Author's Notes: I'm starting to discover that I super thought I already posted a lot of these. Awkward. The prompt for this one was: "James shows up announced at Lily's after a traumatic/emotional event; something with pancakes/waffles."

Waiting Room

Chairs in hospital waiting rooms are uncomfortable. Stiff, scratchy, narrow—you'd think, considering the very point of said waiting rooms, that they might invest in some comfortable chairs. Or maybe that was just part of the experience, Lily decides. A sort of inevitability, if you will. After all, it was the rare person who found themselves wanting to be in a hospital waiting room. Maybe, like the inhabitants themselves, the chairs were meant to reflect that same reluctance and discomfort. There was some sort of harmony in that, wasn't there? A sense of balance and unity? Lily likes balance. She always has.

How long has she been here now? Somewhere around the time her father, grim-faced and shell-shocked, had left to call some more relatives, and Petunia, eyes red-rimmed and filled with betrayal, had hissed, Do something. Wave your wand, make some magic! Isn't that your point? She's in there dying and you're not doing anything? Lily had lost track of the minutes and hours. She just sat in her uncomfortable chair, waiting.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

Then there's a styrofoam carton in her lap.

"Waffles." A voice. A familiar voice. A plastic fork is maneuvered into her hand. "The chap at the shop lathered them in syrup. Really, just piled it on. So, messy waffles."

Lily turns her head, blinks rapidly for a few seconds.

"Hi, Potter." Her voice sounds strange to her ears. Scratchy. Casual. "What're you doing here?"

"Er, you Floo-ed me, actually." James scratches behind his ear, clears his throat. "Yeah. I thought it a bit odd, too. But, you know, stranger things and all that."

"My mum was in an accident."

"Yeah, you mentioned."

"She's in surgery. She's been in surgery. Don't know how long. What time is it?"

"Ah, nearly six now. Sun should be up soon."

"Right. Sun." Lily swallows. James Potter is sitting next to her in a hospital. He's sitting next to her in a hospital, and he's brought her waffles. Apparently, she'd called him. She doesn't remember doing that. "Do I…do I do something?" she asks, staring at him. "My sister said I should do something. Wave my wand, make it go away. I…I don't know how to do that. But Mungo's might. Do I call Mungo's? She's a Muggle. They probably don't take Muggles. I don't know. I don't know how that works."

"Do you want me to find out?" James asks. "My parents, they know people there. I can go—"

He's already rising from his chair, and Lily lashes out, grabs onto his wrist like a shackle, a lifeline.

"No," she says. She's shaking her head so furiously, the waffle carton jostles in her lap. "No, don't go. Please don't go."

He sits back down. "All right." His fingers cover hers, a second shackle. A comfort. "All right. Not going anywhere."

Lily lets out a long breath. Her head begins to swim. Or maybe that's her vision.

She can't bring herself to let go of him. His skin is too warm, his bones beneath her fingers too solid. So she pops open the carton one-handed, still holding the plastic fork. The waffles are indeed drowning in syrup.

"Thanks for the waffles," she says.

His hand continues to stroke hers.

"Any time, Evans," he tells her. "Any time."