Worth Caring About
Tom had just arrived home from a shift at the hospital. It was his best friend, Thomas' birthday, so breaks were filled with cake and ridiculous presents with equally outrageous cards swapping hands and receiving groans and murmurs from the other doctors looking on. He cheerfully called out to Sybil, "I'm home, love," as he hung up his coat and scarf, neither of which he could go without in weather as cold as it had been recently. He kicked off his shoes in the hallway and followed Sybil's voice.
"In here, darling," Sybil returned, waiting for him to pop his head round the door, as he often did. He ambled calmly into the front room before spotting Sybil with a grazed knee and an ice pack wrapped around her wrist.
"Oh, sweetheart, what happened?" Tom asked sympathetically, his Irish tone more tender than usual.
"I just fell over, that's all."
"Falls that can truthfully be described with 'that's all' tend not to require ice packs," Tom said knowledgeably. He walked over to her and perched on the sofa beside her, not willing to sit properly until he knew Sybil was alright.
"Well, I fell down the last few steps on my way out of the office," Sybil said, expanding on her previous statement.
"Syb, those steps are stone!" Tom exclaimed, making the point that Sybil hadn't told him the whole story from the beginning.
"And apparently are also a good home for a bit of black ice," Sybil said sarcastically. Tom rose from his seat to inspect her wounds. He knelt on the floor in front of her and pulled her grazed leg onto his.
"Let me see," he said. Sybil didn't resist Tom's hands in moving her leg, but said,
"Really Tom, I'm fine. I washed it out as soon as I got home, just like you always tell me to do if I ever get a cut. I do listen to you, you know." She caught his eye and gave him a cheeky grin. "Most of the time, anyway," she added quietly, which earned a playful glare from Tom and a giggle from Sybil. "Really, Tom, I'll be alright."
Tom leant to gently kiss the graze, but despite his gently touch Sybil drew in a sharp breath as her face contorted into a grimace. Tom retracted his lips immediately and frowned. He stood slowly and said, "Wait here," as he began to walk away.
"I really wasn't planning on going anywhere," Sybil said with a small laugh.
When Tom returned he held two tablets, a glass of water and a tube of Germoline. He handed Sybil the water and painkillers and said, "Take these. It'll reduce the pain and the swelling." Sybil obeyed willingly as Tom knelt again, lifting her leg back onto his lap in the same position as before. He squeezed some of the cream onto his fingers and warned, "This might sting." Sybil didn't reply and didn't seem to take any notice, though Tom knew she'd heard him clearly. He gently began to rub the cream into the wound but was forced to stop as Sybil suddenly jerked her leg back towards her own body.
"That hurts!" she stated strongly and loudly.
"I told you it would sting," Tom said in a told-you-so tone of voice. Sybil, again, didn't speak an answer to him, but poked her tongue out at him in reply. "Well, I can't leave it like that. Come here and I'll finish for you," Tom said gently. Sybil reluctantly offered him her leg and flinched as he finished applying the cream with a gently touch, knowing the area of flesh was tender.
Once he'd finished with her knee, he sat next to her on the sofa and brought her into a hug, kissing her head before taking her hand to inspect her wrist. "Tom, I'm fine; I can look after myself," Sybil whined, but she didn't retract her hand from his grasp. "The swelling's gone down. I'm fine," she added. Tom ran his fingers gently over her wrist and got her to flex it as much as she could so that he could gauge how much pain she was in.
"How long have you been icing it for?" Tom asked.
"Since I got home," Sybil answered, but Tom looked at her to let her know that her answer was unsatisfactory. "I don't know; maybe twenty or thirty minutes, I suppose?" Sybil said, more as a question than a statement. Tom left her side only to return a few minutes later holding a bandage. "Oh, no, Tom, it's not that bad, really I–"
"Is that not your writing hand?" Tom asked firmly.
"Well, yeah, but –"
"And are you or are you not a journalist who writes on a daily basis and can't avoid it?"
"I am," Sybil said sheepishly, no longer trying to fight her husband.
"Then come here," Tom said on his irresistible Irish way. "You might have sprained it. Better safe than sorry," he said calmly.
"Fine," Sybil huffed good-naturedly as she gave in and allowed her husband to wrap her wrist in bandages. Once he'd finished he closed the bandage with a kiss, took the ice pack away and returned with two steaming mugs of tea.
"Here you are, love," he said, drawing Sybil's attention away from the television.
"Thanks, sweetheart," she mumbled. "For everything, I mean. You care about me and that's nice. I haven't always had that."
"I care about you because you're worth caring about," Tom replied sweetly.
"I love you," Sybil whispered as she leant into his hold. He kissed the top of her head and whispered,
"I love you, too."
Very short, I know, but hopefully an appropriate amount of fluff. I don't know whether I'll do a Rock the AU every single month this year, like I did last year, but here's one to kick off the year. Thanks for reading and please review if you can.