Hospitably hospitalized-
Lily gripped the page between two fingers, wrinkling her overlarge nose. She supposed her mother had needed to get over herself at some stinking point, but still. Ug.
She rested the book against her legs, biting her bottom lip. Bastian Kirk (the Driver) shot a glance behind him, "Everythin' alright Miss 'olmes?" he asked gently.
The young girl looked up, "Yep, good. Fine. Bored," she added with the wave of a dismissive hand for good measure. She knew Bastian wouldn't question it if the young Miss Holmes was bored. She always was.
She contemplated closing the book and forgetting it, if the whole thing was going to be this mish-mash of mush. But she found her fingers slipping beneath the current page and turning it to see the next entry. Surprised to find the first sentence to be a quickly penned in-
I can't explain right now what's going on, but I feel I should write this down before I explode:
I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!
Isabelle wondered if she should feel like a new person right about now. She didn't. Not really. She also felt really embarrassed about dumping her problems on Mycroft in such a crude manner.
It had been about a week since the whole "Accident" conversation, and she still couldn't let it go. Should she have presented it differently? She probably should have kept the stupid thing to herself because Mycroft obviously found it rather amusing! Mind you, he was very good at hiding the fact when talking to her directly.
She hated those pitying looks he would give her from behind her back; she could just imagine what he was thinking: "Poor pathetic people and their piddly little self-induced problems".
All well, she wasn't going to be too upset about it. Isabelle was quick to forgive on certain things, and someone pitying her was something she could easily let go of, mostly because it was always there.
Mind you, she hadn't seen much of Mycroft the last three days or so. He must have had something very important going on at work because he would leave sometime before Isabelle woke up, and come home after she fell asleep…one night he hadn't come home at all!
It worried her a bit, because Mycroft seemed the type of person to go days without sleep for something he deemed important. For most people, going three days without sleep would end disastrously! But this was Mycroft. Mycroft was invincible. Or so he seemed to think.
The way he carried himself was that of a man thinking he could handle anything thrown at him, be it the size of an elephant or otherwise. And he did have an amazing mind, but that mind was going to fail him some day.
Isabelle ran a sponge across one of the glass plates, bubbles collected on her bony wrists which sat just above the hot water. Her brow was furrowed in deep concentration, as though washing dishes was a truly important task. Her fingers were becoming prune-y due to submersion, making the whole thing a bit uncomfortable. But she'd promised to do it, she'd insisted that she do it, she wanted to be helpful!
Madelyn Ross had given Isabelle a half day because she herself had one, there was very little that needed doing in her department.
"Evenin' Miss Long!" Said a decidedly male voice from the doorway that Isabelle had not expected. The plate slipped from her grasp and slammed against the metal bottom of the sink. It didn't break, thankfully, but it scared the daylights out of her to even consider it!
Her hand shot up to her chest as she levelled her breathing, effectively soaking the front of her shirt. "God, Bastian don't do that!" she yelped.
Bastian Kirk, Mycroft's youngest, newest, stupidest, and yet most trustworthy driver, blinked at her. "Jeez, sorry Miss Long, you alright?" he asked, running a hand over his curly light brown hair.
Isabelle couldn't help but smile at the earnest expression that went across the Driver's face, "I'm ok Bastian, you just startled me," she supplied, drying her hands off on a hand towel.
Bastian smiled crookedly, "Good," he said with a huff of laughter, "I'd thought I'd given you an 'eart attack!"
"Well, you didn't," Isabelle said, putting her now dried hands on her hips.
The Driver seemed to realize that he was interrupting something, and stepped back, "Right, well I'm just gonna go upstairs for a sec' Miss Long, then I'll be out your way," he said in a rush.
Isabelle rolled her eyes, "Alright Bastian," she replied fondly.
He took about three steps before it struck Isabelle that Bastian being in the house when Mycroft wasn't-was very unusual!
"Bastian what are you doing here?" she called, walking over and arching around the doorway to see the young Driver halfway up the stairs. He turned around, "I'm getting' Mr. 'olmes's laptop," he replied simply.
"Right, but why does he need his home office laptop? He couldn't have forgotten it," she questioned further, stepping all the way into the hall.
Bastian did another run through his hair with his fingers, "I'm not s'posed to tell you Miss Long, 'e said not to tell you anything. Just go in and get out!" he gave her an imploring look.
Isabelle's brow furrowed, her lips forming a displeased frown. What on earth was this about? It wasn't as though Isabelle knew anything about Mycroft's work, so why keep that information from her? Why couldn't he just use his office laptop? She was pretty certain that that one had more vital information on it!
She tugged at the edge of her shirt, "Bastian, what's going on?" she pushed, taking a step forwards. The young man cleared his throat, "I'm s'posed to keep secrets Miss Long, that's part of my job you know so uh… I can't tell you."
Isabelle walked closer, looking up at him with narrowed Hazel eyes, "Bastian I am quite certain you can trust me," she replied.
The young man sighed heavily through his mouth, "Fine, but please don't tell 'im I told you because he might sack me if 'e knows… Mr. 'olmes is at the hospital."
And suddenly Isabelle was staggering backwards a step, eyes wide, "H-he's what?!" she yelped, perhaps a little too shrilly because Bastian winced.
"See, I wasn't s'posed to tell you!" he complained, coming down to her level.
Isabelle wasn't listening though. All sorts of terrible thoughts ran through her head, he'd been shot, he had some sort of terrible car accident, he'd fallen down some stairs and gotten a terrible head injury! Perhaps they were all rather farfetched-Bastian clearly wasn't hurt which ruled out car accident. And most certainly if Mycroft was really hurt, he wouldn't be able to request his laptop or tell Bastian to keep the whole think secret!
All reasoning seemed to fly through the window.
She remembered when her mother had fallen ill, nearly ten years after the death of their father. Isabelle had sat at her hospital bedside and told her about the day she'd had, or how things were going with her new boyfriend (she was only fifteen at the time). Neither Maria nor Gloria were very willing to come and visit, Maria especially had a hard time grasping that her mother was near death.
Gloria would pace the living room and then grill Isabelle about the visit, then tell her what an idiot she was for not doing a better job of cheering up Mrs. Long.
Without her noticing Bastian had run upstairs and collected the laptop. It was now clutched beneath his right arm, left hand gripping the edge protectively. "Miss Long, if uh…If you wanna come with I guess you can," he said, eyes filled with sympathy. Isabelle wondered if he had a sick parent or family member, maybe a girlfriend. He obviously understood how upset she currently was.
"Yes, thank you Bastian," Isabelle replied distractedly, "I'll just be a second."
She made a dash upstairs, gave General Stuffington a self-consoling hug, wrote a quick note in her diary, then grabbed her back which had her wallet, a water bottle and a container of ibuprofen which she knew she was going to need! Then she went back downstairs, following Bastian to the car.
The Hospital smelled…clean. Like someone had dipped the whole building in bleach and disinfectant. It wasn't the worst smell she'd ever come across. And in a way, she'd always assumed Mycroft's room would smell sort of like that. But it still made her discomfort (and a sense of unease) rise.
Isabelle could feel her heart hammering wildly in her chest as more and more outlandish situations ran through her mind. Had she voiced them, she was sure Bastian would have consoled her and told her that none of those things were actually true. But she hadn't, and thus he didn't.
She fingered the strap of her bag as they arrived at the door to Mycroft's room. A man in informal clothing stood off to the side, scrutinizing them deeply before he seemed to shrug them off as unimportant.
Bastian entered the room first, "Sir," he nodded his head to Mycroft was seated atop the blankets on the bed in middle of the room. He was wearing his button up shirt and dark pants, but his vest and jacket had been pulled off and folded neatly on one of the visitor's chairs. He looked pale, er, paler than usual; his hair a little damp with what Isabelle could only assume was sweat. Otherwise he looked no worse for wear.
Isabelle might have been furious first if she hadn't been so relieved! Something caught in her throat as she ran forwards and embraced Mycroft and eventually brought him into a kiss.
It was cold and clammy, but it still felt oh-so-right. Her head tilted she pressed her lips hard against his until he opened his mouth a little. Then she pulled back, she was more sensible than to do anything further.
He stared at her with confused stormy gray eyes, his lips still parted, "Uh," he cleared his throat, "Good evening Isabelle."
Well… she expected a little more of a reaction than that. Fury finally made its way to the top of her to-do list, "Good evening? That's all you have to say? My God Mycroft what happened?!" she demanded.
"I'll just wait outside shall I?" Bastian said in a light and uncomfortable tone of voice before he left the room.
"Nothing life threatening my dear I-"
"Oh right, so it's unimportant just because it didn't kill you?" Isabelle interrupted sharply, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
He swallowed, "Yes," he replied coolly.
Isabelle ran a hand across the hair on her scalp, fingers digging into flesh before they parted, "I hate you," she mumbled tersely, "How dare you!"
"How dare I? You are the one that stormed in here and decided to kiss me!" he said defensively, "Obviously without any idea if I had some sort of contagious disease!" his voice had risen uncomfortably, so he took in a calming breath.
Isabelle did the same, deciding it was much better than decking a sick man, "I was scared sick," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, "What is wrong with you?" she pressed.
She saw Mycroft's jaw set before he managed a reply, "Nausea, chest pains, and what felt like a migraine. They're running a few tests to be sure it's nothing of importance (as I stated earlier, it clearly wasn't) then I shall leave," he shrugged listlessly.
Isabelle swallowed a lump in her throat, "B-but you're better now?" she asked, toying with her fingers. He nodded, "Perfectly."
She wasn't sure where to go from there. Yell at him, kiss him again, or storm out in a huff? She really wasn't sure, so she stood there awkwardly. "I guess I'm just glad you're ok," she managed to say through the blockage in her throat. God she had been so scared! What if he had been in a coma? Or lost his entire left arm? ...that was possible right?
The way he seemed to shrug off what had happened made her sick to her stomach, because he had always concerned about her wellbeing. Why not his own? Was he too proud to care? Was this a Holmes thing?
"Please, explain to me just-just one more thing before you continue," Isabelle interrupted as she rubbed at her right temple, "If I hadn't come here, would you have told me about this? Would you have come to me and told me that you had been in the hospital because of nausea and chest pains?"
He gave her a blank stare, "Of course."
Somehow, she didn't believe him. She really, really didn't. Ever since there first walk in the rain, she'd realized that Mycroft was not a "sharer". He didn't share his feelings, he didn't explain personal matters, he certainly didn't share his drinks because apparently that was "ickier" than kissing her. He shared the muffin upon their first meeting- that was good. But it had nothing to do with his brother, or his own wellbeing!
Her hands clenched into fists at her side, "I nearly had an aneurism because I thought you might have been in a car accident," she yelped.
More awkward silence…wonderful.
Isabelle dragged a chair over to Mycroft's bedside, whilst he opened his laptop and typed in the password -and then a few more passwords. His lips were pursed in annoyance, brow furrowed slightly as he focused on the screen in front of him.
"You know you can tell me anything right?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, "I won't hate you or become angry, I won't judge. I'm not like that."
"I know you aren't my dear," he responded wearily, brushing back his dark brown hair with his fingers before he started typing.
"I told you about the 'Accident' thing, I told you about MY life," Isabelle continued, regardless of his general uncaring, "why can't you tell me when you're sick and in the hospital?"
He didn't respond, but he wasn't really given much time to do it, because the Doctor entered the room. "Alright Mr. Holmes," she said pleasantly, "You're free to go."
Mycroft gave a kind smile (one that Isabelle recognized as false, but the Doctor did not). "What's wrong with him?" Isabelle asked.
The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her, "And you are-?"
"A friend," Isabelle said tersely, "what's wrong with him?"
The woman offered a tight smile at the obvious irate family member\friend, "A number of things, sleep deprivation, a heavy dosage of stress, and to a smaller degree-malnourishment."
"Wow Mycroft, you went for the trifecta!" Isabelle said, slightly hysterical laughter edging around her words. He smiled softly at her despite himself, but said nothing.
"If you want my opinion, I recommend a few days of rest, three meals a day, and avoidance of stressful situations," the Doctor continued, pressing the back of one hand against her hip, a sideways smirk on her face.
"Of course, thank you," Mycroft supplied in that falsely happy tone of his. The Doctor seemed to accept this response and she left the room.
Mycroft turned off his laptop and closed it, then stood up to pull on his other layers of clothing.
"You were lying weren't you," Isabelle deadpanned.
He turned to her, "Of course I was," he replied, a wry smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. At the stare she was giving him, he amended his statement, "I assure you I will do a satisfactory job of feeding myself and sleeping My Dear, but I cannot go a day-"
"No way are you going back to work!" Isabelle interrupted, because she knew it was going to take a year for him to finish that sentence.
He blinked at her, "I most certainly am," he replied, more than a little petulantly. Isabelle raised her eyebrows, "Yeah, uh. No you're not. And I'm going to ensure it! You're staying home for a few days and recovering from…whatever this just was," she crossed her arms tightly around her thin body. She found herself standing strong on this; usually she was very passive about people doing what they wanted. She could never convince them to stop, so why bother? But this, this was different. Mycroft was most certainly going to be watched by Isabelle, and to some extent Bastian-because Isabelle had a job now.
He looked at her with jaw muscled tight and a piercing stare before his resolve seemed to crumple, "Fine," he said stiffly, brushing past her and exiting the room.
Yep, this was going to be fun…
ThatClarinetGirl: Haha, thank you! Funny works, I'll take funny and run with it. X)
Three chapters in one month?...I'm on a roll! XD
At any rate, thanks to everyone that has favorited, followed, and reviewed thus far-that's absolutely awesome! I hope this one is more satisfactory than the last one.
Excuse inaccuracies in the whole Hospital bit, I don't think I've ever been sick or hurt enough to need to stay at a hospital for very long. (I'm very lucky)
I'll try to have the next chapter up soon:
"Blackest of Moods"
In which three days of basically doing nothing takes its toll on Mycroft, and Isabelle finds herself to be rather tolerant.
Also, lots of fluff at the end for good measure.