Jack was smart enough to know when he was wrong about something. He wasn't
always smart enough to admit it – some people called that stubborn, he
knew. But this time he was pretty certain that the shower had been a dumb
idea. Even doped up like he was, he knew he'd made a mistake. The shower
was killing him. Slowly and painfully.
"Janet!"
She thought he heard his voice calling him. Fraiser turned her head, and looked down the hall, expecting him to make an appearance. He didn't.
"Janet!"
She lurched to her feet, and went down the hall, trying to figure out why he'd be calling her name. She found him in the bathroom, standing under the spray of the shower. Fully clothed, still, with his injured shoulder turned from the stinging spray.
"Jack? What are you doing?"
"Showering. Turn it off, will you?"
"I told you that you shouldn't shower."
"I know."
"I was right."
"I know."
She reached in and turned the shower off, and helped him get out. He was still wearing his shoes, too.
"You're supposed to get undressed to shower."
"I know."
"Why didn't you?"
"I thought I could wash my clothes at the same time."
That actually made sense. Which told Janet Fraiser she was probably a little drunker than she'd first thought. She should have eaten more to soak up those beers. Or not drank them so fast.
"You'd better get undressed."
"I know."
The two of them went into his bedroom, Fraiser holding him up. With her hand on the elbow of his injured arm. Jack wasn't feeling the pain from this, since the painkillers were working just fine, but the first time he slipped on the wet bathroom floor and almost went down, the now wet stitches in his shoulder were once more ripped open. Of course, neither of them noticed.
"I don't need your help," Jack told her as she started unbuttoning his shirt.
"Do it yourself."
He tried to get the first button open one-handed and couldn't. Fraiser gave him a triumphant look, and he scowled.
"Fine. I need help."
"I know."
She unbuttoned his shirt for him, and helped pull it off. It was so wet it was dripping water all over his bedroom floor, but neither of them noticed that, either. The bandage she'd wrapped around his shoulder so carefully was soaking wet, too, and stained crimson. Of course, his pants were just as wet, and his hair was drenched, and they both were more focused on that than they were on his bandages. Another sign that Janet was drunk.
"Need help with your pants?" She wasn't drunk enough to go any lower than his shirt without an actual need to, and Jack wasn't so doped up that he was going to tell her yes.
"Nah. I got them okay."
He didn't though. He fumbled with the buttons and sighed. One-armed people should not have multiple buttons on their clothing. Of course, when he'd dressed himself that morning, he'd had full use of both hands.
"Maybe a little help."
She unbuttoned his pants for him.
"Don't worry, Jack. I've seen you naked before."
"Yeah, I know."
It didn't seem fair, though. He'd never seen her naked. He clamped down on that particular thought before he could mull it over and maybe say something aloud that would be a huge mistake.
He pulled his pants off, and sat down on the bed to kick off his shoes, and lay back, wearing nothing but soaked boxers, and a bandage.
"You okay?"
Something was telling her something was wrong, but she couldn't figure out what it was. Her mind wasn't focusing enough, although she looked down at him critically as she stood there, feeling just a bit unsteady herself.
"I'm fine."
Janet sat down beside him with a tired sigh.
"You okay?" Jack asked.
"Sleepy."
"That's because you're drunk."
"I'm not drunk."
"I've never seen you drunk," he told her, sitting up and smiling. "It's cute."
"I'm not drunk, Jack."
"Okay."
"Don't patronize me."
"Okay."
"Stop that." She snapped, slapping his shoulder in mock irritation. He felt that. Even through the painkiller, he felt that.
He gasped, and she was instantly contrite.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He told her through clenched teeth. "I deserved it."
"I'd better look at that..."
"It's okay."
"You're probably bleeding."
Bleeding was bad.
"I'll stop."
He stretched out again, not really wanting to stay upright any longer than necessary. The room was still spinning, just a little slower, now.
"I should-"
"Janet, it's fine. Relax."
He reached out with the good arm and pulled her down beside him.
"I'm the doctor, you know?"
"So you keep telling me."
"I should-"
"You should relax. I'm not going to bleed to death."
"You could..."
"Nah."
He closed his eyes to keep from watching the ceiling move.
"I should leave you alone so you can sleep," she said softly, noticing his eyes closing. He was kind of cute lying there like that. Even with the bandages.
"You can stay..."
She giggled, and he opened one eye.
"What?"
"Was that an invitation?"
"Sure."
He closed the eye again, and fell asleep before she could decide what he'd meant by that.
"Janet!"
She thought he heard his voice calling him. Fraiser turned her head, and looked down the hall, expecting him to make an appearance. He didn't.
"Janet!"
She lurched to her feet, and went down the hall, trying to figure out why he'd be calling her name. She found him in the bathroom, standing under the spray of the shower. Fully clothed, still, with his injured shoulder turned from the stinging spray.
"Jack? What are you doing?"
"Showering. Turn it off, will you?"
"I told you that you shouldn't shower."
"I know."
"I was right."
"I know."
She reached in and turned the shower off, and helped him get out. He was still wearing his shoes, too.
"You're supposed to get undressed to shower."
"I know."
"Why didn't you?"
"I thought I could wash my clothes at the same time."
That actually made sense. Which told Janet Fraiser she was probably a little drunker than she'd first thought. She should have eaten more to soak up those beers. Or not drank them so fast.
"You'd better get undressed."
"I know."
The two of them went into his bedroom, Fraiser holding him up. With her hand on the elbow of his injured arm. Jack wasn't feeling the pain from this, since the painkillers were working just fine, but the first time he slipped on the wet bathroom floor and almost went down, the now wet stitches in his shoulder were once more ripped open. Of course, neither of them noticed.
"I don't need your help," Jack told her as she started unbuttoning his shirt.
"Do it yourself."
He tried to get the first button open one-handed and couldn't. Fraiser gave him a triumphant look, and he scowled.
"Fine. I need help."
"I know."
She unbuttoned his shirt for him, and helped pull it off. It was so wet it was dripping water all over his bedroom floor, but neither of them noticed that, either. The bandage she'd wrapped around his shoulder so carefully was soaking wet, too, and stained crimson. Of course, his pants were just as wet, and his hair was drenched, and they both were more focused on that than they were on his bandages. Another sign that Janet was drunk.
"Need help with your pants?" She wasn't drunk enough to go any lower than his shirt without an actual need to, and Jack wasn't so doped up that he was going to tell her yes.
"Nah. I got them okay."
He didn't though. He fumbled with the buttons and sighed. One-armed people should not have multiple buttons on their clothing. Of course, when he'd dressed himself that morning, he'd had full use of both hands.
"Maybe a little help."
She unbuttoned his pants for him.
"Don't worry, Jack. I've seen you naked before."
"Yeah, I know."
It didn't seem fair, though. He'd never seen her naked. He clamped down on that particular thought before he could mull it over and maybe say something aloud that would be a huge mistake.
He pulled his pants off, and sat down on the bed to kick off his shoes, and lay back, wearing nothing but soaked boxers, and a bandage.
"You okay?"
Something was telling her something was wrong, but she couldn't figure out what it was. Her mind wasn't focusing enough, although she looked down at him critically as she stood there, feeling just a bit unsteady herself.
"I'm fine."
Janet sat down beside him with a tired sigh.
"You okay?" Jack asked.
"Sleepy."
"That's because you're drunk."
"I'm not drunk."
"I've never seen you drunk," he told her, sitting up and smiling. "It's cute."
"I'm not drunk, Jack."
"Okay."
"Don't patronize me."
"Okay."
"Stop that." She snapped, slapping his shoulder in mock irritation. He felt that. Even through the painkiller, he felt that.
He gasped, and she was instantly contrite.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He told her through clenched teeth. "I deserved it."
"I'd better look at that..."
"It's okay."
"You're probably bleeding."
Bleeding was bad.
"I'll stop."
He stretched out again, not really wanting to stay upright any longer than necessary. The room was still spinning, just a little slower, now.
"I should-"
"Janet, it's fine. Relax."
He reached out with the good arm and pulled her down beside him.
"I'm the doctor, you know?"
"So you keep telling me."
"I should-"
"You should relax. I'm not going to bleed to death."
"You could..."
"Nah."
He closed his eyes to keep from watching the ceiling move.
"I should leave you alone so you can sleep," she said softly, noticing his eyes closing. He was kind of cute lying there like that. Even with the bandages.
"You can stay..."
She giggled, and he opened one eye.
"What?"
"Was that an invitation?"
"Sure."
He closed the eye again, and fell asleep before she could decide what he'd meant by that.