Author's Note: Look who made you guys wait a whole month again for another update! :'(
I'm sorry! I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me. The next chapter is the last one, and I was initially going to combine the two, but this chapter was running a little long so I decided to separate them. I won't make you wait as long for that one, I pinkie-promise.
Enjoy!
"Dr. Jones?"
She's staring down at a motionless body. Everyone is depending on her to make the next move—to bring this blonde-haired woman with blue lips and fingertips whom she does not recognize back to life. She starts chest compressions and orders a round of epinephrine. Half a dozen pairs of eyes burn holes into her skin.
Nothing. No pulse. No breath sounds…Even if she does manage to resuscitate her now, she'll be brain dead from oxygen depletion. She has to call it—pronounce that it's over—but she can't. She just stares and stares, hands pushing harder and harder against the woman's ribcage until…
The woman's face transforms, and it's Madeline lying on the backboard.
Amelia freezes, draws her trembling hands back, and opens her mouth to scream.
"Wake up, sleeping beauty! Breakfast is getting cold. Ameeeeelia. Hellooo?"
She jolts forward and gasps, sucking in a refreshing, giant gulp of air. She's covered in sweat, and Maddie is looking down at her with a confused expression.
"Are you okay?"
"Y-Yeah. Dumb dream," she says with a breathless laugh.
She rubs her face and gets up, following the enticing scent of chocolate-chip pancakes emanating from the kitchen. Maddie has already prepared a plate for her because she's fantastic, and Amelia makes a mental note to do the dishes after their done eating to thank her for the trouble she went through to cook.
She stretches her arms over her head with a yawn and regrets staying up late last night to re-watch the first season of Grey's Anatomy. That, coupled with the events from yesterday, is probably what fueled her nightmare.
Maddie sets a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. "Yesterday was a hard day. Are you sure you're okay?"
"I wasn't the one who had a TIA," she says with a scoff as she's cutting up her pancakes with a knife.
"No, but still…You know what I mean. It's not easy seeing someone you care about become sick."
"Wait a sec. Who said I care?"
"Oh, come on. You're not fooling me."
Amelia hides her face behind her coffee cup and sighs, "Okay, so maybe I don't hate Kirkland, and I definitely wouldn't want to see him die, but that doesn't mean I care. Besides, if it were a real stroke, he could've died because I didn't have any clue as to what I was doing."
"There was nothing you could have done. It's not like you could've run a CT scan from the clinic or anything. You're being too hard on yourself," Maddie counters, wiping down the stove with a damp washcloth because she spilled some pancake mix earlier.
"I know, but my first reaction was to look for someone else I could turn to. When I'm an actual doctor, I can't do that. I won't be able to call for help because I'll be the help."
"Give yourself time."
"…My biggest fear is that I'll be a dumb doctor and kill a patient."
"You're not going to be a dumb doctor, but you don't have to know everything at first either. Everyone has to start learning somewhere, and you've got plenty of time before you actually have to start working on your own."
"…Yeah. I needed to hear that, even though you're just saying it to be nice and reassuring…Now, I hope you made enough pancakes for seconds."
"Duh, who do you think I am? Do you want some sliced strawberries on top, too?"
"Do you even have to ask?"
When she returns to the hospital at around eight o'clock in the morning, she walks in on Dr. Kirkland arguing with Dr. Beilschmidt about the heparin he's on and how it's unnecessary because he's ready to go home and all heparin does is make his nose bleed—and so on.
"Good morning! Is this a bad time? I can come back later," she says as she greets them, lingering close to the door in case her presence is unwanted.
"Hey, kiddo. Actually, this is perfect timing because I was just about to leave. I've got work to get back to," Dr. Beilschmidt remarks with a pearly smile followed by a wink. "Do me a favor and make sure Dr. Kirkland behaves himself. If he gives you any trouble, give me a call."
She laughs while Dr. Kirkland just scowls and makes a derisive noise under his breath, obviously cranky after being stuck in the hospital overnight.
"Bye! Thanks for everything."
Dr. Beilschmidt nods and gives her a fist-bump before he saunters out. She wishes he could stay a bit longer, mostly because she doesn't want to be left on her own again, but, of course, he has patients of his own to see, and he's on a tight schedule.
Now that she has the chance to look at him properly, she sees that Dr. Kirkland looks the same way he did last night, except he's not quite as visibly tired, which is probably a good thing. Still crabby though…
"How's your head feeling?" she dares to ask.
He scrunches his brows. "Sore."
"Maybe you should ask for more pain meds."
If he's openly admitting he's in pain, it's likely more than a small ache. That said, she'll be stunned if he decides to accept help for it. He's a hard-headed and stubborn mule, and that's partially how he landed himself here in the first place.
Fortunately, she doesn't need to worry about trying to convince him to listen because the nurse comes in to take his vitals, so she'll have to be the one to deal with him.
"I'll step out," Amelia says, getting up to leave so Dr. Kirkland can have some privacy.
But he surprises her by grumbling, "Oh, it's all right."
He must really be unwell. He's not even upset by the fact that she's still in the room?
She stays, but she pushes her chair a little farther away from his bedside to give the nurse more space to work. This'll be a good opportunity to see first-hand what the assessment of a patient post-TIA looks like. She might as well try to learn something from the man's misery.
"How are you feeling, Arthur? Any pain?" the nurse asks as she wraps a blood pressure cuff around his right arm.
Amelia perks up her ears and looks at him expectantly, waiting to find out if he's going to blatantly lie or not.
He doesn't, shockingly enough. "My head still feels as though someone took a mallet to it," he says unhappily, screwing his eyes shut.
"How bad is it on a scale of one to ten?"
"Six."
"You're being modest. We'll increase your dosage of painkillers…BP looks good, at least. I'm just going to check your eyes now."
She flashes a penlight at each of his pupils, and he squints in response and fails to hold back a wince.
"Still concussed...You seem fairly alert though. Can you give me the date by any chance?"
He blinks as if to clear his vision, and Amelia has to make a conscious effort not to blurt out the answer for him. "Yesterday was what? Wednesday? So, it's the sixth? No…That's not right…Wait."
"It's Saturday, the ninth. Yesterday was Friday, but that's all right, dear, don't worry."
He groans and buries his face in his hands. "It's not. I should have known that."
"You're not at a hundred percent yet," the nurse insists, flicking the penlight off. "Let's try something else now. Can you lift both of your arms for me...? Uh-huh. How's your left arm feeling? Any numbness?"
"It's fine, and no."
The nurse takes hold of his left hand and says, "Can you squeeze my hand…? Good. Your grip strength is fine."
He clicks his tongue in irritation and adds, "It's just a headache. I can be discharged. I'll take some pain medication when I get home."
"Well, the attending physician hasn't determined that you're ready to be discharged yet, but I'll let you know as soon as she does."
"Who's the attending today? Hedervary? I want to speak with her."
The nurse keeps up her patient smile as she puts her stethoscope on his chest. "I'll let her know. Relax. How are you feeling on the heparin? Dizzy?"
"…Somewhat."
"Okay. I'm going to help you turn onto your side to check your breathing—don't want you sitting up unnecessarily," she explains, carefully rolling him over before moving her stethoscope to his back.
"Honestly, there's no reason to—!"
"Shh. Take a deep breath."
He frowns and angrily takes an impatient breath.
"Thank you. You're doing a great job, dear."
"Don't mollify me," he hisses.
The nurse merely smiles warmly again, still unfazed. "Do you think you'd be able to eat and drink without choking? You're not having difficulty swallowing? And be honest, Arthur, because if you start asphyxiating, I'm going to have a lot of extra paperwork to fill out once I get you breathing again."
"I'm fine. I can eat."
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
"Okay, I'll have some breakfast brought up for you, then. Oh, and also," she pauses, reaches into the pocket of her scrubs, and takes out a plastic yellow bracelet that she then secures around Dr. Kirkland's wrist—the same wrist on which he has his hospital bracelet.
"Really?" he snarls incredulously when he realizes what it is, glaring.
Amelia has to stifle a laugh. She knows what's written on this new bracelet because she has seen other patients wear them during her clinical rotations—usually the elderly and disabled. It says "FALL RISK," which essentially means Dr. Kirkland's not allowed out of bed because he's likely to fall and injure himself.
"Yes, really. The last thing you need is to hit your head again. I'll be back to check on you once you've eaten, and I'll bring your pain medication."
With that, the nurse leaves, and Amelia allows herself a few snickers at the man's expense.
"Oh, belt up. See what I have to put up with?" he growls, rubbing his forehead with a sharp grimace.
"You might have just earned yourself a longer stay since you didn't know the date."
"I know…Bloody hell."
The morning has more in store for him than he's apparently prepared for. After the nurse adjusts his meds, the door to the hospital room comes flying open once more, and a gleeful Feliks comes trotting in while Toris timidly tiptoes in behind him.
Friday's crew is back together again.
"Dr. K! Hope you're feeling better!" Feliks exclaims as Toris places a "get well soon" card on the same table where Maddie's flowers are perched.
Dr. Kirkland seems torn between being irritated that he's been on the receiving end of so many visitors and thanking the boys for going through the effort of stopping by. In the end, he settles for a begrudging tone of gratitude and refrains from shouting at them to go away. He's being impressively patient today, all things considered.
"Thank you, lads, but there really isn't any need for all of this—"
"Stop! It's the least we could do!" Feliks says, flourishing a hand in the air to wave off Dr. Kirkland's complaints. "Can we get you anything? Did you have something to eat yet?"
"You should all go home and—"
This time, Amelia pointedly cuts him off and answers Feliks's question for him. "They're bringing something up now."
"Good. You've gotta eat to get your strength back, Dr. K."
Maybe it's just Amelia's imagination running wild again, but she thinks she sees Dr. Kirkland's shoulders relax a little. There's just a teeny tiny hint of a smile on his face, but only if one looks closely. His cheeks also seem to be flushed with a bit more color.
"You all probably have a great deal of studying and schoolwork to do—" he begins to say, trying to send them off again.
"It can wait," Toris insists, overcoming his sheepishness. He sits on the windowsill across the room with Feliks, making it clear that they're not going anywhere.
And although things seemed pretty bleak and terrible yesterday, Amelia finds herself smiling and feeling a familiar warmth in her chest upon being surrounded by the people who have become like a second family to her over all of these months. They're a team, and for the first time, she doesn't feel like a daft student who needs to constantly be chastised by her superiors. She feels respected—like she has finally earned her place among them.
While she's mulling this over, someone from the kitchen brings in a meal tray, and Dr. Kirkland manages to sit up on his own to unenthusiastically pick at his eggs, pancakes, and fruit. Unfortunately, the meal is missing the most important component—tea. He has to settle for water and orange juice. Toris offers to go and find some tea on his behalf, but Dr. Kirkland tells him it's all right—he doesn't want to cause a fuss.
And as he says that, he suddenly drops his fork and brings a hand up to his nose because it starts spontaneously bleeding.
"I told them the damned heparin would do this," he complains as he grabs some napkins from the meal tray and dabs at his nostrils.
"I'm sure they'll take you off of it soon," Amelia says calmingly.
"I should have been discharged already."
As though hearing his gripes from a distance, the door to the private room comes creaking open for the umpteenth time, but it's not the nurse or another visitor—it's the person Dr. Kirkland has been waiting to argue with for a while now—the attending physician, Dr. Hedervary.
She comes strolling into the room with a buoyant smile and twinkling eyes, also unbothered by his livid expression. She stands at the foot of his bed and says lightly, "Hello, Arthur! You've been asking to see me? I'm flattered. Though, I heard Gilbert was here earlier, and he didn't even bother to come looking for me—makes me wonder why I bothered tutoring him in microbiology when we were in school…Are these the students you're mentoring?"
So, they all know each other fairly well, then. Why is that not surprising? Amelia tries to imagine the three of them complaining about exams and labs like she does with Feliks and Toris.
"Discharge me, Elizaveta," Dr. Kirkland requests bluntly, tired of banter and small-talk. Fortunately, his nose has stopped bleeding. "This is becoming ridiculous."
"According to your nurse, you're still suffering from a concussion."
"Which can be treated at home."
"Under normal circumstances, yes, but I can't trust you to treat yourself. Besides, you need to be monitored, and unless someone is going to take you home and stay with you for at least the next twenty-four hours, you're staying here."
Dr. Kirkland clicks his tongue in annoyance and stares at the rest of his untouched breakfast balefully. "I can monitor myself."
"We'll watch him!" Feliks suggests, grinning.
"No, absolutely not—!"
"That sounds like a lovely idea!" Dr. Hedervary agrees, looking immensely satisfied. "It's your choice, Arthur. Either you stay in the hospital or you go home and let these students and Gilbert check in on you periodically."
Dr. Kirkland's jaw twitches with displeasure. "This is absurd."
"Then, you're choosing to stay in the hospital?"
The cardiac monitor lets out three warning beeps to indicate his heart rate is going up, and then, he finally mutters through gritted teeth, "Fine, I'll go with them. Now, discharge me."
"Great! I'll be back with the forms. In the meantime, finish your breakfast," Dr. Hedervary says, sounding a lot like a mother chiding a small child.
Amelia can't suppress her snort of laughter, and Dr. Kirkland pointedly glares at her.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Of course, this news has completely taken away Dr. Kirkland's appetite, but he finishes the eggs and fruit, at the very least, and by then Dr. Hedervary is gallivanting back with some papers for him to sign, true to her word. The nurse takes out his IV, disconnects his leads, and then they all leave him alone so he can change.
And while he's doing that, Dr. Hedervary pulls Amelia, Feliks, and Toris aside and instructs them carefully, "Make sure he gets home okay and takes some pain medication. I'll send Gilbert—Dr. Beilschmidt—to keep an eye on him tonight, so someone just needs to stay with him until then. Don't let him read, use his phone, cook, or do anything physically or cognitively strenuous. He should be resting. Also, no TV for more than twenty minutes at a time. Once he takes the medication, he won't give you a hard time because he'll be tired. If he feels worse, let Gilbert know, and he'll arrange for him to be brought back to the hospital if necessary. Okay?"
The three of them nod, but Toris is the only one taking notes on all of this. Dr. Hedervary asks them if they have any questions, and when they don't come up with anything, she gives them each a pat on the shoulder, wishes them good luck, and leaves.
"Okay, so who's going to take one for the team and go back in there to ask him if he's ready to go?" Feliks asks, sticking a piece of bubblegum in his mouth before chewing on it anxiously. "Anyone wanna offer themselves up as tribute?"
"Not me," Toris whispers, taking a step back.
"And I'm a girl, so if I walk in and he doesn't have a shirt on or something, it's going to be awkward," Amelia notes, coming up with the perfect excuse.
Feliks sighs and then takes a deep breath to calm himself. "Damn. Okay. I'll do it. Are we requesting a wheelchair for him?"
Toris snorts. "Do you want him to kill you?"
"I mean, he might kill me anyway, so I have nothing to lose," Feliks says with a dark grin before finally producing the bravery needed to enter the room.
He's gone for a full five minutes, and Amelia and Toris begin to grow concerned for his safety. They don't hear any yelling or bickering though, so that's a reassuring sign.
Then, Feliks reappears and pushes the door open again. He's holding Maddie's flowers, and Amelia allows herself to feel a little touched on Madeline's behalf that Dr. Kirkland didn't tell Feliks to leave them or simply throw them out.
Dr. Kirkland is wearing the clothes he wore to work the other day—black trousers, a dress shirt, and a tie. He has his messenger bag since Amelia left it in his room before leaving last night. He doesn't, however, have his winter coat, as she didn't have the foresight to grab it from the clinic. At this rate, she won't be surprised if he manages to give himself pneumonia.
He seems fairly stable, but she knows all it takes is a second or two to lose one's balance, so she dares to put a hand on his upper arm to support him.
Naturally, he pulls away from her grip and mutters, "I'm fine."
"Do you want me to get you a blanket or something? It's cold out."
"No."
She rolls her eyes at him—something she would never dream of doing if they were in the clinic. She can let herself rebel since they're not at work. "You'll get hypothermia."
He ignores her and chooses to start walking to the elevators. She notices he's more heavy-footed than usual, but only by a little. It'd be hard to see if she didn't know him.
The four of them get into the elevator, and Feliks starts fishing through the apps on his phone before informing Dr. Kirkland, "I'll call a cab, just tell me where we're headed."
"I'm taking the train," Dr. Kirkland insists, leaving little opportunity for argument.
But Amelia isn't going to let him have the final say so easily. "You don't even have a coat. How are you going to walk to the train? If we call a cab, it can pick us up right in front of the hospital."
"No."
She doesn't like having to do this, but it's time to attack the one weakness he has—his pride. "Don't tell me you're so cheap that you don't want to pay for a cab."
It works. "It has nothing to do with the money—!" he fumes, but then, he relents, wearing himself out a bit from all of his frustration. "Fine."
Feliks calls, and when the cab arrives, it occurs to Amelia that she doesn't even have the slightest clue as to where Dr. Kirkland lives. He never talks about his personal life, and even once they get into the taxi, he seems to hesitate for a few seconds before rattling off his address to the driver, all-too-aware that he's now going to be forced to let them all in on more information than he ever wanted them to know.
He lives in a three-bedroom house in Queens, which means his commute to work is an hour long. She wonders why he doesn't just rent out a place closer to the clinic, but then she gets her answer when they get out of the cab and she sees how quiet the neighborhood is. Clearly, he prefers the isolation. Still, it seems like a lot of space for just one person.
He pays the driver and tiredly makes his way up the three front steps to the house. He fumbles with his keys for a minute, shivers when a gust of wind cuts through the air, and unlocks the door. He then goes inside and reluctantly invites them all in, looking uncomfortable as they come into the foyer.
"I'll—uhh—set the kettle for some tea?" he offers.
The house smells of worn books and something floral or herbal that Amelia can't quite describe. It's pleasant—certainly homely.
"No, no, no," Feliks cuts in, putting his hands on Dr. Kirkland's shoulders before steering him in the direction of the stairs. "You don't have to be a host. We'll figure out our way around. Go and rest."
"But there's—"
"Don't worry."
"I want to apologize for the mess, I didn't expect to have guests anytime soon and—"
Feliks chuckles, breaking some of the tension, and adds, "Lie down and pretend we're not here. We'll make the tea."
Dr. Kirkland lingers by the base of the stairs for a moment longer before surrendering with a tiny nod. "All right, but if the—"
"We've got it. Need help walking up?"
"No."
He hurries up the stairs to prove his point that he's apparently capable of functioning without their supervision, and when they hear a bedroom door open and close, that's when the three of them let out a breath of relief and let their guards down.
"I don't know how we did that, but it was magical," Feliks remarks, taking off his coat and boots. "Someone's going to have to go and check on him in like five minutes though to make sure he isn't working on anything."
"I'll do it," Amelia volunteers this time, feeling a little more courageous. "Toris can make the tea."
Toris frowns. "What kind of tea does he like?"
"Whatever he has around, I guess."
All of this is very surreal. If someone had told Amelia several months ago that she'd be standing in the middle of Dr. Arthur Kirkland's kitchen to help brew him some tea and nurse him back to health, she wouldn't have believed it. And yet, this is the position she has found herself in.
He, too, is human—who would've thought?
As Toris pours some water into the kettle and turns on the stove, she takes a moment to note how...barren everything looks—as though Dr. Kirkland doesn't spend a great deal of time at home. Everything is quite minimalistic. While there's food in the pantry and in the fridge, not a lot of time or thought has been put into the decor of the home. She doesn't see any family pictures. There's just a copy of Dr. Kirkland's work schedule attached to the front of the refrigerator along with a sticky note that has a few phone numbers scribbled on it. He does, however, have some old Christmas cards sitting on the mantelpiece in the living room, and Amelia recognizes one of the cards as the one she gave him after he treated her in the ER.
"He must get pretty lonely, don't you think?" she asks Toris as he's looking for a teacup in one of the kitchen cupboards.
"I don't think he's the type of person to mind," he replies. "He works with people all day anyway."
"I think he does mind, at least sometimes."
"Maybe."
"It's a little sad. When I was with him last night...I thought about how maybe I would've been the only one there for him if...if something more serious had happened. If I were in the hospital, I'd want to call my sister right away and have her be by my side, but he doesn't have anyone to call. Don't you think that's awful?"
"Like I said, I'm sure he doesn't mind as much as other people would."
Amelia frowns, unconvinced. She watches Toris and Feliks meander around a bit and listens to them talk about some kind of assignment they have to submit in a couple of days, and then, she figures she should check up on Dr. Kirkland to see if he's really resting because he's been left to his own devices for a while.
Her throat tightens a little as she leaves the kitchen and makes her way upstairs, careful not to make too much noise but also not to walk too quietly either so that he can hear her approach if he hasn't fallen asleep yet.
But of course, he's not sleeping. He's not even in his room, apparently. She catches him in the hallway, exiting the bathroom. He looks sallow and clammy again.
Once again, her fears take a backseat and get replaced with concern.
"Are you okay? Did you vomit?" she asks.
"I'm fine."
"That doesn't answer my second question."
He ignores her and simply ambles back to his bedroom, whereupon he shuts the door and locks it.
Amelia feels red hot anger bubble up in her gut. How dare he dismiss her like that when she's trying to help? Well, she's not going to allow herself to be treated like this, and she doesn't care if he wants to fire her after what she's about to do.
She pounds her fist against the door and shouts, "Hey! I asked you a question! If you don't want to accept our help, then you can just go back to the hospital! I'll call 911! Don't think I won't! I don't care—I don't have to be here! I'm just doing it to be nice, and this is the thanks I get!"
There's a long pause of silence. Then, the lock gets turned and the door comes swinging open.
Dr. Kirkland looks disapprovingly at her, green eyes drilling into her blue ones, and asks, "Did you just threaten me?"
"I threatened to have you hospitalized again—so yes," she responds, unable to hold back. She's definitely going to lose her job now. Why can't she control her big mouth?
He stares at her incredulously, and she expects him to kick her out of his house and tell her she can't ever come back to the clinic again.
She's prepared for something dreadful.
She isn't, however, prepared for laughter.
It starts off as a chuckle, which then evolves into a whole-hearted fit of laughs. It must be the concussion—it's making him crazy and now he has officially lost his mind.
When he calms, he shakes his head lightly and says, "You'll do just fine."
What's that supposed to mean?
"I knew there was something different about you," he adds, walking back into the room and taking a seat on the edge of his bed. As with the rest of the house, the bedroom is minimalistic and feels hollow aside from the many books adorning the shelves on the walls. He takes down one of these books with the intention of reading it, but Amelia is quick to pull it out of his grasp and confiscates it.
"You can read when you've recovered."
"Now I regret asking to be discharged," he grumbles, but he doesn't continue to argue. He rubs his temples, and then, he abruptly lurches forward and rushes out of the room again.
She steps aside and watches him stumble into the bathroom. He slams the door shut, but she can still hear the muffled sound of him retching. Well, at least that finally answers her previous question.
She gets him a glass of water and patiently waits for him to come out, which takes about ten minutes. He's significantly paler, and he keeps massaging his forehead, trying to chase the ache away.
"Did you take your meds yet?"
"No."
"You should take them," she suggests before handing him the glass, "but take something for the nausea first."
He smirks dryly at her advice, amused that she's trying to tell him how to treat himself. He takes the water from her with a small nod of thanks and mumbles, "I'd rather not be incapacitated for the rest of the day."
Ahh, so that's the problem then—he doesn't want to be in an impaired state around them.
"You're at home. What's the big deal? Feliks, Toris, and I will be around to make sure things are okay. You can trust us—I know we're not real professionals yet, but we will be soon enough. It's not like we'll let you aspirate or fall down the stairs. Take the medications and don't worry."
It's clear from the expression on his face that he's not too fond of the idea of placing his trust in anyone, but still, he mutters a defeated "okay" and goes through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom before finding the pills he's in need of and swallowing them with the water.
They're making progress.
He downs the cup of tea Toris brings him a few minutes later, and then, he drifts off to sleep against his will and doesn't wake up until Feliks risks rousing him for lunch.
Dr. Hedervary was right—he's docile on the medication and doesn't attempt to get out of bed, which makes their jobs a whole lot easier.
There isn't much else to do while the man's asleep, so they watch the T.V. in the living room and play charades with Felik's phone until the sun starts going down and their stomachs start rumbling for dinner. Around six o'clock, there's a knock on the door, and it's Dr. Beilschmidt. He reprieves them of their duties, but they don't leave right away because where would the fun in that be?
Instead, they order Chinese food and hang around for a bit longer. By the time they're finished eating, Dr. Kirkland is up and about again. In fact, he comes downstairs and asks why the house smells like egg rolls and fried rice.
Dr. Beilschmidt confronts his question with another question. "How're you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Please feel free to elaborate. Any nausea? Dizziness? Headache? Tinnitus?"
"No."
"Uh-huh, well, I don't believe you, so I'm gonna ask you the question again when the kiddos are gone. Try to get your story straight by then," Dr. Beilschmidt says teasingly, munching on the last egg roll. "Want something to eat? We ordered some soup for you."
"I'm not hungry at the moment."
"Well, you have to eat. Want me to feed you?"
Dr. Kirkland turns bright red and snarls, "Stay away from me!"
Looks like the pain medication has stopped working. He was so nice and complacent earlier.
Therefore, that means it's time for Amelia, Feliks, and Toris to leave and let Dr. Beilschmidt handle the drama. They help clean up after their short feast and call it a night, not wanting to witness any more of what is bound to turn into a full-blown argument.
And well, if Dr. Kirkland's well enough to be arguing again, then they can rest assured that he's going to be just fine.
But, just as they're heading out the door, he stops them to say, "Thank you—all of you."
Maddie was right after all.
They've made it onto his good side.
The thought makes Amelia smile, and she doesn't stop smiling until she's all the way back home.
