Slow Burn
Boötis Medical Center, Arcturus Station, Arcturus System
December 21, 2183
Ashley awoke with a start, her senses on alert, but consciousness trailed in the wake. She felt achy and exhausted, wanted nothing more than to return to her slumber. There was something heavy and hot in her hair, cupping the back of her head. The room was dark save the flickers of light of Joker's life support system. The ventilator forced air into his lungs – the hum of the machine blended with his raspy breathing and co-mingled with the electronic beeps of the AutoArt.
She'd fallen asleep over the side of Joker's hospital bed, her head on her arms. Her fingers were numb, her arms throbbed painfully, and her mouth felt like she'd eaten a towel. By the wetness on her arm, she realized in embarrassment where all her saliva had gone.
Ashley drew in a deep breath as she stirred, stretched her back and turned her head, rubbing the drool off her cheek as she did so. Joker's hand was buried in her hair. She became fully aware as she looked up at him. Green eyes stared back. Oh, thank God! Her lips trembled into a smile of relief.
Joker's heart had flat-lined three times in the last seventy-two hours. Doctors and nurses had flooded the room each time, crowding her out. Only this last time had she barged in and pleaded with him to hang on, never letting go of his hand until they forced her away to shock his heart.
"Hey, Doll," he said in a broken whisper, moving his fingers through her hair.
Williamses don't cry, she reminded herself when her vision blurred and her smile faltered. She blinked rapidly and looked away trying to swallow the lump that lingered in her throat at the sight of Joker's opened eyes. Shadows lined his face as the blue, red and gold lights flickered against the darkness of the room. He massaged her scalp then flicked at the tangled strands between his fingers. She took comfort in the gesture, thanking God that he was awake, alive.
"Hey." She looked back at him, her heart in her throat. "You're awake."
"Really?" he asked, still hoarse. " Huh. Would never have noticed."
"You're something else," she murmured, half laughing half crying with relief.
He gave her a cheeky grin, rubbed her head again – it was almost a caress, like he needed the comfort as much as she did.
"Water?" she offered, sitting up. His hand slipped through the strands of dark hair to give a gentle tug on her ear, then down and lingered on her bare shoulder. His fingertips trailed down her arm weaving cobwebs of electricity. She shuddered at his touch, gooseflesh appearing, and carefully pulled her arm away before his fingers landed in her drool. That would have been too embarrassing for words.
He nodded, gave a pained wince, and the heart monitor kicked up as he tensed.
She gazed at the AutoArt's read-out, and he turned his head to look at the machine. "Joker?" She wiped her arm on her tank top as inconspicuously as she could.
"Ow," he admitted as his breathing and blood pressure returned to what the AutoArt determined an acceptable level. She rose to her feet, flipping her hair over her shoulders, walked to the lav where she found a plastic cup, and turned on the spigot. Her back ached between her shoulder blades from falling asleep at such an odd angle. Filling the cup, she returned to Joker's side.
"It's nice to wake up to bare skin," he commented hoarsely, an eyebrow lifted in marked interest, surprising the hell out of her. "Awesome."
She tossed her head and put a defiant hand on her hip as his gaze raked across the bare skin of her shoulders, arms and legs. He appraised her white and pink tank top and pink shorts she had thrown on for bed. She tried to assess his unreadable features. The way he looked at her made her feel too exposed, her stomach clenching.
She cocked her head to the side. "Just how high are you?" she asked him, and his wide grin affirmed the answer.
"Floatin' in heaven right now," he croaked. "Wish it didn't hurt so much."
She shook her head sadly, sagging a bit in relief. A piece of her wished the attraction was real and not drug-induced, but she quickly put that thought aside. Kaidan's attraction had been real, and he was dead. She didn't need any more baggage. Regs. They were there for a reason.
"I'm not your two-ten-two, Lieutenant Moreau," she growled, and he frowned.
"You've always been at least an eight," he told her like she should already know.
She bristled, her pride insulted. An eight? She knew she wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but being put on the number scale stung for some reason. Her nostrils flared.
"I need to adjust the bed so you can drink this without inhaling it," she told him setting the cup down on the bedside table. Served him right if she doused him with it. Bastard. He gave a nod of consent, and she went about adjusting top of the mattress to raise his torso. After a few attempts, a few curses from him, and adjusting the pillows so they distributed his weight properly, she had him sitting upright.
She gave him the cup as she sat on the bed near his thigh and watched the cup wobble in his hand as he brought it to his lips. She wondered if it was from fatigue or if the doctors' worries of his loss of muscle mass had come to pass. He gulped the liquid as soon as it reached his lips, seemingly unaware that it was running through his beard and dripping off the curly dark hair of his chin.
"I should call Dr. Chakwas," she told him, absently blotting his mouth and chin with his sheet. "She needs to know you're awake."
"I'm tired," he said as he handed the cup back to her, stronger this time. His fingers brushed hers. "Think I'll go back to sleep."
She swallowed as she watched his eyelids droop. "Promise me you'll wake back up again," she blurted before she could stop herself.
"Promise me you'll be here," was his response, meeting her stare with one of his own.
"Deal." She offered her hand to shake. He looked at it enigmatically before taking it, his hand smooth and warm.
"Deal," he agreed and brought her hand to his lips, kissing her palm, then her wrist, a burning look in his eyes holding her still. His lips were soft, moist; his beard was coarse under her fingertips. She sucked in a breath, her blood igniting. But before she could say anything, he released her, his eyes slipping closed. Joker's breathing evened out as sleep claimed him.
Two-Ten-Two – a female crew member, aboard a ship with a much higher percentage of males, who would normally be considered unattractive ashore, but gains attractiveness during deployment due to limited choices and goes back to being considered unattractive when the cruise is over
