AN: Doin' my best to rush through some stuff so that we can delve into the juicy bits. As always, encouragement is my main motivation.
Anyways, really like this episode.
/
Most days, volunteering at Galilee General was a reprieve, a sort of recess away from home. Amanda enjoyed helping people, and a little light labour kept her hands and mind occupied. Some mingling with the other orderlies never hurt either. Phillip, Jamie, and Dotty were her world, but even she needed a distraction now and then.
Today was different. Today Lee Stetson was her patient.
Hospitals made the man grouchier than a bear, which was impressive, since Scarecrow was already the grouchiest person she knew. He snapped at any food that was offered and bristled whenever Amanda enforced his prescription. He was like a caged animal, inconsolable and agitated.
In spite of all his short words, Amanda worried about him. This was beyond the norm, even for Lee. It was clear to her that at the root of the bad behaviour lay a deep-seated fear. He spoke of nightmares and premonitions and paced constantly, cast or crutches be darned.
And that wasn't even touching on the physical side of things. He was shot in the thigh not a week before, during the whole Survivors business, and now he was back in the hospital for a busted knee. This really was a crazy business they were in…
The Agency took its toll on everyone. Not just Lee.
While walking down a hall, Amanda privately noted how faint she'd been feeling lately. It seemed like every day she was on the verge of passing out. One afternoon she even caught herself dozing at her desk. Maybe she ought to take a break from helping Phillip and Jamie with baseball practice. Between Lee, the boys, and the Agency, she was running on fumes.
After collecting and delivering fresh sheets to different wards, she set out for Lee's room. He was two levels above her, near Recovery. Her heels clacked rhythmically against the linoleum and in the distance she heard a soft cry from an infant. A passing sign announced 'OBSTERTICS' in big blocky letters.
Rocking back on her heels, she narrowly avoided a pregnant patient. The woman was swollen around the front, slow-moving, and sagging with exhaustion. Shaking from an unseen contraction, she nodded at Amanda.
"Sorry, I guess I'm a bit awkward right now."
"It's no problem," Amanda said, shuffling to the side. She sent the patient an encouraging and commiserating smile. "I've had two of my own. Uh, do you need any help?"
The woman mirrored Amanda's smile. "No, thank you. My husband should be back any moment now. He's just checking in at the front desk."
A third and final smile passed between them. Something was tugging at the back of Amanda's head, though she couldn't be sure what it was.
"Well, good luck, then," she said before walking away.
Again, an errant thought prodded at the edge of her consciousness. Halfway down the corridor she began to pin it down, and every step hence only solidified her suspicions. All of the old signs were there. The nausea that mostly struck in the mornings, the constant fatigue, the odd compulsions and sore joints...
She dismissed the idea and headed into the nearest free elevator. We were safe, she told herself, though the more she thought back, the less the word "safe" applied. She'd allowed things to progress without a condom, never pausing to consider the events of the past couple days. Anything could've thrown off her hormones, from a missed pill to the stress of piloting a whirlybird. There were too many variables.
The one certain thing was paternity. Her ex crossed her mind like a car on the freeway. She'd been distant with Dean even before Lee entered her life. No, Lee was the only candidate, no debate about it.
'Problem was, she couldn't decide if that was the better or worse of two evils.
When the elevator doors opened, Amanda retched for reasons unrelated to the early hour. Right now it was just conjecture—a theory that felt frighteningly real, but a theory nonetheless. She pressed on to Lee's room, forcing herself to forget, to act natural.
Lee's head swung like a weathervane, following the motion of the door on its hinges. As soon as it was closed he surged from his bed, barking, "Where have you been?"
Composing herself, Amanda crossed the room and corralled Lee back to the mattress. Through the bucking of her stomach she remembered her priorities as a Bedside Bluebell and allowed that role to take over. Lee's health was at the forefront of her brain, but in the background, something inside her was screaming.
"You're supposed to stay off that leg," she said, as sternly as possible.
"Whose side are you on, anyway?"
"Yours, Lee. Yours and your mangled knee that needs rest."
Lee grumbled incoherently and chucked his crutch off the bed. It hit the floor with a resounding clatter that caused them both to jump. Clearing his throat, he leaned his weight back and propped up his bad leg.
"Well now that you're back, I need you to send another call through to Billy. I still don't like this place. I don't like Glaser. There's something rotten going on here and I don't care who says otherwise."
Amanda didn't reply for a while. She tapped the discarded crutch with her toe, slowly stooped, and returned it to Lee's side, all without meeting his eyes. Lately Lee was scaring her. This wasn't the same man she'd kissed in her kitchen.
This wasn't the same man whose child she may very well be carrying.
"What's the matter with you?" His voice cracked like ice.
"Nothing," she said, perhaps a tad too quickly. Or at least, I hope not.
Lee slanted his head at her. Then, scowling, he burrowed into the blankets for a notebook. Amanda watched over his shoulder as he jotted down a list. At the bottom he added some scribbles in which the word 'Billy' was discernible.
The question is, she thought. What's the matter with you?
/
Everything made sense now.
Here she was, surrounded by officials, wearing her Bluebell uniform and holding a broken cartoon duck. And yet, everything made sense.
"Lee! Lee, don't-"
She crammed into Lee's space but the long conference table acted like a bulwark. He was oblivious to what was in front of him. His eyes stayed locked on the clock's slim second hand, tracking every tick.
"Billy is your friend," Amanda pleaded.
For the first time since she'd entered the room, Lee acknowledged her presence with a frosty glare. She shivered despite herself. Not knowing what else to do, she adopted a tone used for her boys whenever they were misbehaving.
"Don't."
Lee's only response was to retreat into his seat. Every muscle was tensed and ready, like a crouched predator, or a thoroughbred behind the starting gate. Amanda heard a tiny 'click' under the table as he cocked his gun. Panic made her slam the stuffie onto that same table.
"Talk, TALK!" she demanded, somewhere between a scream and a whisper.
Glaser's assistant had gloated about the trigger mechanism under the hospital, something about a "suggestive state". If she could just get Lee to listen…
On the second slam the toy's speaker came to life. "Success comes a step at a time-!" it recited with canned enthusiasm. The effect was immediate. Lee flinched, cowed by the tinny phrase. His pupils abandoned Billy and the clock and came to rest on her instead. Trembles wracked his frame.
Swallowing, Amanda stretched out and smoothed her hand over his whitened knuckles. His other hand—the one under the table—drew back to his torso. Amanda spied a flash of silver.
"Lee..." She gulped again, pouring everything she had into the name. These next few seconds were crucial. "Success comes a step at a time, a step at a time…"
Lee twitched, torn between old programming and new commands. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his eyes sought hers, desperate but trusting. Gradually, his gaze thawed and his grip on the pistol loosened.
Beside them, Billy let out a breath that was then echoed throughout the room.
AN: Full speed ahead.