Maggie spares a sidelong glance at her alarm clock before she slides into her slippers. It was too damn cold to consider walking barefoot. The insistent knocking on her door was driving her up the wall.
Or at least, it had been. She hadn't realized it had stopped. She opened her door hesitantly, now more alert. She wasn't expecting OA on her doorstep, looking like he should be dead, not standing, pale and in pain, on her stoop.
"OA?" With those words, he collapses into her arms.
Well, shit.
She half carries, half drags him over to her couch, maneuvering his long body, damn why was he so tall, onto her surprisingly short couch. She props his head up on the armrest. She turns off her emotions to deal with this clinically. She runs her hands down his neck, grateful to not find anything dislocated. She checks his shoulders and his arms, making sure nothing is grinding and indicating a break. He doesn't react to her testing his wrists, making sure nothing was sprained. She takes a breath before she moves on to his center mass, the place most likely to be injured. She feels for blood, first, just running her hands down his coat, and then she slides his arms out of it. She starts pressing on ribs, feeling for any give. It's when she's poking the sides, feeling for breaks, that he groans. She made a note, he at least had some type of rib injury. The run down his legs is cursory more than anything, just to make sure nothing there was being masked by adrenaline, She sneaks a peek at his ankles, alarmed by the bruising she found surrounding it. She gently peels off his socks and shoes, needing better access. "God damn, OA. What did you do?" It's a whisper to herself, and she doesn't expect an answer.
"Got jumped, by some guys, walking for dinner." It's a pained whisper that answers her.
She nods, looking at him. "Now that you're back, what hurts?"
He resists the urge to answer everything, and specifies. "Ankle, ribs, wrist, hands."
"Order of importance?" It's critical to care for the biggest pains first.
"Ankle, ribs. Wrist might be impacted, hands are probably just cut up from fighting." He closes his eyes, still exhausted.
Maggie returns to her check, now speaking softly to let him know what she was going to do before she did it. She started divesting him of his clothes, so she could check the severity of the bruises. Because he definitely had bruises, if the imperceptible wincing she felt beneath her hands was anything to go by.
"OA, you ok?" It's a cursory question, just to keep him talking.
"Yeah, I'm good." His response doesn't convince her.
"Tell me about something. I don't care what, but something."
OA knows this trick. "Why?"
Maggie looks at him. "Humor me."
OA starts talking, Maggie's not even sure about what, but every once in a while she tunes in. He goes from talking about his mother's curry, to hamburgers, to pancakes. Clearly, he'd gone for a dinner he'd never gotten. Maggie gauges the severity of the bruising based on the change in his voice when she palpitates them. Most of them were only skin deep, but there was one space where it was clearly deeper. Since it was their weekend off the rota, she wasn't concerned about healing time.
She sits on the coffee table, taking a moment to herself. He notices. He always did.
"Mags?" He'd never called her that.
"I'm fine." The answer came out before she had a chance to process it.
She wasn't, but he wasn't going to push. "Ok. What's the damage?"
She put her clinical persona back where she'd let it slip from, and looked at him. "Mostly bruising, possible cracked rib, not sure, probably sprained ankle and strained wrist. Nothing major." Nothing to keep him from working. Which is all he was after.
"Thank you, Maggie. For this." He's not sure what else to say, so he lets the room lapse into silence. He stifles a yawn, but Maggie catches it.
"You need to sleep." She arranges him with a pillow and blanket, and tries to go back to sleep herself. But she knows what's coming. It never failed her.
She drifted off, right into what she was awaiting.
She opened her door, the same as she had the first time. Except it's not the same.
He's there, blood bubbling over his lips, staining the concrete below him. It's dribbling down, bubbling out of him, more than there should be.
"No. Oh god, OA, what happened? How...why?" She can't pull herself together.
"Maggie...please...help me." He's begging her, but she's frozen.
He collapses in front of her, and she can't help the scream that tears from her soul. "OA!"
He's still talking to her, but it's different this time. "Maggie, I'm right here, I'm ok."
His lips weren't moving, he wasn't breathing...how was he talking to her?
"Maggie." The tone is different, calmer.
She gasps and sits up. She doesn't expect him sitting on the edge of her bed, reassuring her. "I'm alright. I'm fine." He repeats the words as she tries to process them.
OA hadn't expected to wake up to her calling his name. There was so much about herself she didn't share. He should've expected it. How many times did she come in, bags under her eyes, at the resolution of a rough case? OA should've expected it.
He entered her room, taking stock of the situation. She was turning in bed, apologizing. He couldn't bear to watch. He started trying to reassure her, but he could see her brow wrinkle in confusion. Instead, he decides to just say her name, remind her he was here. He was alright.
When she sits up, he sees the confusion trying to clear itself. "I'm alright. I'm ok." She meets his gaze, clear eyed, and looks at him.
"I'm sorry."
For some reason, this gets to him. "No, Maggie. You don't get to be sorry. If anyone should be, I should be sorry. I should've known something like this would leave you with issues."
"I don't have issues," she mumbled petulantly.
OA ignored her protest. "Either way, this isn't something someone can shake off. Not with what we see in our line of work. It's alright. I'm alright." He stressed the second phrase. He kept reminding himself it wasn't his fault either.
"OA...please...don't leave." He thinks he wasn't supposed to hear it.
"Wild horses wouldn't tear me away."
She lays back down, unsure. "Sleep, Mags. I'm not going anywhere."
She does.