Chris' senses come back to him a little a time. The first thing he's aware of is the sound of someone humming. He can't quite place the melody, but it's familiar nonetheless. There are other noises too; a steady tuneless beep, a quiet hissing sound, and a barely audible dripping. Chris feels like there's something important he's forgetting, some magic clue that will help him make sense of what's going on around him, but his brain feels like it's stuffed with cotton wool. He decides he can figure it out once he gets just a little more sleep.
The thing that ultimately pulls him back towards the surface is the sensation of warm, steady hand on his wrist. On any other occasion, it would have been enough to scare the shit out of him, as Chris is not the type to share his bed often (or ever, really, aside from a few wild nights in college). Something about this touch is soothing and before he gets a chance to question it, his arm goes cold and then everything starts to feel fuzzy again. It's like he's instantly drunk, though he doesn't remember taking any shots. It's peaceful, though, so Chris just lets himself drift awhile longer, not sure if he's asleep, awake, or somewhere in between.
A muttered "shit" is the thing that convinces him that it's worth the effort to open his eyes. The voice is low and deep but apologetic and curiosity gets the better of Chris. Everything is blurry and indistinct at first but he can see just well enough to tell there's a guy with curly hair and stubble hovering over him. Huh.
Chris blinks a few times to try to bring the world into focus, which is thankfully enough for him to make out that the guy in question is pretty damn cute and wearing blue hospital scrubs. After another glance around the room, Chris takes in the IV pole and monitors and remembers where he is.
"Hey, you're awake!" the guy says, seeming far too eager.
"Am I?" Chris asks, voice coming out scratchy and soft.
"Well, you're talking to me right now, so I'm not sure if that's up for debate." The guy laughs.
"Hmm," Chris hums noncommittally, finding the idea of stringing thoughts into fully articulated sentences rather exhausting.
"My name's Darren. You're in the recovery room, in case you hadn't figured that out by now. I'll be your nurse for the next few hours."
"Okay," Chris nods. He rubs at his eyes a little, frustrated when that doesn't seem to make his vision any clearer. "I'm Chris," he adds after a protracted pause, not sure what the proper protocol is in such situations.
"I know," Darren chuckles. "Got all your details in my chart here. It's kinda my job." He gestures towards the small laptop he's balancing on his knee. "Do you want your glasses?" he asks, noticing how Chris is squinting.
"Oh yeah, I guess so," Chris shrugs. Darren bends over, pulling out a small plastic bag labeled patient possessions from underneath Chris' hospital bed. He roots around for a second before producing a black leather case.
Chris takes his glasses out of the case, somehow managing to get frames twisted in the oxygen tubing as he tries to put his glasses on. "Ouch," he murmurs as one of the prongs is roughly tugged out of his nostril, making his eyes water.
"Oh man, let me help," Darren offers, biting his lip to keep from laughing. He carefully unwinds the knotted tubing, placing the glasses on Chris' lap while he slides the cannulas back into place. He tugs at something under Chris' chin to make the tubing tighter and then he's able to slide Chris' glasses on without everything getting all tangled up. It's impressive but also sort of exhausting and then Chris is yawning in Darren's face.
"There, all better," Darren nods, looking pleased with himself.
"Thanks," Chris manages as an afterthought. He wrinkles his nose at the slightly plastic-y smell that he assumes is the result of the oxygen and the way it adds to the dryness in his throat.
"All in a day's work. Or I guess a night's work in this case."
Chris is already half-asleep again, but the idea that it's already nighttime is just confusing enough for him to want clarification. "What time is it?" he mumbles, not bothering to open his eyes.
"Just after 6 pm," Darren replies, gesturing to a clock on the opposite wall.
"It's been a long time," Chris says vaguely, hoping Darren will understand what he means.
"Nah, you've only been in here for about twenty minutes. Not that long." Darren sounds amused and Chris is starting to wonder what exactly Darren is finding so funny about him. Is he drooling on his pillow without realizing it?
He forces his eyes open, trying to surreptitiously wipe at the corners of his mouth. No drool. That's something, he thinks.
"My surgery, I mean. It must have taken a long time, right? It was supposed to start before lunch," Chris clarifies.
"Yeah, I guess so, although I think they might have gotten started a little later than they'd planned on." Darren seems unconcerned.
Chris doesn't exactly have the same blasé approach to his health that Darren seems to. The idea that his surgery took five to six hours when he'd expected it to take two to three is bugging him, making him wonder if the thing he was told was a routine procedure was, in fact, anything but.
"Did they have to take something else out?" Chris asks, knowing that he's not exactly wording it the way he wanted to, but words seem like so much effort at the moment.
"Uhh no, not that I'm aware of. Just your appendix," Darren says, glancing down at the computer on his lap.
"Wait, what?" Chris gasps, now thoroughly confused. "They were supposed to take out my gallbladder. Did they take out the wrong organ? Was something wrong with my appendix too?" He struggles to sit up.
"Whoa, whoa," Darren waves his arms, trying to interrupt Chris' freak out. "I was just kidding, Chris. It was a joke. Easy does it." He places a hand on Chris' shoulder and gently pushes him back against the pillows.
"Oh," Chris frowns, wondering when he became so gullible. Then he remembers that he just had surgery and that his nurse is supposed to be a medical professional. "That was mean," he grumbles.
"I know, I know. I'm sorry," Darren says contritely, hand lingering as he gives his shoulder a squeeze.
Chris pouts, trying to decide if he wants to be mad a little longer. While mulling it over, Darren stands, fiddling with his IV pump and jotting down some numbers.
"How are you feeling, by the way," Darren asks, suddenly a bit more serious. "Any pain?"
Chris takes a minute to consider. His stomach doesn't hurt exactly, but it's still uncomfortable. He feels like he's swallowed a hive of bees that are now buzzing around angrily in his stomach. "A little," he finally says.
Darren nods and crosses to the other side of the room to retrieve a vial. A few seconds later he's injecting something into Chris' IV and oh, there's that drunk feeling again.
"Is that tequila?" Chris asks. He can hear how slurred his words are but he really doesn't care. He's pretty sure someone could shave his head or deface his favorite pair of jeans right now and he'd just shrug it off.
"No tequila I'm afraid, that's not exactly medicinal. But pain medicine definitely has a similar effect. I assume it's helping?" Darren grins.
"Yep, feeling A-okay now," Chris smiles back dopily.
"Glad to hear it," Darren says, patting his hand. Chris can't ever remember a time he's ever had a doctor or nurse who was quite so...tactile. But the grounding touch is reassuring and even in his drugged up state, he's still flattered by it.
Chris lets his eyes slide shut of their own accord, drifting for a few minutes. The hospital bed beneath him feels like it's rocking ever so slightly, much like the gentle bobbing of a raft in the ocean on a clear day. In his semi-conscious state, he can hear Darren singing something. His voice is clear and note-perfect and the lyrics are familiar, even if the melody isn't. Eventually the music starts to fade, as though someone is very slowly turning down the radio until there's just warmth and silence.
When Chris wakes up for a second time (or is it the third, he wonders to himself), it's anything but peaceful. The coughing jag takes him completely by surprise and he winces at how raw and dry his throat feels. Worse still is the way that coughing makes pain explode across his stomach, ensuring that he feels each and every laparoscopic incision his surgeon made.
"You okay?" Darren asks, reaching out a hand when he sees Chris' eyes fly open as he doubles forward.
"Ow, fuck," Chris moans. He grabs for the first thing he sees as the pain hits him and that ends up being Darren's hand, which he crushes with surprising strength. "Sorry," he rasps once the coughing stops, feeling embarrassed as he drops Darren's hand.
"That's okay, it's what I'm here for," Darren soothes, giving his hand a quick squeeze before he lets Chris release it. "Better now?"
The sharp, bright pain in his stomach lessens but only slightly, leaving behind a dull, constant throb that leaves Chris scared to move or even breathe too deeply, lest it flare up again. "Maybe a little?" he says, not wanting to sound like a wimp. He presses his arm against the spot on his right side that is hurting the most, frustrated when it doesn't seem to help at all.
"It still hurts," Darren states, rather than asks. He gives Chris a long look and Chris can't help the incompletely involuntary shiver that runs through his body at the intensity of his gaze.
"Yeah," Chris sighs at last, his voice small.
Darren nods and pulls a syringe out of the pocket in his scrub top. He injects the contents into a port in Chris' IV. "That should help. And just so you know, literally my only job right now is to make sure you're comfortable and not in any pain, okay? No need for the tough guy heroics."
"You think I'm trying to be a hero?" Chris manages, brain feeling increasingly cloudy as the medicine kicks in. "No, no, a wannabe superhero," he corrects. "Even worse."
Darren laughs long and hard at that. "Hey man, whatever you get up to on the weekends is your call, even if it involves wearing spandex, tights, and a cape. I don't judge."
"Excuse you, I would look damn good in spandex," Chris pouts.
"Oh, I'm sure you would," Darren banters back, giving Chris an appreciative once-over that has his face flushing hot. Or maybe that's just from the medicine, he wonders?
"Let's see," Darren says, stroking his chin as if in serious thought.
"See what?"
"Since you brought it up, I'm trying to decide which superhero I think you'd be in the Marvel universe," Darren ponders. "Your hair is very Captain America, but I feel like that's a little too obvious and predictable for you. You need something a bit more quirky."
"I'm sure my hair is a mess," Chris blushes. "I didn't bother with any products this morning. It's usually more...swoopy," he tries to explain, demonstrating with his hands.
"Swoopy, huh?" Darren grins. "That gives me an idea. I think maybe you'd be Hawkeye? He's got the black leather outfit and the bow and arrow, not to mention the sleeveless top to show off his guns without being too obvious." Darren looks at Chris and nods. "Yeah, I can totally see it."
"Hawkeye," Chris pretends to mull it over, though he's secretly preening. He's been making more of an effort to work out lately; after years of being mostly pudgy and baby faced, he takes pride in seeing the muscles in his biceps slowly developing. "Jeremy Renner plays him, right?"
"Yeah, in the Avengers movies."
"I guess I can see that," he finally agrees, trying to sound nonchalant. "Which superhero would you be then?" he asks Darren.
"Me? Probably the damsel in distress that needs to be rescued," Darren says with rueful laugh. "I don't exactly have the typical superhero's physique."
"That's not true," Chris shakes his head. "Maybe Bruce Banner? You've got the curls for it."
"I might have the hair, but I don't think a guy who barely stands 5'8' is going to be all that convincing as the man that grows into the unstoppable Incredible Hulk."
"Eh, it's all CGI these days, anyway," Chris waves off the concern. "They can always fix it in post-production."
"You're funny," Darren grins, eyes crinkling with amusement.
"I'm also drugged up," Chris adds, though he's not exactly sure why. He's having a little trouble following his own train of thought at the moment, making it all the more impressive that Darren seems to be keeping up.
"Those aren't mutually exclusive necessarily. Quite the opposite sometimes, in fact."
"You became a nurse just so you could be amused by poor, drugged up patients? Seems like a lot of effort for a laugh."
"No, I like to tell myself I had other reasons than that. You know, the standard noble shit, wanting to help people, blah blah blah," Darren rolls his eyes self-deprecatingly. "Chatting with drugged up patients is just a job perk."
"Oh, that's good, I guess. Helping people..." Chris is too tired to finish the sentence. He lets his body sink back into the pillows a bit more.
"It pays the bills," Darren shrugs. "What about you?"
"I'm not a nurse."
"I...gathered as much," Darren says, although not meanly. "What do you do?"
"I'm a teacher."
"Oh yeah?" Darren tilts his head to the side for a minute, studying Chris. "I guess I could see that, especially with the glasses on. What do you teach?"
"English and Creative Writing for high schoolers." Talking about school makes him wonder how the substitute is getting along in his absence. He hates that he was forced to leave his kids in a bind only two weeks before AP exams. Chris considers asking Darren to find his phone so he can check his email, just to make sure there weren't any last minute emergencies that need his attention. But he's tired and feeling floaty and the mattress beneath him is surprisingly comfortable for a hospital bed. Work can wait.
Chris rubs his cheek against the cool pillow a few times, trying to find the most comfortable position. Even with his eyes closed, he can feel Darren staring at him. He wonders if Darren had asked him a question that he'd missed. "Nap time," is all he manages to mumble, hoping it doesn't sound too rude.
"Okay," Darren whispers. Chris can feel him smoothing out the blankets around him.
"Sorry," Chris says, though even he's not exactly sure what he's apologizing for.
"Shh, it's okay. Sleep."
So Chris does.
Chris wakes to the sound of drumming. It's close enough that he can feel the faintest vibrations shaking the bed underneath him. He opens his eyes, watching Darren startle and quickly drop his hands from where they'd been tapping out a staccato beat against the rail of his hospital bed.
"Heyyyy, you're awake!" Darren covers, looking guilty.
"Were you just singing 'Uptown Funk?'" Chris asks in lieu of a response.
"No," Darren blushes. Chris doesn't believe him.
"Liar," Chris yawns.
"Okay, okay, you got me," Darren throws up his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry about that. How'd you sleep?"
"Not that well," Chris sighs. "Too many weird dreams. I feel like I need to sleep for a week straight but my brain doesn't seem to want to cooperate.
"Yuck, I know how frustrating that can be. Usually once you get up to the patient floor and into a room, there will be standard orders for some sort of sleeping pill like Ambien. Ever taken that before?"
"Yes, for a flight to Paris. It's heaven, I want to marry Ambien," Chris says, totally serious.
"Something tells me if it took politicians this long to approve gay marriage in New York, they probably aren't going legalize holy matrimony between a person and his medication anytime soon. I think you're out of luck there," Darren chuckles.
Chris can't help that his ears perk up when Darren mentions gay marriage. He hates to stereotype, but he's kinda hoping that Darren's interest in gay rights means that he also plays for his team. Are you gay, he thinks, tilting his head to the side as he gives Darren a once-over.
"Yeah, I am," Darren smirks.
"Wait wha-" Chris gapes, wondering how Darren read his mind. "Whoops, I didn't mean to say that out loud!" Chris can feel his face flaming hot with embarrassment.
"It's fine, I don't mind," Darren assures him.
"I swear I usually have more of a filter. Not a huge one necessarily, but I don't say absolutely every thought in my head out loud." Chris scrubs a hand over his face, wishing the earth would open up and swallow him whole.
"Hey, at least you have the excuse of being doped up on pain medicine. I have a terminal case of blurtitis even when I'm stone cold sober, so..."
"I could definitely see that," Chris is unsurprised.
"Hey now," Darren pretends to be hurt, giving Chris his best pout and puppy dog eyes.
"It's okay, I have blurtitis too. We're all in this together...or something." Chris waves his hand helplessly.
"Quoting High School Musical?" Darren looks shocked. "Nice." He gives Chris a thumbs up.
"Yes, just one of my many admirable qualities: the ability to quote Disney Channel original movies," Chris jokes. Although to be honest, he can't remember the last time someone had been this appreciative of him being himself, warts and all. He'd certainly never had anyone as cute as Darren seem to enjoy his quirkiness before.
"Hey, you joke, but that's number two on the list of qualities my dream guy should have. Right after 'gives great blow jobs.'"
Chris' jaw drops at the brazenness of the comment. "Wow," is all he manages.
Now it's Darren's turn to look humiliated. He drops his head to rest on his forearms, not able to even look at Chris. "I told you it's terminal. I have no filter. It gets me in trouble all the time," he moans.
"I bet it does," Chris laughs. For some reason, he feels for Darren, so he reaches out a hand, patting at his curls a little awkwardly. "There, there," he soothes dryly.
"Please don't tell my supervisor on me," Darren pleads. Chris isn't sure if he's kidding or not.
"As long as you're on your best behavior for the rest of the night, I guess I won't," Chris acquiesces, acting as if he's doing Darren a huge favor.
Darren's head snaps up. He's wide-eyed and Chris can see the two bright spots of color that have erupted on his cheeks. It just makes him look even cuter, he thinks.
"I wouldn't really tell on you," Chris eventually says. "You know I was kidding, right?"
"I wasn't sure..." Darren looks significantly chastened. "But I'll be good, I promise."
Oh, I bet you would be so good for me, Chris can't help but imagine. He stares off into space for a minute, just drifting and appreciating the very pretty mental pictures his mind creates.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Darren finally asks. Chris jerks and wonders if it was obvious what he was fantasizing about by the lustful look on his face.
"Just wondering if you had my phone?" Chris covers, figuring now's as good a time as any to check his emails. He's long since lost any awareness of time, since it seems like he's been here with Darren for hours.
"Uhh yeah, I think your friend brought it in earlier when she came to check on you. Hang on, I'll look," Darren offers, rummaging around in a plastic bag.
"Ashley?" Chris is confused. "She was here? I don't remember that at all."
"Yeah, it was when you first got brought into the recovery room. You were still sleeping off the anesthesia at that point," Darren explains.
"Oh," Chris acknowledges. "Where'd she go? Probably to get coffee and flirt with all the interns in the cafeteria," he grouses under his breath.
"Hey, don't be too hard on her," Darren corrects. "She was really sweet and very worried about you. She wanted to stay, but it's against the recovery room rules. We only let patients have family members in here for a couple of minutes."
"That's weird," Chris comments, because it is. "Why can't family be in here? They let you take care of patients, after all," he baits.
"Ouch, you wound me. But rules are rules. After surgery, patients need a lot of rest and sometimes family can get in the way of that. Besides, not everyone is as wide awake and up for conversation as you are after surgery. Usually my patients just snore and drool on their pillows, not to mention occasionally throw up on me," Darren adds with a wrinkle of his nose.
"Gross," Chris agrees. "So I guess that's why I'm your favorite patient ever? Because I do more than snore and barf on you?"
"That's one of the reasons." Darren gives Chris a long, loaded glance. Chris waits, expecting him to say more, but he never finishes the thought.
"So, did you find my phone?" Chris finally asks, wanting to say something to fill the silence.
"Oh, right!" Darren responds a little too brightly. "Yeah, here you go." He hands Chris his phone, fingers lingering on the back of the case as he studies it closely.
"Is that a Doctor Who thing?" he asks, gesturing towards the phone case.
"Hmm?" Chris asks, only half paying attention as he scrolls through his text messages, seeing numerous words of support from various family members, friends, and coworkers. "Oh yeah, it's a Tardis. Not so much a Doctor Who thing as the Doctor Who thing."
"Thought so," Darren chirps, looking pleased with himself.
"I assume you've seen the show before?" Chris asks when Darren doesn't elaborate.
"Well, I gave it a try, but I didn't really get into it. I don't know..."
"Seriously?" Chris looks up from the phone and gives Darren a glare, pushing his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose.
"I know, I know," Darren is chagrinned. "I thought I was going to love it too, but it just didn't really grab me. It was hard to take it seriously with how laughably bad the special effects were."
"What's the first episode you watched?" Chris is suspicious that Darren must have done it wrong, because it's hard to believe that anyone could watch Doctor Who without getting hooked.
"Uhh crap, I'm blanking on the name, but it was really old and in black and white."
"Oh, that explains it," Chris says knowingly. "You started with Old Who not New Who."
"There's a difference?" Darren asks.
"Yeah totally. The show began in the Sixties but then it went off the air for fifteen years. It was revived by the BBC and started up again in 2005. There's a huge difference in the quality, not to mention the acting and special effects. New Who is a lot more modern and easy to get into. Old Who can be fun too, once you understand the show and can appreciate the history of it, but it's definitely more of an acquired taste."
"I feel like I should be writing this down," Darren grins. "I totally went into the show blind. I didn't have a Doctor Who spirit guide like you to shepherd the way."
"That was your first mistake," Chris teases.
"Not meeting you sooner? Yeah, I'd have to agree," Darren beams.
Chris can't think of a time he's ever been so thoroughly complimented. He feels appreciated and taken care of in a way he's never experienced before, not even in his most serious and committed relationships. It's starting to take a lot of willpower to keep from saying aloud the thing he's been thinking all night, which is 'Jesus Darren, where have you been all my life.'
Somehow he manages to keep the thought to himself. He settles for flashing Darren his widest grin, not minding when the silence stretches out for over a minute. It feels comfortable and natural and Chris is starting to wonder if Darren might kiss him.
They are both brought crashing back to earth by a loud beeping noise. Chris jumps, temporarily rekindling the burn in his side. They both look to the source of the noise, which turns out to be Chris' IV pump. Right, hospital, you're in the hospital, you just had surgery, he has to remind himself, having become so wrapped up in his conversation with Darren that he'd honestly forgotten.
"Looks like your first dose of antibiotics is done," Darren announces, standing up to unhook the now empty IV bag from the stand.
"Is that good?" Chris asks, hand snaking under the blanket to rub at his stomach. He can feel several layers of bulky bandages through the thin cotton of his hospital gown. He winces at how sore he is, even with the lightest grazing touch.
Darren shrugs. "It's not really good or bad, just a thing that is."
"If you say so, Yoda," Chris rolls his eyes.
"Touché, I guess that did sound a little like something a douchebag Philosophy major would say," Darren laughs good-naturedly. "Although to be fair, I am kinda a douchebag."
"No, you're not." Chris is indignant because he's starting to really like Darren and he's not sure why Darren doesn't feel the same way about himself.
"I can be. But what can I say, you must bring out the best in me?" Darren tries to lighten the mood.
"You're a good flatterer. Is that a word?" Chris ponders aloud.
"It seems legit." Darren finishes hanging another IV bag and looks over at Chris, tracking the moment of his hand as he rubs at his stomach. He frowns. "Let me program this really quick and then I'll get you some more medicine, okay?"
"No, it's okay. I'm fine," Chris lies. His stomach is hurting, more than a little, but he's finally feeling clear-headed and he's in no rush to cloudy up his mind again. He's genuinely enjoying his conversation with Darren and for now, it's distraction enough from the pain.
Darren looks torn. He turns back to the IV pump, programming the drip rate and making sure it's flowing appropriately. Then he sits down on the stool next to Chris' bed. He looks him over carefully and then sighs, reaching for his pocket.
"I wouldn't be doing my job properly if I let you be miserable," is all Darren says as he pulls out a syringe.
Chris knows it's silly to feel disappointed, but he still does. "Okay," he speaks softly, wondering if he sounds as pathetic as he feels. The air feels heavy and thick between them and Chris can't find any words to express what he wants or how he's feeling.
It's quiet enough that Chris can hear the steady tick of the clock on the opposite wall. He stares at it, numbers blurring together when a few frustrated tears cloud his vision. He can feel Darren watching him closely so he bites the inside of his lip to keep the tears from falling.
"Don't be sad," Darren whispers.
"I'm not," he replies, feeling like a petulant child.
"Chris," Darren's voice is hushed. Chris can't look at him or he knows he'll start crying.
"I'm just tired," is the excuse he settles on, letting his eyes slide closed. He can feel the medicine trying to tug him under and it would be so easy to give into the siren call of sleep. The only problem is that's not what he wants at all.
"Of course." Darren sounds a little hurt. "Do you want to sleep?"
"No," Chris answers truthfully. "I don't know... My body wants to sleep, but my brain doesn't, if that makes sense?" Chris cracks open one eye so he can see Darren's reaction. He looks relieved.
"It makes perfect sense," Darren gives him a tentative smile. Chris feels the tightness in his chest abate ever so slightly.
"I'm putting you in charge of new conversation topics." Chris rolls onto his side a little so he can see Darren better.
"Uh oh, you might end up regretting that decision," Darren chides, rubbing his hands together in a pretty decent impression of an evil genius. "Where to begin?" he deliberates.
"Anywhere you want. The world is your oyster," Chris yawns.
"Well, we didn't get to finish our conversation from earlier. Since I don't know how much longer I'll have the pleasure of your company..."
"Yeah, I've been here forever, haven't I?" Chris interrupts. "Not that I'm complaining," he adds, hoping he didn't offend. "Just wasn't sure why?"
"No, it hasn't been forever," Darren shakes his head with fondness. "The floor you're being admitted to is pretty full. My guess is that they're waiting to discharge a patient before they have a room available for you. Must be my lucky night."
Chris is tempted to make a joke but he can tell Darren means what he's saying, so he doesn't. "What time is it?" he asks, too tired to make the effort to read the clock.
"8:35. So you've been here for two and a half hours, roughly."
Chris could swear it had been longer. Maybe time dilation is a side effect of pain medication? He's tempted to think about that a little longer, but the complexities of time travel hurt his head even when he's fully conscious and he's definitely not all there at the moment.
"I interrupted you, didn't I?" Chris asks, because Darren's not talking and he wants him to be.
"I guess so. I don't mind though," Darren leans in a little and drapes his arms over the railing on the bed. His fingers wind up just barely grazing Chris' upper arm. Chris wonders if it's intentional, grateful when Darren makes no attempt to move his hand. After a few seconds, Darren's fingers start skating up and down his arm with feather light strokes, drawing lazy patterns into his skin. Chris' breathing hitches in his chest involuntarily and he tries to cover it by clearing his throat. He grimaces a little at how dry and scratchy it feels.
"You all right?" Darren asks, fingers pausing momentarily.
"My throat's just sore. Am I allowed to have water?" he asks.
"That's from the tube they put down your throat during the surgery. And I'm not supposed to give you water just yet, but I can get you some ice chips, if you want?"
Chris nods eagerly because ice sounds even more soothing than water. He waits impatiently while Darren crosses the room and retrieves a small styrofoam cup which he quickly fills with ice. "Here you go, good sir," he says in his best phony French accent as he presents Chris with the cup and a spoon, giving a dramatic bow after Chris takes it from him.
Chris can't stifle the almost pornographic moan that escapes as he swallows the first mouthful of ice. It's just so cool and refreshing and after nearly twenty-four hours of not being able to eat or drink anything, it's honestly the best thing ever.
Chris catches the dark, hungry look Darren gives him. He quickly tries to rearrange his face into a more neutral expression, but Chris can tell he's a little embarrassed at being caught out by the way the tops of his ears redden. "Should I leave you two alone?" Darren jokes, gesturing to the cup of ice.
"Maybe," Chris banters back, quirking up an eyebrow. He eats another few spoonfuls of ice and then hands the cup to Darren because somehow he's tired from the effort it took to feed himself.
"So..." Darren says, smiling at him.
"So..." Chris echoes back. He watches Darren fiddling with the bedrail, admiring the way his strong, calloused fingers skate over the cool metal. Chris can still feel the phantom traces of Darren's warmth on his skin. He wishes that Darren would touch him again.
"While I have you here..." Darren begins.
"Yeah?" Chris is hopeful he might ask for his number or better yet kiss him.
"...I need to get directions on the proper way to watch Doctor Who since it sounds like I did it wrong last time." Chris tries not to look as his disappointed as he feels.
"You did it so wrong," he pretends to scold him. "Honestly, you're hopeless without me."
Darren sighs dramatically. "So true." At first I was afraid, I was petrified. Thinking I could never live without you by my side, he begins singing suddenly, causing Chris to snort with laughter.
"You're so ridiculous." Chris' face is starting to hurt from smiling so much.
"Yep, that's me." Before Chris knows what's happening, Darren reaches out, swiping his thumb over Chris' cheekbone. "Eyelash," he explains, holding out his finger so Chris can see the tiny hair stuck to it. "Make a wish," he whispers.
Chris closes his eyes for a second, knowing exactly what he's wishing for. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, he repeats in his head, like a litany. He feels a gust of warm air on his face and opens his eyes to see Darren blowing the eyelash off his hand.
"What did you wish for?" Darren asks and his voice is just a tiny bit too breathy to come off as casual.
"If I tell you, it won't come true," he responds. It didn't come true, he inwardly pouts. Not yet anyway.
"Fair enough." Darren's smile is impossibly bright in the dim fluorescent light of the room. His hand hovers on the rail of the bed for a minute and Chris can tell he's working up the courage to touch him again. He nods ever so slightly, hoping Darren will take it for the permission that it is.
Darren's fingers land on Chris' pillow and Chris has just a second to feel crestfallen, assuming Darren is going to fluff his pillows instead of touching him. But then Darren's fingers are skating through his hair and fuck, if that isn't his kryptonite. He leans into the touch shamelessly, thinking about how his cat always does the same thing when he pets him. Chris wonders idly how Darren would react if he started purring. He settles for making a happy contented noise instead, rubbing his cheek against the pillow as he sinks down in the bed, his muscles going lax. Even with his eyes closed, he swears he can feel Darren smiling at him.
"Okay, you ready to be my Doctor Who spirit guide for a few minutes now?" Darren asks.
"Sure," Chris answers, his words coming out slurred. He'd happily spend the next three hours talking to Darren about the sociopolitical tensions between North and South Korea as long as Darren doesn't stop touching him.
"Okay, so I need to watch New Who, instead of Old Who, whatever that means," Darren begins. "How do I tell the difference on Netflix? Are they labeled separately or...?"
"Maybe?" Chris hedges because he honestly can't remember. "Really, you just need to know the name of the right episode to start with. That should be easy enough to find on Netflix."
"Okay, what episode am I starting with then?" Darren's fingers have traveled their way down to the base of Chris' neck and are slowly working out the knots in the muscle from hours of lying flat on his back. It feels so good that his whole body is tingling and Chris is left wondering if Darren has special ninja nurse skills or if he's just a little magical.
It takes Chris a while to work out that it's quiet because it's his turn to talk again. Between the medications and Darren's skilled hands, it's hard not to drift. "Oh, um..." he takes a second to think, trying to remember what they were talking about. Right, Doctor Who, first episode, he finally remembers. He forces his eyes open for a second, stomach flipping pleasantly at the fond and bemused look Darren is giving him.
"There are two options," he starts to explain. He lets his eyes slide shut again because seeing Darren grinning down at him while he rubs his neck and plays with his hair is just on this side of overwhelming. It's easier to keep from getting distracted without the visual. "So you can either start from the beginning of the Ninth Doctor's season. That episode is called 'Rose.'"
"Okay," Darren nods. "What's the second option?"
"You can do what I did and start with 'The Eleventh Hour,' which is the first episode of the Eleventh Doctor's season. If you do that, you'll have to go back and watch the seasons with the Ninth and Tenth doctors later on. I just happen to think 'The Eleventh Hour' is about as perfect an introduction to the whole series as you can possibly get. But I guess I'm biased because Eleven is my doctor."
"Your doctor," Darren echoes, with a slight edge of possessiveness that's ridiculous but also kind of hot.
"You're a nurse, not a doctor," Chris mumbles. "Don't be jealous." He wonders if Darren will understand what he means.
Darren chuckles. He lets his fingers glide up to the crown of Chris' head and strokes at baby fine hairs along his temple. Chris can hear Darren's slightly ragged breathing, the way it sometimes stutters and stops for a second when his fingers find a knot in his hair and he has to tug a little bit. It's soothing and oddly intimate and Chris feels like he's falling into something big.
"I should probably write those episode names down," Darren murmurs. "Otherwise I know I'm going to get home and forget what I'm supposed to watch." He reluctantly pulls one of his hands away from Chris, reaching into the pocket of his scrub pants and grabbing his phone. He unlocks it and opens the notes application. "Okay, what were those episode names again?" he asks. The only reply he gets is silence.
"Chris?" Darren calls softly, looking over at him. Chris' eyes are closed and his mouth is slightly parted. Darren trails his fingers over his forehead, then down to cup his cheek. "Chris?" he tries one more time. But Chris just snores softly.
When Chris wakes up again, it's dark. "Darren?" he calls out. His stomach is aching and he's got a killer headache.
"Are you awake, sweetie?" he hears someone ask him. He's disappointed that it's not Darren.
"Ash?" he frowns, now thoroughly disoriented.
"Yeah, it's me. Hang on," Chris can't really see her in the darkness but after a few seconds of rustling, a lamp near his bed clicks on. He winces at the brightness but once his vision clears, he realizes he's in a different room. Ashley's propped up on one elbow on a pull-out couch, bundled in several of the thin cotton hospital blankets that Chris knows do practically nothing to ward off the chilly air. He feels guilty for obviously having woken her up.
"What time is it?" he asks, rubbing at his throbbing temples. The last thing he can remember is being in the recovery room with Darren. He was flirting with him, touching him, making him feel things he hadn't felt in ages. He shakes his head a little. The memory is so unbelievable that he wonders if it was some sort of crazy fever dream or drug-induced hallucination. It had felt so real though. Chris can't be sure.
Ashley glances down at her phone. "11:15," she answers.
"Oh," Chris says. "I told you didn't have to stay overnight, Ash."
"I know, but I also told you I was going to. Someone's got to make sure you start taking better care of yourself, after all," she gently scolds. "It's no big deal. This couch is surprisingly comfortable. Not quite as cozy as the one in our living room but close."
"That's good," Chris says absent-mindedly. He can't seem to tear his thoughts away from Darren and the idea that if he was real, there's a very good chance he'll never see him again. The thought is almost too painful to bear.
"How are you feeling, hon?" Ashley asks, taking in his scowl and the way he's splinting his arm against his right side.
"Not great," Chris sighs. For more than one reason, he mentally adds.
"You've got a pain pump there," she gestures to the small white button atop a long piece of tubing that sits next to him on the bed. "All you have to do is push the button."
"Huh, that's interesting," Chris says as he picks it up and pushes it. He still finds himself missing having someone at his bedside taking care of him. It's not something he lets many people do, but it had felt so good to surrender to being taken care of for a change.
"What's wrong?" Ashley asks, giving his arm a squeeze. Chris feels like he might cry if he looks at her so he doesn't.
"When you came into the recovery room earlier, was my nurse in there?" he inquires rather than trying to explain what he's feeling.
"Yeah, he was. Why?"
"What did he look like?" Chris prods, needing to be sure. His mind immediately conjures up a mental image of Darren's curls, the hint of stubble, his wide hazel eyes, and his easy grin.
"Young, cute, curly brown hair? I don't know... I was more focused on you than him at the time."Ashley shrugs. "Why do you ask?"
"Because he was really nice to me and I'd like to see him again." Chris laments. "I just have no idea how that's going to happen because I don't even know his last name."
Ashley's gaze softens and she pats his arm. "I've just been so lonely lately..." he sniffles.
"I know, I know," she soothes.
"It feels like all I ever do is work, sleep, and write. I just...want more than that. I want to have someone who will always be there for me when I need him," Chris swipes at the tears that are beginning to fall onto his cheeks.
"You know I'll always be here for you, right?" Ashley reminds him.
'Yeah, I do. It's just..."
"...not the same," she finishes. "I know." She stands and pulls him in for a hug.
Chris is the first to pull away. His stomach is throbbing from the simple motion of sitting upright so he lets his body fall back against the pillows, groaning a little. He grabs the button and pushes it again, hoping the medicine will start to kick in soon. "I want to go home," he chokes out.
"And you will soon. Your surgeon said he thought he'd be able to release you tomorrow afternoon, assuming everything continues to go well." Chris appreciates the effort Ashley's making but he's still sullen and frustrated, because none of this is what he wants.
Ashley decides to try a different tactic. "You know, if this guy is every bit as great as you say he is, chances are he's freaking out right now too, because he's trying to work out how to find you," she encourages.
"You think so?" Chris clings desperately to the idea, needing something, anything, that can make him feel optimistic about the likelihood of any future interaction.
"Oh, I'm sure. I don't think you realize what a catch you are, Chris." Ashley gives him an encouraging smile that quickly turns into a yawn. Chris feels guilty again for having woken her up.
"You should go back to sleep," he tells her.
"So should you, honey. You need your rest."
"I will soon," he promises. "Do you know where my phone is?"
Ashley nods, silently gesturing towards the tray table off to the left side of Chris' bed. "Thanks," he says. "For everything, seriously."
"Anytime." She leans over to turn off the lamp and then stretches out on the pull-out couch with her back to Chris.
Chris picks up his phone. He looks at the Tardis case on his phone and remembers the conversation he and Darren had earlier about it. His body aches at how much he wishes he could be back there now. He's almost in tears again by the time he notices the corner of a bright blue post-it note sticking out of one of the slots in the back of his phone case reserved for his credit cards and driver's license.
Frowning a little, he carefully tugs out the piece of tightly folded paper. He smoothes it out in his palm, angling his phone screen until there's enough light to read the words scrawled messily across the paper.
Chris,
This is totally breaking all the rules (not that I've ever been very good at following the rules as I'm sure you can tell, haha) but I had such a great time getting to know you tonight and I definitely want to see you again. My phone number is on the back of this paper. I hope you don't think it's too presumptuous of me to give it to you or to let you know how much I really hope that you'll use it to text or call me. Whatever you decide, I'll respect your decision. You don't even have to let me down gently. If you don't contact me, I'll just assume you weren't feeling a connection and there'll be no hard feelings.
Darren
Chris is grinning so widely he feels like his face might split into two by the time he gets to the last word. He flips the post-it note over and sure enough, scribbled there in blue ink is Darren's phone number. There's something else written underneath the phone number but the ink is a little smudged so it's hard to read.
Chris squints and holds the piece of paper a little closer to his face. Finally he's able to make out the words.
P.S. You're really cute when you're sleeping.
P.P.S. Not that I'm sitting here watching you sleep right now. Because that would be creepy, obviously.
Chris strokes his fingers over the paper reverently. His brain is already screaming for him to text Darren, but he's not sure if it would be too desperate or forward, especially given the late hour.
In the end, Chris' boredom and loneliness outweighs any fear of awkwardness or rejection. His fingers hover over the keys to his phone, itching to make a connection with Darren. He decides on simplicity.
Chris (11:18 pm): Hi.
Chris (11:19 pm): (This is Chris, by the way)
Chris is delighted when he sees the typing bubble icon appear in his iMessage less than a minute later.
Darren (11: 20): Hello there, sleepyhead!
Chris (11:21 pm): Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you earlier. I was just so exhausted.
Darren (11:23 pm): It's okay :) No need to apologize.
Darren (11:25 pm): I'm really happy to hear from you...
Darren (11:26 pm): Especially so soon.
Chris (11:28 pm): I'm really glad you slipped me your number (even if it is against the rules).
Chris (11:29 pm): Are you still at work right now?
Darren (11:30 pm): No, I just got home from my shift.
Chris is more than a little disappointed by that news. He wants to be able to see Darren again and it seems as though Darren no longer being in the same building cuts down on that likelihood significantly.
Darren (11:30 pm): I was actually thinking about watching that episode of Doctor Who you recommended before I go to bed.
Chris (11:31 pm): Oh yeah? The Eleventh Hour?
Darren (11:33 pm): Yep, that's the one.
Chris deliberates for a minute before sending his next message, not wanting to come across as too needy too soon. He reads back over the message several times, confirming that there are no major spelling or grammatical errors before finally pushing send.
Chris (11:34 pm): Do you want to maybe watch the episode together? Remotely, I mean. I've got my iPad here so I can pull it up on Netflix. That way I get to see your reactions to watching Doctor Who the right way.
Darren (11:35 pm): Fuck yes, we should totally do that. I'm in.
It takes a few more texts to coordinate them both starting the episode at roughly the same time. Chris is quickly lost in the familiar story, reveling at the opportunity to see the show through Darren's eyes.
Darren (11:39 pm): That opening scene with his time machine flying over Big Ben was so cool.
Chris (11:41 pm): Tardis, it's called a Tardis. Bless your clueless heart.
Darren (11:43 pm): You can't see me but I'm totally sticking my tongue out at you right now.
Chris (11:44 pm): And I just flipped you off in response. They really should make a middle finger emoji.
Darren (11:48 pm): AGREED. I'd use the fuck out of that.
Darren (11:52 pm): Aww, this little girl is so cute. She's actually praying to Santa.
Darren (12:01 am): This new guy has some pretty awesome slapstick comedy skills. I may have rewound the part where he walks into the tree more than once.
Darren (12:02 am): You know what he could really use though?
Chris (12:04 am): Eyebrows?
Darren (12:05 am): It's like you read my mind ;)
Darren (12:06 am): ...was there some sort of accident with a BBQ grill that led to him being eyebrowless or?
Chris (12:07 am): No, I think he was just born that way.
Chris (12:08 am): Pay attention. One of the best parts is coming up.
Darren (12:10 am): Yes sir!
Darren (12:15 am): Damn, how long has he been gone?
Darren (12:17 am): Poor kid, waiting all night for her imaginary friend to come back :(
Darren (12:19 am): I'm not crying.
Darren (12:26 am): Not really.
Darren (12:32 am): Okay, maybe a little...
Darren (12:40 am): Chris? Still with me?
Darren (12:53 am): I'm going to assume you fell asleep, which is good because you need to rest. Even if that means I'm left here to cry over Doctor Who all by myself. Sweet dreams 3
Chris startles awake a little after 5 am. "Sorry sweetheart," the nurse whispers. "I was trying to let you sleep, I just have to draw some blood really quickly for your lab work. It's the last thing the doctor ordered before you get released today."
"That's okay," Chris yawns, offering her his hand so she can get to work on finding a vein. He glances down and sees his iPad sandwiched between his arm and the bed rail. Shit, he thinks when he remembers the last thing he'd been doing the night before. He'd totally fallen asleep on Darren. Again.
He sleepily unlocks his iPad, closing out the Netflix app before shutting the case and placing it on the tray table next to his bed where he knows it won't get knocked to the floor. Then he blindly gropes around with his free hand until he finds his phone lying on his chest. He can't help but grin as he scrolls through his unread text messages, seeing Darren get progressively more emotional as the episode progressed. But it's the last text message that has his heart beating wildly.
Darren (1:38 am): This might be kinda forward so no pressure, but I have an early morning shift tomorrow at the hospital. I figured since you're going to get released at some point tomorrow, maybe we could grab breakfast together before you go home and I go up to the surgical floor to start my shift? Assuming you are feeling up to it, of course. Just let me know.
Chris reads the text message over several times, stomach flipping with a combination of excitement and nerves. There's a vain part of him that wants to decline the invitation. Not because he doesn't want to see Darren (because he desperately does) but because he's sure he'll look like a mess. Chris isn't allowed to shower for another week because he can't get his stitches wet and the only clothes he brought to wear home from the hospital are faded sweatpants and a well-worn Chewbacca t-shirt. It's a long way off from his typical pre-date ritual of a long hot shower, hair wax, his blow dryer, and his favorite skinny jeans. Still, Darren's already seem him at his worst and he seemed to enjoy the view just fine. There's just something about Darren that puts him instantly at ease, that cuts through all the usual anxiety and clutter in his head. It's refreshing.
Chris begins typing a response, smiling as he pictures Darren reading it when he wakes up.
Chris (5:18 am): As long as you're buying, I'm in. The food is negotiable (seriously you can't tell me you actually find this hospital's food edible?) but the coffee is not. I'm going to need a giant trough of it.
Chris (5:19 am): I'm in room 2807.
He types out one more text, fingers hovering over send for a long minute before he finally hits the button.
Chris (5:25 am): I'm looking forward to seeing you again. It's a date.