A/N: Ok, Fanfiction People this is my attempt at humor. Chris survived his freak accident, but can he survive Nurse Merri? Quick update for your wonderful response.
4 Days Later…
The jingling sound of a small metal bell clanging against a copper shield made Merri grit her teeth. Chris was summoning her again. Giving him a cow bell to use in the house rather than blowing up her phone with texts had been a bad idea. Earlier in the week, she'd purposely taken away his phone for the fact that he'd been draining her battery with idle chit-chat and endless questions about the incident that had temporarily left him unable to speak.
A fractured larynx courtesy of a suspect they'd been questioning. A simple man wearing a business suit and wire rimmed glasses who decided to go for the cheap shot by punching the agent in the throat and then trying to make a run for it.
Needless to say, LaSalle had still ended up with the short stick. Thankfully there hadn't been any lasting damage done to the cartridge, other than the swelling that had compromised his airway. She would never forget the terror she felt seeing him struggle to take a breath and then suddenly slump to the ground, gasping, like a choking victim, only he hadn't been choking. He was being strangled from the inside out.
Broken bones, gunshot wounds, she could deal with but watching your partner, the man that you loved, unable to breathe. She'd never felt so inadequate and useless in her entire life. Never so completely terrified when she heard the doctors say that they had to intubate him. It had only been for a very short while, just long enough to for an injection to work at reducing the swelling of his windpipe. The idea of Chris being kept alive on machine still made her eyes water.
But this…
Chris LaSalle might be the one who was injured and in pain, but it was Merri who was being tortured. She had no idea what she was getting herself into when she had asked Pride for time off so she could take care of her beloved Bama Boy, who was slowly driving her insane. But if she were honest with herself part of it was her own fault for insisting that he stay in bed or on the couch rather than being up and about doing things. She feared that if he was participating in normal everyday activities that he'd be more apt to reinjure himself by engaging in unnecessary conversation, further straining the damaged tissue.
"I'm standing two feet away from you." She growled.
Standing so close but yet not paying attention to his non-verbal efforts at an attempt for food and the occasional dose of affection, he thought. Chris leaned over from the couch, where she currently had him sequestered to grab a small whiteboard and an Expo marker she'd left for him on the coffee table.
He wrote one word: Pizza?
Merri's eyes narrowed somewhat. For some reason it seemed that she was always mad at him for something or other. But how could she be mad at him when he'd done nothing wrong, save for letting an idiot get the upper hand?
"You know the doctor said nothing but clear liquids for the rest of the week. How about some Gatorade instead?" She forced a smile. She knew he was sick of Gatorade and anything that remotely resembled it, but there was nothing she could do. There were only so many clear liquids to choose from considering the carbonation in Sprite and Ginger Ale irritated his throat. She tried to flatten it somewhat, but that had quickly turned into an epic fail with Chris claiming that she had watered it down too much.
His eyebrows knitted; now it was his turn to glare. Using his hand, he erased the word pizza and replaced it with a phrase.
F- Gatorade!
He'd already had more than his fill of Gatorade; after spending 2 days in the hospital with nothing but IV fluids running through his veins and another 3 at home living off of canned chicken broth and popsicles.
He needed something more substantial and was certain he was going to die if he didn't get it. His mind was starting to conjure things that he rarely ate like his Aunt Ida's homemade blueberry muffins with crumb topping and his mother's famous Oatmeal Scotchies bars with raisins. Ok, for the record, he hated anything that remotely had to do with oatmeal and raisins in the same sentence, but he was so dang desperate at the moment, that even the dreaded oatmeal cookie bar sounded downright delicious.
Naturally he was craving all of the things he wasn't supposed to eat. Pork Rinds and Funyuns! Crispy, crunchy goodness is what he really wanted. Sad to say however, Merri had banished those from the pantry along with anything else that was on the naughty list.
There was nothing in the house, save for a canned chicken broth (not even chicken noddle!) and cases of that damned Gatorade! Evil, torturous, Merri actually had the audacity to allow Percy to bring in take-out the other day for just the two of them!
As for playing the role of the strong silent type, he was sick of that too, though he could tell that Merri was rather enjoying it to some extent. She liked taking care of him in an interrogator sort of way. She was the major domo of his cozy little hospital ward, a real mother hen. Was it his fault that when she suggested movie night that she had chosen a comedy that had him busting up in stitches? Evidently, laughing had now become a form of verbal communication that closely resembled talking.
Talking wasn't allowed for another two freakin' days! He had to admit though it was kind of nice when she tried to silence his laughter with a kiss. The cuddl'n had been nice too until he tried to take it a step further, trying to give her balm and gotten nothing in return save for the words; you know we have to wait.
What his healing throat had to do with being able to make love with woman he loved was beyond him. He failed to see what a little a skin to skin contact followed by some tenderness and spoon'n would hurt. It wasn't like they were into erotic asphyxiation or anything.
But he also knew she was growing tired of playing nursemaid; a concept which he hoped he could use to his advantage. If he could just get her to leave him alone for a little while and go back to work where she could release some of the tension that had built up and use her bad cop skills on somebody else well, life would be good again.
He loved Merri. He surely did but being cooped up and constantly reminded of what he couldn't do, all but crushed the good natured side of him, making him cranky and downright irritable. He needed to get away from her for a bit.
Brody closed her eyes as the square whiteboard with the beveled corners went sailing over the coffee table and onto the floor followed by the marker. She had no idea what to do when got his way. They'd never been at odds on the romantic level. Thus far, their relationship had been nothing but sunshine and roses, along with some really great sex.
Oh, the sex!
They were so unbelievably good at that, a natural fit. She couldn't wait until he could resume normal activity. Just two more days, she could do this (if she didn't wind up killing him first). She watched as he hauled his butt up off of the couch and went into the bathroom, slamming the door. A few moments later, she heard the shower running.
Good, she thought. Maybe that will relax him a bit, put him a better mood. But when he emerged some 15 minutes later, fully dressed (instead of in his sleep pants and a ratty Alabama football t-shirt) and freshly shaven she had her doubts. She frowned as he made his way to the spot where he kept the keys to the truck and shoved them into his pocket.
"Where are you going?" Merri marched right up to him. He wasn't supposed to leave. The doctor at the hospital had said bed rest in a room with a good humidifier. Being out in the open could compromise his still healing respiratory system.
Chris opened his mouth only to have her shove the whiteboard into his chest. He had to give it to Merri, if nothing else she was prepared. There was a whiteboard and a marker in the living room, the kitchen and the bedroom. The dang thing was never out of arm's length.
He rolled his eyes, taking it from her hands and quickly scrawling one word to let her know he was tired of being akin to the Boy in the Plastic Bubble. He had never liked John Travolta and he sure as heck wasn't going to start acting out one of his roles now.
OUT!
"You can't!" she shrieked, watching his eyes grow wide.
/Oh, Really? Watch me/
Setting the whiteboard on the counter, he walked out the back door, hoping Brody wouldn't follow.
Normally, it was Percy and Sebastian he couldn't wait to get away from but given the way, Merri had been the last couple of days, he'd gladly spend all night on a stake out with the two of them, than to have to be a victim of her doting.
Maybe if he went to see Pride at the bar he could convince him that beer was a clear liquid and get himself something to eat in the process. But then again, like most public places in NOLA, the bar would be filled with smoke.
That wouldn't be good. But it was still early enough in the day that the heavy chain smokers probably wouldn't be out in force. Why not give it a try? It was Saturday, so Pride was sure to be there and if he wasn't there was always Ross P who worked the dayshift, stocking and cleaning whatnot.
He was half way through the courtyard when he heard the dreaded words; No you really can't leave. The truck's not here. I let Pride borrow it.
As he said earlier, Merri was prepared and to a degree he should have anticipated this but never did he think she would go this far off of the rails. Working with her for two years now, he'd learned how obsessive she could be when she set her mind to something. The woman was worse than Pride.
She needed professional help!
Dipping his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew better than to actually go out to the street to see if she was bluffing. She wasn't. Now he was stuck with no phone, no truck and no food.
He might as well be stranded alone on a deserted Island.
Childishly, he turned his head when she tried to pull his hand away from his face, hoping to ignore her as she palmed his cheek. He wouldn't allow her to look up at him with her big soulful and sexy as hell brown eyes. That trick had lost its power over him days ago.
It was just her way of luring him in tryin' tuh get him to play nice.
"I know you're angry," she said, leaning in to kiss the darkened purple/green bruise that marked the spot where the wiry man who resembled Harry Potter had laid his fist.
Chris flinched a little as the slight pressure of her lips triggered a bit of irritation to the injured tissue.
"But it's just two more days." She added sweeping another gentle nuzzling across his neck.
His eyes rolled heavenward before he took a hold of her hand and separated himself from her touch, depositing the loving hand at her side.
He was done.
"I can't take two more days of this," He would go absolutely insane if he has to spend one more night confined to the couch or the bedroom like a sick child, while she gabbed on her phone and munched on the case of his snack size Zapp's potato chips. She didn't think he was aware that she'd been sneakin' them when she thought he wasn't paying attention, but he knew.
He could smell them and hear the bag crinkling from a mile away!
Brody looked at him in shock. His voice sounded a bit horse and somewhat strained, like someone who was speaking with a sore throat. She supposed his throat would be sore considering EMS had cruelly shoved a tube down it at the scene in order to keep the oxygen flowing to his brain.
Well, they weren't so much as cruel as they were trying to save his life.
"You're not-" she uttered in a rather small voice of her own. She hadn't meant to try and tell him what to do or in this case what not to do but she just couldn't help it. It was easy to see that he was at his wits end, she was too, but what he couldn't see is how absolutely petrified she was to the idea of possibly losing him again and watching over him like an overbearing spouse was the way it had chosen to manifest itself.
"Supposed to be talk'n? I know ya remind me every chance ya git!" His blue eyes were nearly bug eyed wide with his own frustration. Though it didn't sound like it he was yelling at least that's what it felt like considering the amount of energy had to use to get all of that to come out.
It had left him absolutely out of breath and he was certain that is showed on his face to some degree. Though he couldn't see it he was getting red in the face.
Cough
Cough
"Chris?" Merri's eyes were wide with fear as she reached for him only to have him swat her away.
"'im fine," he tried to growl in between ragged breaths. "I just need tuh get away for a bit." He purposely refrained from using term need to get away from you, suspect of the damage it would do to her. She'd been through enough.
But for the love of God he needed a break.
A/N: Chp 3 is smut and semi-smut which I hope to post before the weekend. So, if you see this story disappear. Be sure to look for it on my page. It just means I decided to change the rating.