Groaning internally, Dr. Wells wheeled over to the bed. It was up too high for him to do the transfer himself. Pressing the "down" control button, he tried to ignore the two woman.
"Two," Caitlin continued to count. He glared at her. "Yes I see you, but I'm counting until you are in that bed. Three." The male scientist tried to fight a desire to groan or grumble. "Four." Arching an eyebrow at the female doctor, he shook his head and checked the height of the bed. He figured it was low enough.
"Five," Caitlin called as she watched him drop the right arm of his wheelchair. He didn't bother to glare at her as he paused, trying to control the shivering that had taken over his upper body. Shifting around, he got himself into position in his chair as best he could, irritated at the two bouncing legs. It seemed the chill had triggered some serious spasms in his legs so that they were pounding away on the foot rest.
When he thought he was positioned as well as possible, he put one hand on the bed and one on his chair, leaning forwards to lift his butt as much as possible. He'd done these kind of transfers a million times. This time, was a little different. His hand was tingling with pain and his whole body was slick and wet. He heard Caitlin count down another step, as he slipped, losing his balance and starting to fall. Most likely, he swore. To his surprise, his trip to the floor was slowed by hands on him, trying to keep him from hitting the ground.
The ground never hit, instead he impacted with something soft, squishy, and pleasant smelling. After a moment, and some swearing from the person he'd landed on, Dr. Wells realized that Felicity had tried to come to his rescue and he'd taken them both down, her on the bottom. As this slowly dawned on him, he also realized his face was neatly cradled by her breasts. How very sitcom-esq. Opting for the quickest escape, he rolled his upper body. At least he could control his abdominal muscles.
"I'm so sorry Ms. Smoak," Dr. Wells said as he rolled onto the floor. He looked over at her. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"Ouch," Felicity groaned. She hadn't intended to try to catch Dr. Wells, but she'd seen his grip falter on the wheelchair and rushed to his rescue. Clearly, rescuing people was not her strong suit. "You're heavy." Oh, she'd said that outloud. "Sorry." Pursing his lips, Dr. Wells shook his head. Felicity watched him push himself up into a sitting position. To her surprise, he then offered her a hand.
"No problem," he told her. "Now, are you hurt?" Taking his hand, she let him help her to a sitting position, glancing at her own legs. Their legs were tangled together. Apparently Dr. Wells hadn't noticed yet. "Oh, sorry about your shirt." His bright blue eyes looked away. Frowning, Felicity looked down.
"Eek!" Shocked to see her white shirt soaked with a face-print and see-through, she jumped to her feet, scampering away and covering herself as best she could.
"Here." Dr. Wells lifted himself into his wheelchair, grabbed the shirt he'd brought in for himself and tossed it to her. Catching it, Felicity spun around, getting ready to change shirts.
"Ten," Caitlin declared. "Felicity, I'd hold off putting on dry clothes if I were you." Turning around, Felicity arched an eyebrow. "I'm going to need your help getting Dr. Wells in bed."
"Not words I ever imagined coming out of your mouth," Dr. Wells said, arching an eyebrow. As Caitlin advanced, he tried not to panic, instead opting to try the transfer into the bed again. This time he managed it, settling into the cot just as Caitlin got to the side.
"Dang," Felicity mumbled. "So, can I change my shirt?"
"Pants off," Caitlin ordered Dr. Wells, ignoring Felicity.
"Dr. Snow, your concern is touching," Dr. Wells began, shivering hard. "Please, can I have some privacy?"
"Dr. Wells, I am a doctor. I assure you that you have nothing that will be new to me. Now, do you need help getting those off, or can you manage it yourself?" While she'd been speaking, Caitlin had started getting out what she thought she'd need to clean and bandage his elbow. Reaching out, she plucked at the end of one pant leg.
"I got it," Dr. Wells said, leaning back so he could undo his belt, and start shedding his clothes. "I do not doubt you've seen your fair share of men undressed, however, consider it a matter of pride that I can take care of myself."
"Really Dr. Wells." Frowning at him, Caitlin reached out and pressed a hand to his head. "Your temperature is extremely low.
"And what is up with your legs?" Felicity asked, watching one leg twitch.
"The muscles are spasming," Caitlin replied, glancing at the limbs in question. "Increased spasms can be an indicator of injury or illness."
"Or I could just be freezing cold," Wells countered, glowering at the two females. Frowning, Caitlin studied the wet handprints her boss had left on the white bed sheets.
"Why is this one red?" Looking up to her boss, she grabbed his gloved hands and started pulling the gloves off.
"Caitlin, I can't get my pants off if you're holding my hands!" He fell silent as the cut from the morning was revealed
