"You have reached the voice mailbox of: THREE, ONE, SEVEN, FOUR, FOUR, TWO…"
Damn it, Lydia cursed to herself, ending the call. Setting her phone on her desk, she brought a hand to rub at her forehead. It had been nearly two weeks since she'd last seen Jefferson, and in that time, he'd missed two standing appointments with her. They'd previously been meant as follow-ups to make adjustments to the multitude of medications she'd prescribed him, but part of her hoped this time could now be used to talk about their current situation. Perhaps even diffuse any lingering tensions between them since their last conversation. But the fact that he hadn't even bothered contacting her office to cancel these appointments caused an incessant worry to gnaw at her heart.
With a sigh, she glanced down at her notes, going over the long list of antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds she'd had him try over the years. Some had helped; others only worsened his symptoms. Ultimately, none of the trial runs had been particularly successful in his case, but that made sense now. Flipping the page back over, she scanned the sparse details of his family medical history, feeling a wave of sorrow wafting through her.
Where are you, Jefferson?
"Dr. Warner?" Lydia snapped her head up at the soft knock, seeing their receptionist, Kelly, standing in the doorway. "Your 11:30 is here," she held up a patient's file in her hand.
Lifting her brows, Lydia drew in a breath, released it. "Right." She hesitated, then rubbed at her forehead again. "Right."
"You okay, Doc?"
"Just a headache," she shook her head dismissively, closing Jefferson's file. "I'll be right out; just give me a sec."
As Kelly came in to hand over the file, Lydia released a long, slow sigh. Regardless of her concern for Jefferson's well-being, her other patients took priority right now, and she forced herself to mentally shift gears.
They need you, too, she thought, standing up at last. And they're the only ones you can help right now. Opening the file, she glanced through the summarizing details the nurse had provided, her mind already making potential analyses as she headed out of her office.
Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap.
Stirring out of sleep, Lydia shifted slightly, settling back against her pillow with a heavy sigh.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
Brow furrowing, she turned over, glancing at the glowing green numbers of the clock on her nightstand. 3:19A.M.
Wha…? Her first instinct was to question if that low branch was hitting her window again, but…
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
No. No, it didn't sound like there was any wind outside. And that pattern was far too steady to just be a branch. Then what in the world…?
Reaching over to flick on the bedside lamp, she squinted momentarily as her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, rubbing at them before throwing back the covers. Once she'd slipped on her robe, she made her way out to the short hallway that led her living room, hearing that same tap-tap-tap, a bit more distinctly this time. Feeling around for the light switch on the wall, she flicked it on, her eyes scanning the modest furnishings and seeing nothing out of the ordinary. But as she walked further in—
TAP-TAP-TAP.
Snapping her head over to the sliding glass door, she gasped harshly, a hand clutching at her chest when she realized someone was standing outside on her back porch. Her first instinct was to scream, or run and grab the baseball bat from her closet, or…
As the intruder looked up and made eye contact, Lydia's jaw dropped in recognition. "Jefferson?" She rasped.
A look of relief seemed to pass over him, and she immediately hurried over to unlatch the door.
"My God, what are you doing here?" She asked as she slid the door open, but then the questions in her mind were instantly silenced when she saw the bleeding cut on his forehead. And the way he was clutching his left arm as he slouched against the glass door. And the strain in his features conveying his obvious pain. "Jefferson," she reached out, but stopped short of touching him, "you're hurt."
"Yeah," he wheezed, his voice clearly laced with pain.
"What happened?"
"I…" He heaved a sigh. "…fell out a window."
Her eyes went wide. "You what?"
He shook his head. "It's a long story."
"Why on Earth didn't you call an ambulance? You should be in the hospital in case—"
"No!" He interrupted, and as Lydia fell silent, he released a slow breath. "I can't….I can't go to the hospital right now." He lifted his pleading eyes to hers. "Please: I had nowhere else to go. I need your help."
She knew there was far more than what he was telling her, but the healer inside her soon took over and she dismissed it as she lightly placed a hand on his back. "Come inside," she said, gently leading him in.
Locking the door behind them, she guided him over to the couch, helping him ease down as he continued to clutch his arm.
"Can I see?" She asked, taking a seat next to him. He didn't answer, but slowly took his hand away, allowing her to carefully take his arms in her hands. "Where is it hurting?" She asked, gently pressing her fingertips into him.
"Shoulder," he gritted.
"Okay. Deep breath," she advised, and as she brought her fingers to his shoulder, he hissed and grimaced in pain.
"Ah, damn it," he groaned.
That, coupled with the prominent bulge she'd detected under his skin, confirmed her suspicions. "Shhh, relax," she soothed, removing her hand. "You've dislocated your shoulder. Most likely where you took the brunt of the impact when you hit the ground."
He briefly pursed his lips. "Can you fix it?"
"I can, but I'm going to need you to relax yourself as best as you can. Wait here." Rising from the couch, Lydia went to grab everything she would need to administer the first-aid he needed. Organizing the items on her coffee table, she returned to his side and took his arm once more.
"Okay, so remember: keep yourself relaxed. You're going to feel some pressure, but the less tension you hold in your body, the easier it'll be on you. Alright?"
His cheeks puffed as he blew out a breath, and then he gave an ascending nod.
Moving his arm carefully, she advised him to "Breathe" as she encouraged him to bend his elbow, rotating his wrist upward before easing the limb back. When he drew in a hissing breath, she instinctively paused. "Easy," she said, "Keep breathing. This next part is where you'll probably feel pain, but bear with me." As he exhaled, she pushed up on his arm as gently as possible, and then his shoulder suddenly shifted forward with a pop, and his eyes bulged before squeezing shut.
"Ohh!" He groaned, but Lydia kept her hands on him, trying to keep him from doubling over.
"It's okay, it's okay. Keep breathing. That was the worst of it. I'm gonna rotate your arm forward now, and I want you to hold onto it for a sec…"
Jefferson did as he was told, and minutes later, she was placing his arm in a sling, helping him adjust the strap to a comfortable length.
"It's hard to say if you tore any ligaments," she said, reaching for the ice pack she'd filled, "but if you're not in excessive pain right now, you probably lucked out. We need to keep it iced, though," she gently placed it on his shoulder, seeing him wince slightly, "to help prevent swelling. The less movement you make with this arm, the better. At least until it has a chance to heal."
Jefferson breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, and eventually brought his other hand to the ice pack, giving a nod to indicate that he could hold it. As his face gradually relaxed, Lydia was already coating a gauze pad with antiseptic, bringing it to his forehead to clean the cut over his eyebrow. Thankfully, it wasn't very deep. Every so often, he'd wince, even as she cleaned the small scrapes she'd found on his cheeks, but each time, she gave him a chance to adjust before dabbing at him again. While tending to him, Lydia couldn't help but note the tears in his shirt and his disheveled hair, and something about his appearance had her sighing to herself.
"I was worried, you know," she mentioned, unwrapping a couple of butterfly bandages. "Not hearing from you at all for two weeks, thinking something might have happened to you." She frowned, adding, "Tonight certainly doesn't help." It was as she brought one bandage to his forehead that she locked eyes with him, feeling herself momentarily freeze. God, they were so incredibly bright... "It scares me," she admitted, smoothing the bandage across the top of his cut, "thinking I could be left all alone here. That someday I'll wake up, and you really will be gone." Placing the second bandage just below the first, she drew back slightly, letting her eyes search his. "There's no one from my past here other than you, Jefferson. No one else I can turn to. You may have had your daughter, but any of my family, my friends…I didn't have anyone else in Wonderland." She took a breath, her voice almost dropping to a whisper. "You're all I have."
As he continued to stare, something passed through his eyes, and as she caught the barest furrow of his brow, a sudden flush hit her face. Quickly averting her eyes, Lydia exhaled slowly through her nose. She wasn't sure why, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him in that moment. Not while she could still feel that burning sensation in her cheeks.
"Please say something," she uttered softly, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles as she waited for him to—
"I'm sorry," he said at last, prompting her to turn at last. "I'm sorry I made you worry. And…" He seemed to debate his next words. "…thank you. For worrying about me."
Hearing the sincerity in his voice had something in her chest tightening, though not in an uncomfortable way. "I still wish you'd gone to the hospital. At the very least, they could have checked for any signs of a concussion."
"I'm okay," he assured. "I hear what you're saying, and I know it's for the best, but…" He shook his head. "I just can't do that."
Though that worried her, she knew he wouldn't change his mind. "Do me a favor, then: if you start to feel any nausea or pressure, or anything that seems out of the ordinary, will you please tell me? I just want to make sure you're properly cared for, is all."
His eyes still held hers, and she could sense the relief and gratitude that were shimmering behind them. "I can do that."
That had her smiling faintly, and it was then that she noticed the traces of mild fatigue overtaking his features. "Listen, it's late, and I'm due at the office in a few hours," she stood, crossing her arms over her chest, "but I really don't like the idea of you leaving right now. Why don't you stay here for the rest of the night? You can have the sofa, and that way, I can check on you before I leave. If you're doing okay, you can call a cab to take you home in the morning."
Even as she said it, he was looking up at her with an acquiescing expression. "Alright."
Good, she thought, feeling relieved at his acceptance. Situating him so that he was laying down comfortably, Lydia grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch, unfolding it and draping it over his lower body. "I know it's not much," she mentioned, "but at least you'll have a chance to rest and keep that arm stable for a—"
"Lydia."
She paused, her eyes locking with his, and as she detected the warmth radiating from his gaze, she felt that strange flutter in her pulse again.
"Thank you," he breathed.
Feeling her heart swell, Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but for some reason, the words failed her, and she sighed quietly as she simply gave him a nod. "Get some rest, Jefferson," she told him, flicking the light off for him as she made her way back to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
~Wonderland~
"…to work," Jefferson exhaled, his voice barely audible as he fought against his exhaustion. "Get it…get it…to…to work…"
Coming up behind him, Clara carefully draped a bolt of fabric over his shoulders, not saying a word as his head drooped to the stone table. For hours, he'd been resisting the urge to sleep, and it was always a nightmare watching him work himself into a frenzy—for days at a time—neglecting his own physical and mental well-being; uttering the same phrases over and over again to keep him motivated; all for the sake of his hats. His many, many…many hats. But at times, even he had to eventually succumb to his body's natural need for rest and recovery, and as she stood back, she let her eyes linger on him a moment longer.
"Get it…to work," he echoed once more, and then he was snoring softly.
Clara looked at with sorrowful eyes. Every day, it was the same thing, and every day, she had to watch him do this to himself. Over and over again. And just like every time, this moment of quiet would only be a temporary reprieve.
With a sigh, Clara turned and made her way to the far corner of the cell. Kneeling upon the thin scraps of fabric she'd used to cover the floor, she laid herself down, still feeling the chill of the stone floor beneath her skin. Drawing the large muffin cap she used for a pillow close, she fluffed it uselessly, then settled her head upon it as she stared at the wall beside her. The same wall she looked at every single night, with the same stones she'd counted over and over and over again.
Feeling her eyes fill with tears, Clara closed her eyes and cried, her quiet sobs no louder than the sound of Jefferson's heavy breathing.
~Storybrooke~
In her room, Lydia's eyes had adjusted to the dark, staring over at the door on the opposite wall. She knew she needed to sleep, but it was distracting knowing that Jefferson was just beyond that door, sleeping peacefully in her living room. At least, she hoped it was peacefully. With all the pain and anguish he'd put himself through during those years, he certainly deserved a night of dreamless sleep.
Jefferson, her mind whispered.
Shifting beneath her covers, Lydia lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh. Though her eyes gradually drifted shut, her thoughts continued to dwell on her unexpected guest, and she could only hope that sleep would soon follow.