A/N Poor Tillman.
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After the hospital case goes sideways, Dr. Tillman welcomes the chaos of the ER. She buries herself in her work to forget her terrible experience. After a week or so, she's feeling a little better. Like, she could probably be in the same room as Shaw and Elizabeth and not be overwhelmed with the urge to throttle either of them.
Probably.
She's on break, sitting on a bench near the fountain in the hospital courtyard, when she gets a phone call on her cell. The number is blocked. She doesn't get a lot of calls from blocked numbers. In fact, she can count the number of people who habitually call her from blocked numbers on one hand.
Please don't tell me John got shot in the ass again, she thinks as she answers the phone.
"Tillman," she says.
"Hey, it's Elizabeth," comes the voice at the other end of the line, and Dr. Tillman scowls.
"No. I am not getting involved with anything like that again," she says. "Ever."
"Relax," Elizabeth says. "We just need some medical advice."
"If you're hurt bad, you should go to the ER—"
"It's okay, we're not bleeding or anything."
Dr. Tillman breathes a sigh of relief. "All right, fine. Shoot."
"Yeah, so—we got this, uh, lotion," Elizabeth starts.
(In the background, Dr. Tillman hears Shaw saying, "I don't think it's actually lotion.")
"And?" Dr. Tillman says.
"And it's supposed to be, um, for intimate stuff. Like, not lube, but it makes your skin tingly and super sensitive."
("Definitely sensitive", Shaw says.)
"...and?" Dr. Tillman says, willing the mental images of Shaw and Elizabeth being intimate to flee her mind.
"Yeah, uh, this stuff itches. Like, really bad. And Shaw's breaking out into hives. You got anything for that?"
Oh, dear God, Dr. Tillman thinks. She stands and paces back and forth. "Allergic reaction, maybe? What ingredients does it have in it?"
There's static on the line.
"Elizabeth?" Dr. Tillman says. "What's in it?"
"...it doesn't really say," Elizabeth says. "The bottle, I mean. It's kinda plain."
"Well, what brand is it? Where did you get it?"
"The Internet," Elizabeth says, and Dr. Tillman facepalms.
"You bought an unidentified substance off the Internet and slathered it all over your skin?"
"I didn't," Elizabeth protests. "Well, I mean, I bought it, yeah, but I only tried a little bit. Shaw's the one who slathered."
Dr. Tillman sighs. "I think that concussion last month did more damage than I thought."
"Whatever."
("Can you get a move on already?")
"Okay, I know a dermatologist," Dr. Tillman says, and she gives a name. "Bring the bottle, okay? And, if it gets really bad, go to the ER."
"Thanks," Elizabeth says. "I don't think it's that bad."
("You're not the one that put it on your—")
Dr. Tillman coughs. "And next time, do some research before you buy random stuff from the Internet. Okay?"
"Okay," Elizabeth says.
Dr. Tillman hangs up and sends a text message to her friend, warning her of the incoming patients.
I can't believe those two haven't managed to get themselves killed, she thinks to herself.
#####
A few days later, while sitting by the window at a cafe: another phone call.
"Tillman."
"Hey, it's Elizabeth," says Elizabeth, and Dr. Tillman rolls her eyes.
"Please tell me you haven't applied more random crap from the Internet onto your intimates."
"We haven't," Elizabeth says. "And to be fair, the website was really convincing."
Dr. Tillman nearly coughs up the cookie she's eating.
"I can link you to a really convincing website that says the Earth is flat," she says. "Or that cell towers are NSA listening posts."
"The second one might be true. Anyhow. Can you help me move something? It's kinda heavy and I'm still feeling the bruises from yesterday."
It takes Dr. Tillman a few seconds to process this.
"Move something?" she says. "Like, furniture?"
"A box."
"You want me to stop whatever I'm doing and come help you move a box?"
"Yeah, I mean, the place is right down the street from the cafe where you're eating brunch."
Dr. Tillman glares at her phone, then out the window. She sees no one familiar.
"...how the heck did you know I'm here?"
"Lucky guess," Elizabeth says. Dr. Tillman narrows her eyes.
"Fine," she says. "After I finish my mocha. But only because it's on my way back to the hospital."
She takes her time enjoying the rest of her mocha, in part because she wants to irritate Elizabeth by making her wait and in part because the barista had managed to find the perfect balance of coffee and cocoa for once, and she's going to enjoy it. When she's done, she heads down the sidewalk. A block away, Dr. Tillman spots Elizabeth. (Actually, she spots the frizzy hair first, then she spots Elizabeth.) She's leaning against a compact silver SUV with the rear hatch open, revealing a long, hefty-looking cardboard box.
"Thanks for coming," Elizabeth says, scratching the back of her head. "I'd call Shaw but she's with John doing a thing..."
"That sounded wrong," Tillman says.
Elizabeth snorts. "And you say I'm a pervert."
"That's because you are," Dr. Tillman says. She motions to the box. "Where are we taking this thing?"
"Second story," Elizabeth says, pointing at the brownstone apartment behind her. "I can push it once we get it up there."
Dr. Tillman groans, but she takes one end of the box. It's about a foot square and six feet long. Even with two people carrying it, the weight is impressive, but it's nothing they can't handle together.
They haul the box up the concrete steps and into the apartment, pausing to rest at the foot of the staircase leading to the second story. Elizabeth bends down to pick up the box again and Dr. Tillman reminds her, "Lift with your legs!"
"Okay, okay," Elizabeth grumbles.
"If you come to me with back pain, I'm going to tell you I told you so."
Elizabeth sticks out her tongue.
Getting it up the spiral staircases is an exercise in patience, and by the time they finally get the box up to the landing, they're both panting.
"Jesus," Dr. Tillman says, setting the box down on a towel with a dull thump. (Elizabeth had thought ahead far enough to put the towel down, so the box wouldn't scratch the floor when pushed.) "What the heck is this thing?"
"A St. Andrew's Cross," Elizabeth says. "Some assembly required."
"A—" Dr. Tillman sputters and stares at Elizabeth. "You bought a St. Andrew's Cross."
"Yeah," Elizabeth says. "Got it online. Did my research, too." She rolls her eyes. "This is the sturdiest one I could find. Shaw managed to break the last one."
"She—broke—?"
"Yeah, you know those bruises and cuts she had a few weeks ago?"
"I—I don't want to know." Dr. Tillman stutters, and she turns and flees down the staircase.
"Thanks for the help!" Elizabeth calls after her.
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A week later, late one evening, Dr. Tillman is lounging on her couch watching the latest Hawaii 5-0. Her phone rings.
"Elizabeth knocked herself out," Shaw says. "I'm not sure if I should move her. Can you...?"
Dr. Tillman goes into diagnostic mode. "If she's breathing fine, don't move her head," she instructs. She's already off the couch. "If she develops problems breathing, call 911. Perform CPR if it's an emergency, but don't tilt her head. I'll be right over."
She snags her emergency go-bag from the bedroom and searches for a pair of sweatpants. Less than ten minutes later, Dr. Tillman is at the apartment. Shaw comes to the front door wearing a fluffy green bathrobe that doesn't suit her at all.
"Oh, good, you're here," she says. Dr. Tillman notes she looks rather dishevelled. "Elizabeth came to. She's in the living room. She might've broken her wrist."
Elizabeth is seated on the leather couch. She's wearing a bathrobe similar to Shaw's. Her hair is even messier than usual. Dr. Tillman's eyes are immediately drawn to the huge bruise on her forehead, and then to the way she's limply cradling her wrist.
"Wow, what happened?" Dr. Tillman asks. She sets her bag down on the floor, sits next to Elizabeth, and motions for her wrist.
"I made her come so hard, the rope snapped," Shaw says, sounding proud. "She hit herself in the forehead and knocked herself out."
"It was a really good orgasm," Elizabeth confirms smugly. "Shaw knows all the right spots to hit."
Dr. Tillman gapes at the two of them. "T-M-I!" she says finally. "Ever heard of it?"
"I thought we were supposed to be able to share everything with our doctor," Elizabeth says, her voice a purr.
"Within reason!"
"You did ask," Shaw reminds Dr. Tillman.
"You could've stopped at 'hit herself in the forehead'."
"Yeah, but then you wouldn't have gotten the awesome context," Elizabeth says.
"I really didn't need to hear it."
"If you're jealous or something, Shaw can help."
"Jealous? Really? Does this look like my jealousy face to you?"
(She's not jealous. At all.)
"It's been awhile since I've topped for someone else," Shaw muses, "but if you really wanted, we could—"
Dr. Tillman ignores the twinge between her legs.
"Shaw," she snarls. She points to the door. "Go wait outside or something. Stop making Elizabeth even more pervy than usual!"
Shaw smirks and says "I'll fix some tea for Elizabeth." She disappears into the kitchen.
"I swear," Dr. Tillman says as she examines Elizabeth's wrist, "you two are the worst when you're in the same room."
Elizabeth shrugs. "Shaw and I understand each other."
"In other words, you're both unmitigated perverts."
"True. Ow! That might be broken, you know."
"I think it's just sprained," Dr. Tillman says. "The pain is very localized. Put ice on it to keep the swelling down and take it easy with that hand for a day or two. Try not to write or type too much. Take ibuprofen if you need it."
"Fine," Elizabeth grumbles. "Thanks for looking at it."
"Sure."
She shifts her attention to the bruise on Elizabeth's forehead. It's gotten darker, but it doesn't look critical. "Might need some ice for that too," Dr. Tillman says. "I'm more worried about a concussion."
"Psh, I was only out for like a minute."
"That's bad," Dr. Tillman says. "Let me see your eyes."
Elizabeth winces away from the little flashlight, but quickly ascertains that Elizabeth's pupils are the same size.
"Any dizziness? Nausea?" Dr. Tillman asks.
"Nope."
"How about memory loss?"
"Nope," Elizabeth says. "Which is good because I wouldn't believe Shaw otherwise if she told me I came so hard I snapped the—"
"I'm concerned. You seem to have forgotten that whole 'TMI' thing we were discussing earlier."
"Whatever," Elizabeth says cheerfully. "But, seriously, if you wanted to try it for yourself, Shaw would be happy to help. She's great"
"I'm never going to get the mental image of you two out of my head."
"Is it really that bad? Two consenting adults engaging in awesome fetishy lovemaking—?"
Another twinge between her legs.
"Can you just stop talking about it?" Dr. Tillman says desperately. "Please? You can brag all about your literal mind-blowing orgasm to Shaw once I leave."
"Fine," Elizabeth says petulantly.
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As Dr. Tillman leaves the apartment, she calls John.
"We need to talk about that raise," she says when the line connects.
"Which raise?" John says. "The one from last month?"
"The one I need before I ever go on another housecall for the Deviant Duo again."
John chuckles. Doesn't protest at all. "I'll ask Finch. How much more do you want?"
She gives a number, just to be spiteful, and is a little disappointed when John doesn't even sound surprised.
"I'll ask him," he says evenly. "Call you back."
Finch doesn't even blink when John tells him how much Dr. Tillman wants.
"Of course," he says. "Whatever it takes for her to keep those two patched up."
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