Author's notes:
This was one of the chapters I was really looking forward to writing and I am not at all satisfied with it ;-; but work is killing me lately and I'm always too tired to write, so in the end I decided to publish it anyway... I rely on your kindness!
CHAPTER VIII
Alexander warily inspected the little crowd that had invaded his hospital room that morning – there was the surgeon who last operated on him, his doctor, Hercules, who was talking with both and trying to understand which papers he had to sign, nurse Alice and then Thomas. It was Alex's last hour in there and he couldn't stop fidgeting on his bed – the previous day the doctors had finally set his leg free from the cast, his back had completely recovered by now and there was no trace of the old scratches and cuts he'd earned from the face-off with the concrete. Jefferson had noted that Alex 'almost' looked like a normal, healthy person, except for his usual circled eyes.
Earlier that morning, Thomas had entered his room with a smirk on his face, carrying a wheelchair and some bath towels with him.
"You, my dear sir, are going to have a real shower before going away," he'd announced with a solemn tone, "it'll be difficult showering at home for a while since you'll not be able to stand until you'll do a little rehab, so we're going to use the big one in here."
"No way."
"I swear I won't peek –
"You perv!"
When Herc, the doctors and Alice entered the room some hours later, Alex was freshly showered and shaved, his hair were loose on his shoulders and still a little wet, and he appeared even healthier than some of his normal days. Alexander hadn't realised how shabby-looking he'd been until Thomas had placed a mirror in front of his face, declaring that if the doctors saw him in that condition, they would surely decide to keep him in longer.
After the surgeon left, Hercules and Alice helped him sit on another old wheelchair – Herc had rented it specifically for Alex's first weeks at home – and gathered his (few) clothes and (many) books, while the doctor signed all the release papers. After a couple of minutes, she quickly shook their hands and left, followed by Alice. Thomas walked Alexander and Hercules to the door, keeping it open for them and forcing a smile.
"Are you going to miss me?" Alex asked playfully, looking up at Jefferson.
"I can only say that the party starts in five minutes," Thomas joked, but his smile didn't reached his eyes, "I hope not to see you in this hospital again, for your own good."
"You're right," Alex mirrored his empty smile, searching for something else to say before his goodbye – he couldn't think about anything though, "so, I guess I'll see you around."
"Yes, good luck with rehab and remember – if you'll ever become a politician, don't forget about this hospital and for god's sake, raise our salaries."
"Consider it done," Alex giggled and looked back as Hercules pushed his wheelchair out of the door, "bye, Thomas."
Thomas nodded awkwardly and let the door close, turning away at once.
As the man he'd dreamed about in the last three weeks walked away along the corridor, further and further from him, Alexander kept his eyes on his tall handsome figure, wondering whether they would ever see each other again. Thomas didn't looked back at him and Alex cast one last glance before the doors closed and Hercules pushed his wheelchair away.
Three weeks later, Thomas woke up in his empty double bed – his sleep disturbed by Independence, who had suddenly decided to nest right on his hair. He lazily pushed the cat away from his face and rubbed his eyes for a couple of seconds before looking at the alarm clock – it was 9 a.m. and his shift wouldn't start before 2 pm. He groaned and pulled the cover back on his head, shielding his eyes from the bright rays of sun that seeped into the bedroom.
Said room was a complete mess: his clothes were scattered all around on the floor or piled up on the swivelling chair he'd appointed to be his new closet; on his desk, crumpled papers were crowding every possible area and three empty glasses had been left there, completely forgotten, next to a little cactus which probably needed some water itself; the wardrobe was open and Thomas's work uniform were the only thing in place in the whole room, while every other garment looked as if it'd been fighting with the others for the whole night, resting now all tangled together in many colourful knots.
After having being gently shoved away from the bed, Independence meowed to get his attention again and Thomas eventually left his blanket-made nest to head to the kitchen and prepare some food for both Indie and himself.
"Today's menu offers chicken and salmon," Thomas emptied the can into Indie's bowl, "good god, you eat way better than me, my dear."
After a quick breakfast – the previous day's macaroni and cheese, directly from the container – he took a long shower and headed to the bedroom again, contemplating the room's chaos. He picked up some clothes and started dividing the clean ones from the dirty ones – it was time for laundry anyway – when he suddenly stopped, his hand still mid-air. He slowly bent to pick something from the floor, right under the bed, and straightened up again, gravely looking at the object in his hand – it was a woman's pop sock. His lips twisted in a sad smile and he suddenly felt some tears tickle in the corner of his eyes; he dropped the sock on the floor at once and weakly walked towards the door, grabbing his work uniform on his way out and forgetting about the laundry again.
Work wasn't that funny lately – both Philip and Hamilton were gone, Mr Eliot didn't really appreciate Thomas's vampire-themed jokes and James Madison had tried to be hospitalised again but it hadn't worked this time; therefore, all his patients were nice and very old people, waiting for their hip or femur surgery. Sadly, Hamilton's insurance didn't cover his rehab – he'd told Thomas he would use some of his savings and part of his college funds to pay for it, but he wouldn't be going to the hospital to do his sessions. Nevertheless, Thomas entered the ward every day hoping to see Alexander walking around in his crutch, complaining aloud about physiotherapists, hospitals, rehab and so on. But every day, after scanning each room of the ward, Thomas got back to work less and less hopeful to meet that loudmouth handsome idiot again.
"Hey Tom," a patient waved at him that afternoon, as he entered Room Five, "how're you doin'?"
"Hey – great," Thomas answered half-heartedly while checking another patient's chart; then, his brain actually registered the voice and he looked up to find himself staring at Bernie's smiling face, "oh my – wait a minute."
"Oh yeah, that is the reaction I was expecting."
"Oh my god, Bernie! What the hell are you doing here?"
"I'm having surgery tomorrow afternoon," he beamed at Thomas, "it's all paid for me this time."
"That's great darlin'," Thomas completely forgot about the other patient and sat at Bernie's bed, "have you finally found some association that is willing to pay for it or –
"Actually, no. I should've told you before," he nervously rubbed the back of his neck, "but Alexander had asked me not to tell anyone – he paid for my surgery."
"Wh- wait, I don't think I have understood correctly," Thomas's heart literally stopped, "are you talking about Alexander Hamilton, the one who denounced you two months ago?"
"The very one."
For a moment, an uncomfortable silence filled the room; the two other patients nosily witnessed the moment as Bernie kept looking worriedly at Thomas and the latter tried to shape his confused thoughts into words.
"…did he win the lotto?" Thomas got up, bewildered, "did he married someone rich? Where the hell did he find the money to pay for such an expensive surgery?"
"Well, he told me he had some savings and insisted to use part of his college funds... I opposed at first, of course, but he told me he would've never forgiven himself for what he'd done to me if I hadn't accepted."
"I see."
"Are you upset?" Bernie's eyes betrayed a glimpse of guilt, "I feel horribly, taking advantage of his kindness in this way; but he was so insistent and, you know, I do need this surgery."
"I'm not upset, Bernie, not at all," Thomas held his hand and squeezed it gently, "I couldn't be happier for you, my friend."
"Thank you, Thomas."
"I need to talk to Hamilton, though – do you have his number?"
"I don't even own a phone," he smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry, I'll find another way."
Thomas stepped in the corridor with his head light, feeling dizzy. Was it possible that Alexander had refused his own rehab to give all his money to save Bernie's life? Moreover, back surgery was way more expensive than simple rehab – where did he find all that money? Was he in trouble? What should Thomas do?
Without even thinking, he headed to the lodge and turned the ward's computer on; his hands lingered on the keyboard for a moment – it was illegal to use patients' private contact information, Alexander could sue him for that. On the other hand, Thomas was pretty sure he wouldn't do that… but it was better not to risk, considering how devoted Hamilton was to the law. He stood there for some more moments, hesitantly looking at the screen, but, in the end, he sighed and turned the computer off, hurrying back to work and trying not to think too much about it.
The day of Bernie's surgery, Thomas switched his shift with Eleonor so to assist him both before and after the operation. When the doctor said that everything had gone smoothly and Bernie's back would recover completely, Thomas almost cried out of relief. Bernie had a future now – thanks to Hamilton.
"How are you feelin' today?" he asked his friend the following day, "do you need painkillers?"
"Thanks, Tom, but I won't need them," Bernie's tired face cracked into a weak smile, "it isn't as painful as yesterday."
"You don't have to endure anything, you know that, right?"
"Yes, but it's so nice to feel both my legs right now – I don't want painkillers to numb them again."
"All right, but if it's too much let me know," Thomas carefully plumped up Bernie's pillow and tuck him in the blankets before going away.
However, that day was not to be a boring one – as soon as Thomas stepped into the corridor, the ward's phone rang and he instantly groaned. It was Eleonor's duty to answer the phone during the afternoon shift, but, since they'd swapped shifts, now it was his responsibility and he hated it; most of the people who called were patients' annoyed or over-concerned family members, who were able to go on for hours about how squeaky their wife's brother's bed was, or asking information about the cough that their father-in-law had contracted the previous week.
"Hello?"
"Hey sexy nurse, can you pass the phone to Bernie if he's feeling well enough to talk?"
"…Hamilton?"
"Yup, do you miss me already?"
"I –
Thomas didn't really know what to think. Hearing Hamilton's voice after weeks left him speechless for a couple of seconds and he simply stood there, in the middle of the corridor, with his mouth slightly open and his heart beating like a drum.
"Holy shit, you do miss me!"
"Alexander!" after a moment, Thomas came to his senses and remembered why he needed to talk to Hamilton "for god's sake, what do you think you're doing with Bernie?"
"Has he had the surgery yet?"
"Yes but –
"So why is it your problem?"
"First of all, stop being an asshole," Thomas hissed, vexed by his former patient's approach, "I wasn't aware you only needed three weeks to erase all the progress you'd done in months here."
"Yeah, it looks like I'm unaccustomed to bossy people again! Such a pity," Alexander replied sarcastically.
"Secondly, shut up a moment and give me your number so I can call you later," Thomas went on, ignoring the other's sharp comment.
"Look, I only want – wait, what?"
"Your number, Hamilton."
In the end, when Thomas passed the phone to Bernie, who had eventually succumbed and requested painkillers and was now lying serenely in his bed, he had Hamilton's number safely saved in his phone and a half-guilty, half-satisfied grin on his face.