Mark pulled himself out of the taxi. The doctor's words rolled around his ears not making sense anymore. As the cab drove away he forced one foot in front of the other, holding off his fatigue until he got to his room.
He stepped out of the elevator in a daze and blinked, rubbing his face, remembering his room was to the left. As he walked he fumbled in one pocket for his key. He unlocked the door and went to open it, only to find he'd actually locked it. He rubbed his head, 'flip I must be tired, unless I never locked it this morning? Not so smart… oh well.' He opened the door, knowing he should actually care that his room may have been unlocked all day. He flicked on the lights, letting the door shut behind him. He slipped off his shoes and made for the bed. He didn't really look at it, only noticed it hadn't been made – they usually serviced his room every day… 'my mind must be playing tricks on me… wait, it can't be…' He recognised the goldilocks sleeping in his bed and slapped one hand over his face, as if to keep from laughing. She'd come! He didn't want to wake her – not if she'd been doing the awful shifts Doug had described. Mark found his last reserves of energy and called room service for some dinner.
Susan woke to his voice – he was talking to someone. Not her though. She didn't want to open her eyes but she did, and smiled affectionately at the familiar silhouette by the window. She folded the blankets off her and walked over to him, running a hand across his shoulder then kneeling on the floor beside him as he pulled her closer.
"Thank you." He hung up the phone. "Hey!" He turned to face her and she shuffled forward, between his knees, hugging him tenderly.
"Hello." She kissed his chest, where he held her head to it.
He let her go and kissed her properly. "Thank you for coming."
"I may have lost my job, but I had to come." She touched his face tentatively, like a precious curiosity that might be more delicate and breakable than it looked.
"I need you tonight." He admitted brokenly.
She agreed sadly, "Are you okay?"
He nodded unconvincingly before he saw the pleading in her eyes and shook his head, swallowing. "I'm so tired."
She nodded, "Come on," and pulled him to his feet, guiding him to the bed. He sat on the edge and she lay him down and pulled the covers over, sitting on the edge. He watched her, wanting her to stop and sit and just be there with him, talk to him, tell him 'it will be okay' and all the other redundant clichés that he couldn't quite bring himself to believe. He took her hand where it lay on her leg. She smiled at him and he couldn't tell if it was hope or sorrow in her eyes. "How's that?"
"Perfect." He brought her hand to his lips, holding her eyes with his own.
"What time do we need to be at the hospital?"
"Ten tomorrow morning. The details are on the desk." He shut his eyes, but he didn't want to sleep because he'd missed her for too long.
Susan stood and got the papers off the desk. She flicked through them, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the bed. Maybe, if she thought about the technical side of the whole thing she could stay a little more objective, a little less affected, terrified, a little stronger for him. Putting the papers on her bedside table she lay down one hand across his chest, the other holding his, she curled up beside him.
He stepped out of the elevator in a daze and blinked, rubbing his face, remembering his room was to the left. As he walked he fumbled in one pocket for his key. He unlocked the door and went to open it, only to find he'd actually locked it. He rubbed his head, 'flip I must be tired, unless I never locked it this morning? Not so smart… oh well.' He opened the door, knowing he should actually care that his room may have been unlocked all day. He flicked on the lights, letting the door shut behind him. He slipped off his shoes and made for the bed. He didn't really look at it, only noticed it hadn't been made – they usually serviced his room every day… 'my mind must be playing tricks on me… wait, it can't be…' He recognised the goldilocks sleeping in his bed and slapped one hand over his face, as if to keep from laughing. She'd come! He didn't want to wake her – not if she'd been doing the awful shifts Doug had described. Mark found his last reserves of energy and called room service for some dinner.
Susan woke to his voice – he was talking to someone. Not her though. She didn't want to open her eyes but she did, and smiled affectionately at the familiar silhouette by the window. She folded the blankets off her and walked over to him, running a hand across his shoulder then kneeling on the floor beside him as he pulled her closer.
"Thank you." He hung up the phone. "Hey!" He turned to face her and she shuffled forward, between his knees, hugging him tenderly.
"Hello." She kissed his chest, where he held her head to it.
He let her go and kissed her properly. "Thank you for coming."
"I may have lost my job, but I had to come." She touched his face tentatively, like a precious curiosity that might be more delicate and breakable than it looked.
"I need you tonight." He admitted brokenly.
She agreed sadly, "Are you okay?"
He nodded unconvincingly before he saw the pleading in her eyes and shook his head, swallowing. "I'm so tired."
She nodded, "Come on," and pulled him to his feet, guiding him to the bed. He sat on the edge and she lay him down and pulled the covers over, sitting on the edge. He watched her, wanting her to stop and sit and just be there with him, talk to him, tell him 'it will be okay' and all the other redundant clichés that he couldn't quite bring himself to believe. He took her hand where it lay on her leg. She smiled at him and he couldn't tell if it was hope or sorrow in her eyes. "How's that?"
"Perfect." He brought her hand to his lips, holding her eyes with his own.
"What time do we need to be at the hospital?"
"Ten tomorrow morning. The details are on the desk." He shut his eyes, but he didn't want to sleep because he'd missed her for too long.
Susan stood and got the papers off the desk. She flicked through them, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the bed. Maybe, if she thought about the technical side of the whole thing she could stay a little more objective, a little less affected, terrified, a little stronger for him. Putting the papers on her bedside table she lay down one hand across his chest, the other holding his, she curled up beside him.