet with a nod. "I'll go."
A part of her simply wants to go back to bed, to pretend this morning never started. But Dani knows she can't leave it like this, can't let this scene end on such a bitter-tasting note. "Nico." It stops him half way through struggling into his coat; she sees a flash of red seeping through the white bandage at his side. The pause is only momentary, however, and he's slipping the material over his bare shoulders with a grimace while Dani's still searching for the words she wants.
"I'm sorry," she starts, and a scowl darts in and out of his stoic mask. "I just need a little space right now. Can we talk later?"
Another nod, his face set in stone. "Of course." His eyes are focused somewhere in her hairline. His tone unbearably professional now. "Doctor Santino," he says, a distancing goodbye. "Thank you for your assistance." There's a twelve foot wall between them, and she doesn't have the strength right now to tunnel through.
He's limping a little as he moves toward the door.
Dani's fingers are bleeding where tiny fragments of ceramic have sliced their way into her skin.