Emergency Contact
by: raileht
Summary: This is new for her, considering she didn't even know her name was listed somewhere.
Disclaimer: The ones you don't know are mine, the ones you do aren't.
Rating: T, to be safe
Note: Written and posted at the Christine Baranski Community on October 27, 2011
Life is interesting.
And that's okay because it beats monotony straight out of the ballpark.
But sometimes, life can get interesting in a way that she's left wondering, what just happened? And in her mind, in situations like this, she pictures herself in the middle of a crossroad, her hair looking like a raccoon ran all around it and maybe a broken heel or two. Like a disaster struck while she slept through it and woke up into a pile of debris.
If she was her friend Bethany's, she would just say it's complete clusterfuck.
But she doesn't particularly care for that word. Or anything close to that word—unless, of course, if she's drunk and has got that sailor's mouth on full blast that her friend loves so much.
And besides, what she was facing at the moment that was making her life interesting wasn't as bad as she would imagine it to be. Sure it was unexpected, surprising and downright confusing, but she can handle it. Sort of. She was just thrown for a loop, is all.
Because as far as she knows, she's only ever been one person's Emergency Contact and that was her brother and they haven't been geographically close enough to each other to list her as that now. She's only got his Power of Attorney and it is likely his Emergency Contact for immediate purposes would either be whoever was his current wife—she loses count, she really does honestly—or maybe his trusty assistant.
Either way, this is new for her, considering Diane Lockhart didn't even know her name was listed somewhere.
It's not ugly.
Actually, it was a lot, lot less than she had originally imagined, which was a relief, considering.
Diane has seen her fair share of car accidents and as far as this one went, it was tame. Thankfully, she has not tried the experience out personally and that's enough to tempt her to go back to her Catholic school girl days and make a sign of the cross—although honestly sometimes she forgets what went first in the order, left or right?—and say a thank you.
Her heels still clicked against the linoleum tiles and she glided through the halls with ease even though a part of her brain told her this was the wrong day to add four inches to her already good height. Diane had been there before, for various reasons and knew her way around well enough but the problem was, she didn't know where she was supposed to go. The Emergency Room seemed like a good start so she went there. Why she didn't ask for information through an attendant is beyond her but she was willing to chalk that up to some kind of malfunction in her mind after being shocked into leaving her office in the middle of the day like this.
Big, white, noisy room with rods and curtains and a lot of people in white—she pretended not to see the large biker dude in a corner, covered in tattoos and chains, maybe Hepatitis too, drenched in blood and with a look on his face that says he's about to start wailing like a little girl as a comparatively tiny nurse sutured his arm. She has one intended and she sure hoped to God that she was not in any way about to be connected with might-wail-like-a-little-girl biker. Diane wasn't a snob, but she liked to keep out of certain circles if she could.
She really is a lot meaner in her head and this obviously meant she had long ago forgotten what Sister Mary Clarence taught them in school. Words and deeds were not the only sins, thoughts counted too and if the old ruler-smacker was right then Diane was pretty sure she's in big trouble.
A nurse caught her attention, small—why were all the nurses here short?—and frazzled but with a sympathetic face. She shuddered to think how many times she's had to use that face on people so she pushed that thought away and asked the question she should have asked before.
It wasn't hard for her to realize that as it turned out she was in the right place. Seven curtains down and luckily, this patient wasn't in the corner street pileup that little biker girl had caused. She decided she didn't feel as bad about making fun of the large man now, knowing what she knew and she headed off to lucky seven.
White curtains and she could hear something though she wasn't too sure if it was from the room itself or from the person behind the them. She took a deep breath—she knew the accident wasn't too bad but she also knows what horrors could come from such event—and then swiftly pulled the curtain aside to reveal what had to be the most pathetic scene she has come across in a long time.
"Hey."
It did not help that it was Kurt McVeigh, a very banged up Kurt McVeigh at that, was sitting on the bed, looking like a kicked puppy.
"Hi."
She decided that was as good a place as any to start.
Something was not right.
And there was something to be said about mixing independence and a lapse in judgment because Diane was sure she just screwed herself. What was going on with her mind when she sent that orderly away? That was monumentally stupid, she decided now as she struggled with the seatbelt.
"I'm okay," Diane heard him mumble and once again, the thought that something was definitely not right occurred to her again. He was lucid when she came in and even managed a cute shy smile when he explained why she'd been summoned—her word, not his.
"You're not," she huffed, making one last tug of the belt before finally getting it all the way over his chest. She had bitten into her bottom lip raw by the time she clipped it in place, letting out a loud puff of breath before sitting back in her seat and staring at the man next to her. "But you will be."
"Mm'sorry for calling you..." Kurt mumbled again and it's not the first time he had said that to her. That was one of the first things he went with when she ripped the curtain open. "No one un Chicagooo...had to call sumone."
"It's okay," she said, shaking her head slightly before locking all the doors. The last thing she needed was some highway drama of being the idiot driver who dropped her injured passenger off the freeway because she didn't lock the doors.
"Y'take good care uf mee," he mumbled again and this time, his head lolled to the side, as if to face her, but his eyelids were obviously heavy and she doubted he could even see a thing. What the hell was wrong with him?
"Do I?" she said absently as she started the engine then drove away from the front of the hospital.
"Yep," he said and she took a glance at him and saw a goofy smile on his face.
Kurt was still wearing his shirt and there were drops of dried blood on his shoulder and collar. She would have to take care of that too, preferably burn the shirt. She didn't like thinking about seeing it again and being reminded of this. Sure they hadn't seen each other in a while and she had no immediate plans of seeing him again after—she was just being a good friend, nothing else—but the idea of seeing the shirt, even by accident someday again, was unsettling for her. She would buy him a new one and just say the other was too damaged. If he got mad about it then that was his problem.
His jeans were relatively intact but it was unfortunate that she couldn't say the same about his Ford F150 truck. It wasn't totaled, but nearly so since his truck had been basically pushed into a guardrail. He was lucky all he got was a bump, a few cuts and burns from both his seatbelt and airbag. Diane knew he would have to get a new one, even though he loved that thing.
Glancing at him again, she realized he looked like he came from a small warzone. Or a bad barfight—were there any good bar fights?—but she didn't mind, as long as he was in one piece. Not that she cared a lot.
"What are you doing here?" Diane asked, curious though she covered this by chalking it off to wanting to keep him talking. You know, to make sure he wasn't going into a coma.
"Business...work..." he mumbled then snorted, wincing as he did so since the bag most likely almost broke his nose. "I'ven't seen yoo in so long...thought I'd come."
"Really?" she asked dubiously.
"Mhm..." Kurt dragged the word out uncharacteristically until it was a hum then let out a sigh, "You smell nice."
She frowned a little, glancing at him while keeping both hands on the wheel. He'd already been in one crash already, another would be pushing it.
"Actuall-ee," he grunted, his eyes still closed, "You smell more than nice...lovely. Don' use tha' word much but thas what I think...love-leeee."
"Well, thank you," she said, nodding a little. She better smell lovely, considering how much a bottle of Chanel cost which she can afford just fine, thank you, but she liked to be appreciated. Even by him.
Actually, especially by him but no one has to know that.
Kurt lifted his head suddenly, bleary eyes looking around then turned towards her, "You...wha...when did you get here?" Then he grumbled, "Are you moving? Or am I standing...? Oh! Flying!"
She smirked, wondering if this was the stoned version of her former lover, "Relax. Just sit back."
"Is this Wonderland?" he asked, leaning forward in his seat as he squinted at the windshield, "There's a jabberwocky here."
Diane couldn't help the smile that graced her face, fairly amused by what was unfolding, "And what would you know about jabberwockies?"
"They're big, scary," he turned to her with a goofy grin, "Are you Alice?"
"Yes," she nodded, feigning seriousness. "I'm Alice and we just went down the rabbit hole. Hold on."
"You're much older," Kurt pointed out, "But I like it."
"Thanks," she shook her head.
"Where are we going?"
Diane tested the waters, just to see what he knew, "To the Emerald Isle."
He laughed, "That's from Oz...my niece would have punished you for that. Sh'loves story time."
"That's sweet," she chuckled, "I'm impressed."
"Yep, she'd drop a house on you," Kurt chuckled, "Are we there yet, Alice?"
"Soon, just relax," she said and without meaning to, she sounded soothing. "You'll be fine."
"Am fine," he grunted, letting his head loll for a moment before sitting upright again, straightening his spine before slouching again, "Mm fine when I'm with you."
Diane didn't know what to make of that. Talking about Wonderland was preferable, she decided then.
"And you're not Alice."
"Who am I?"
"Diane...Diane...Diane..." he mumbled, grinning stupidly, "And you smell pretty."
She glanced next to him, spotting something in the front pocket of his shirt and fished it out while keeping a firm hand on the wheel. His hand made a grab for hers, but it seemed his body thought it was in molasses or something because it moved in slow motion, only reaching his pocket after she'd already taken out her new find.
Reading the label, she let out a curse and tossed the orange bottle into her purse, "Kurt?"
"Yes, Miss Lockhart?"
"Did you take some of these pretty pills before we left the hospital?"
"They're not pretty like you," he grinned. "But yep... two. Happy me, happy you, happy us...happy."
Diane nodded, "Good...god. What the hell were they thinking handing you Percocet?"
"T'stop the hurt."
She frowned, "How many did you take?"
"Two...they wouldn't work. Thought they mighta been broken..."
"Uhuh," she shook her head, reaching for her phone and let voice command know who she wanted to contact, "Dr. Bess Richards." If she had to go back to the damned hospital, she was going to bring hell down on them.
"I had a cow named Bess," he mumbled from beside her.
"Yeah, well, don't let this one hear you call her a cow," she muttered, "She knows how to remove certain male appendages for the sake of science."
"Bess was nice."
"Hello, Bee? It's me...yeah, I was wondering..." she glanced next to her, "Hypothetically, if a car accident victim downed two Percocet...regular dosage...yes, he was given something for the pain...no, nothing like that...I don't know how it happened either...yes, at the hospital...I don't know for sure, but about, maybe, four or five hours ago? Yeah...really? Are you sure?...no, not for a case...no overdose...keep him up?...of course, thanks...yes, thank you. Dinner sounds great. I'll phone you."
She hung up, giving a scowl at her passenger before concentrating on her driving again.
"Will y'have dinner with me again?"
She shook her head, "Not while you're high, Kurt."
"Uh-uh," he shook his head, frowning. "Mm not."
"Right," she shook her head again, "If you live through this—there's a possibility you might overdose, you know—we'll see. Right now, we have to get you to bed."
He gave her a goofy grin and reached towards her with his molasses-ridden hand, again, only to stop short of actually touching her as if there was a barrier or he didn't have enough arms to reach her, "That sounds like fuuuun, Miss Lockhart."
She batted him away, "Stop it."
"Dinner with me... please?"
"We'll see."
"You complete me."
"And you almost made me crash the car with that," she replied sarcastically, shooting the drunken fool a look before letting her eyes go back to the road. "What the hell, Top Gun?"
Kurt made a raspberry sound then laughed again, his hand flying towards the window next to him before letting it fall uselessly against his lap. He sighed, "I love you."
"Didn't your Mama ever teach you not to play with people, Kurt?" she asked, taking the turn towards her street and breathed a thank you for the empty space right in front of her brownstone. It seemed her luck was turning, thank goodness.
"She did," he hummed, "But she also taught me to tell the truth...an' I told you the truth."
"Wait until you're sober, Kurt," she mumbled just as she killed the engine.
"I'm trapped! I'm stuck! I'm trapped!"
She rounded her car, rolling her eyes as she listened to the grown man hollering in her car. Diane glanced around before opening the door, reaching in to clamp her hand over his mouth and leaned in to look him in the eye. He seemed less high now, his eyes less glassy and his pupils not quite as dilated. She was seriously thinking about suing the hospital or, at least, give them a good scare.
"You're not stuck," she said simply as if talking to an errant child, which she practically was anyway, "And if you keep quiet and let me help you, I will let you out. Deal?"
He nodded slowly and when she removed her hand, he was smiling goofy again, "H'llo."
"I need you to work with me," she grumbled, reaching on his other side to unbuckle his seat belt and he squirmed when she got closer, leaning close enough until his nose and mouth were on the side of her neck, nearest to her pulse point through her hair.
"Can work with you..." he mumbled against her skin, his breath hot and his lips warm and moist and that was enough to have her swallowing her irritation, "B'cause the last time we worked not-together...it ended bad. Didn't like that. Wanna work with you."
"Your arm around my waist, come on," she all but grunted as they both moved and with a few more twists, he was out, leaning against her though he was sober enough to try and take some of his own weight off her as well.
"This is nice," he mumbled as she closed the door behind them and activated the locks and alarm.
"Sure," she grumbled sarcastically as she steered them both towards the steps of her brownstone. The goddamned steps. She's never hated them more in her life.
"I like you," he said quietly as they moved, probably looking stupid as hell as they staggered up each step, him clutching her while she kept her balance so as to not to break her eight-hundred dollar Louboutins and send them both crashing back to the sidewalk. "Why don't y'like me?"
"We'll talk about that later."
"Nooo..." he grumbled, hugging her closer to his side, "Talk now...I was scared."
"Of what?" she grunted as they took the last two steps up and she shifted her grip on him a little tighter when he felt as if he was slipping under her hold. She wasn't the best equipped to carry a fully grown, drugged up man, it seemed.
"Just scared," he shrugged, which was hard to do plastered next to her, but he seemed to work through it fine, "Truck...rail...dead. Scared...so I called you."
"We'll talk about this when..." she sighed and reached forward, doing something she'd never done before: ring her own doorbell to get into her home, "You're sane. Sober."
"I like you," he said again as she leaned him against a corner wall, "But you don't like me...I like you, Diane...a lot...you're pretty, you're smart...you kick my butt...you have sad eyes but you can be happy sometimes too. And I wanna do that...I wann' make you happy."
The doors of her home finally opened and her housekeeper, Martha, looked surprised to find her usually immaculate boss practically in a disarray with an obviously unwell man leaning in a corner with her. But of course, being an employee of Diane Lockhart, Martha knew all too well about being discreet and not asking questions. Instead, she offered her assistance and stood where she was when the younger woman told her to wait. She nodded, watching curiously as her boss leaned towards the strange man who wouldn't stop watching her with sleepy—or was it high?—eyes.
Diane pulled his arm over her shoulder, crossing her own across his stomach to latch onto to his waist and let the other one move behind his back. She glanced at Martha, nodding at the woman to open the door wider.
"Come on," she said, jerking him a littler and he moved. They both hobbled their way into her home, bypassing Martha who immediately closed the door behind them.
"Where..." she looked around, as if it was the first time she was entering her own home then sighed, "The couch...it's closer. He's heavy."
Martha nodded and was finally able to help as well, taking the man's other side when he was looking for something to grab on to. Diane gave her a grunt of thanks and all three of them moved towards the couch.
Kurt decided this was a good time to speak again.
"I take it back," he said, straightening a little as he tried to carry his own weight and both women felt the burden lift a little, "You're not pretty."
Martha, for all her discreetness, could not help her eyes darting to her employer who all but ignored the comment and instead continued with the task.
"You're beautiful," he went on, smiling a little, "Beautiful but stubborn...you're stubborn, a pain and set in your ways. But I want to talk to you... all the time. I pick up my phone a lot, you know. I just don't get to actually call." He nodded, "You can talk to me about Obama and I'll let you be mean to Sarah...you make it fun. See? I want to talk to you. All the time...I miss you."
"And hugging the guardrail was your bright idea?" she grunted when they finally reached the couch, easing him into it and resisting the urge to just drop him on his ass.
"It was an accident," he said though his eyes managed to find Martha, "Hello."
Martha glanced at Diane before smiling a little at the man whom she correctly deduced had been on some fender bender, "Hello."
"I would...introduce myself but they knocked it out of me," he frowned, "But I'm the guy she won't be with because... I think because I'm Republican."
Martha looked at Diane who shook her head, "He's Kurt McVeigh," Diane said brusquely, "He will be...recuperating until he's able to...go home."
"She takes care of me," he grinned stupidly at the older woman.
"I'm sure she does," Martha said with a slight grin, "I'll fetch some washcloth and water, Miss Lockhart, maybe some towels too and a robe."
"Yes, Martha, that would be good," Diane said, "And blankets too, please. Thank you."
Kurt smiled from his position, slumped into her couch and reached for her hand. This time, he seemed to be free of molasses as his found hers easily and pulled her to sit next to him. She didn't protest when he kissed her knuckles clumsily, his moustache tickling her skin with such familiarity, she almost smiled.
"I missed you," he said simply, letting their hands fall lazily against his chest. She thought it should hurt but considering he was teetering towards overdose, she knew he was feeling far too good to feel any pain.
"You're high."
"Doesn't change me missing you," he mumbled as his eyes fell close, "I wanna talk to you."
"We're talking."
"No," he shook his head, "I want to talk to you...all the time, about what you like...what you hate, what makes you laugh, smile. You have a nice laugh...but you don't do it a lot."
"I laugh plenty," she shrugged, tempted to pull her hand away but found she couldn't when she felt his heart beating under her skin.
"But not with me," he said quietly, "I want to make you laugh...you have a very nice laugh, did you know that? I bet you do, but you just won't accept it...you can't take a compliment, Diane."
"Kurt..."
"I don't dance, but I wanna do that with you," he hummed a little, "And I like kissing you. It's right up there with making you laugh too. I like that a lot."
"I get it, Kurt, I do."
"You don't," he grunted, frowning a little with his eyes still closed, "I want to...we were real together. You were you and your eyes weren't sad then. At least, not much. I liked that. I wanna try and make it go away...won't you let me try? I wanna be real... I can cook, you know...can I cook for you?"
"I don't—"
"Don't say no," he shook his head, "I can cook, if you don't believe me. I can."
"Not while you're high," she said, unable to help the smile on her face, "You'll burn my house down."
"Laugh more," he smiled, "Please. I can listen to that for the rest of my life. That would be nice."
"You're definitely high."
"You still don't understand," he sighed, "But you will. One day. I came here for you...got a job in Philly but I didn't want to go. So I went to Chicago."
Diane shook her head, untangling her hand from his and stood up, "You need your rest."
"I just need you," he said quietly, "That sounds stupid and rehearsed, but it's true, It's real. And not from Top Gun."
"You need to rest," she said again, lifting his legs from the floor and helped him lie down against the pillows from France. She sat down by his feet, Armani suit and all, and lifted his feet onto her lap and began to remove his shoes.
"Don't go again," he mumbled, this time his tone slurring a little and she was sure he was drifting.
"You're in my house," Diane smiled as she pulled his left shoe off, "You'll be the one going."
"I mean it...every word."
"Sure," she nodded and finished pulling his other shoe off.
"I love you," he mumbled, "And I'm going to make you believe that. You'll see."
"Just sleep."
Kurt relaxed and she moved, replacing his feet on her couch and kicked her own shoes off before moving back to sit on the carpet next to the couch he occupied, next to his head. She was far too tired all of a sudden to care about what her position and where she'd chosen to sit would do to her clothes. Lugging a grown man was no easy feat.
Gingerly, she reached forward and smoothed the stray hairs from his forehead, running her fingers gently over the troubled lines there as well when he began to mumble again.
"You fell too...admit it...just..."
"Go to sleep," she whispered.
"Stay," he mumbled, "I'll sleep...just stay."
"Goodnight, Kurt."
She watched as he let out a breath that was almost a sigh and she knew he was ready to drift away.
"...I'll make you believe me. One day, you will."
"Sleep," she commanded softly, running her fingers through his hair soothingly.
"...'kay."
And with that, he finally closed his eyes and slept.