Disclaimer: Don't own em, Mr. Wolf does.
Authors Note: This is a bit of a break from Ambiance. I hope it's ok. PLZ R & R, pretty PLZ!!!
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'dolce far niente' ~ (ital.) sweet idleness
She looked at me, the lustre of her brown eyes dissipating my train of thought into nothingness, as she ran across the road and into swallowing ebony of the night, signaling her goodbye with a brief wave of one hand and a grin. The most gorgeous grin. Her eyes ran from my face to her car, only a few unreachable steps away. It all played in slow motion, and it all hurt. And then the light, that stinging light. It highlighted her face, the crisp fear it had instilled in her eyes, and she froze. She never froze, but this time…this time her instincts drained away. The light blinding her and carrying her away. And then the screaming of the breaks, the thud. And she was on the ground, her back caressing the bitumen. I knelt over her, praying her back to life. But she remained still. A crimson trickle flowed from her forehead, down her cheek and to her ear. I touched it lightly, futilely blessing her forehead back to smooth normality. Trying to wipe the red from her face, but it streamed into her hair, plastering strands to her cheek. The cherry blood fanned out onto the tar. A merging butterfly of red and black surrounding her. And she was sleeping……………..and I couldn't wake her.
Bobby opened his eyes in alarm, they traced the gleaming blue and white tiles of reality. He leaned his head back and onto the wall behind him. A deep breathe. He dared to shut them again, praying not to see the light. But there it was, chasing him. And the scarlet that was drowning him. "Alex." he murmured, chocking on his breath. A lump held stubborn in his throat, his head burned and his eyes. If he shut them and it would all replay. Open them and the air burned, and the tears flowed. He took in the room. White walls incased a seemingly infinite hall. He looked down at his hands clutching an empty coffee cup. Her blood, trapped under his cuticles. And it all rushed at him again, the light, the red, the cold. His white shirt stained, his jacket?? He shook with fear, a rush of cold adrenaline. He looked around again, a different woman, maybe older, hid behind the reception desk, busying herself with the sallow lilies on the table. Ignoring him with an arrogant blatancy. He narrowed his eyes to her, struggling to hold the gaze in fatigue.
"Yes?" Her voice was austere. A third bitter, third condescending and third perturbed. She wanted to shed his glance. "Well, can I help you?" She stood strong, trying to prove her superiority. Greyish hair trapped in a tight bun, a face stern with age and plainness. And she knew it, the thick makeup trying to hide her real exterior.
Every word burned his throat. "My partner, she was brought in here about…" he searched his watch for the time, but he struggled to process it. "…about 7 hours ago.."
"And you would be Mr. Eames?"
"No. Robert Goren." He replied as he shook his head, rubbing a hand through his dark hair frustration. "Look.." He began, only to be cut off by her coarse voice.
"But she's your partner?" She said, insinuating his irrelevance.
"Yes." Bobby replied, hiding behind the lie. It was really only a half-truth.
"She's in recovery."
He closed his eyes in relief, and the light was fainter. "I need to see her. I've been here 7 hours. The last nurse…she said…she said I could see her when she was out of theater."
She stood stern, pursing her lips in defiance. "I'm sorry sir. She's resting."
He stood up in frustration, burying his head in his hands. "Just…" He raised his hand in insolence, "just…a second. I'm not going to wake her, I just want to see her." He paused, throwing his head back in frustration. "Look, I'm just asking for a second." Pleading with his eyes.
The matron set down her prized lilies, and began to tap her fingers along the desk in a constant motion. Her nose screwed in disapproval, her eyes stern and annoyed. "Fine, just wait for a ward nurse to take you in."
Another twenty minutes passed, Bobby sat still in the chair, hunched over, his hands together between his knees. His eyes barely open, he could see the image of a lady striding furiously down the hallway. Her shoes clacking in a fast beat on the chilling tiles. The repetitive clacking stung at his ears, until the feet stopped before him. He looked up; a young woman greeted him with a sympathetic smile. Short and plump, with long black hair and a warm face.
"Robert…uh…Goren?"
"Yes." He croaked.
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She lay still on the bed. The blood was gone and her face was almost the crisp white of the pure sheets. An entanglement of plastic tubes ran from her arms. He sat down next to her, enveloping her cheek in his hand. The warmth of her skin flowed to his touch, igniting hope. He bit his lip, forcing the swelling tears into submission. He traced bruises down her arm, and picked up her hand. Smiling at its delicacy, he cautiously traced his fingers up and down her palm. He looked around the room, cold and vague. The streams of light from above seemed to hang heavy in the air, the shut curtains clouding any natural illumination. The smell of hospital and disinfectant languished in the air and the quietness was overwhelming. The ciaos was only ephemeral circumstance, but was still vivid in his mind.
"She has a three cracked ribs."
Bobby's head flew up in alarm. His mind had become absent to the presence of other people. He nodded, drawing his eyes away from Alex for only a second. "And, uh…she hemorrhaged internally?" His words were distorted with emotion.
"Yes. But she is very strong."
He didn't look back. 'very strong' Then why did he fear breaking her with every touch?