1 Jitters
"Hey. How are you doing?"
"Lex! I told Dad not to tell you. It's nothing, I just—"
"Stop it. Why didn't you want Dad to tell me?"
"Because I knew you'd come up here. Really, I'm fine. It'll heal in a month, tops. Why are your hands behind your back?"
"Pick one."
"Left. Oh, cute. Lillies. Too bad you didn't bring a vase."
"You didn't check my other hand."
"Oh! Thanks. They're beautiful—you can just put them… um, somewhere."
"You're pretty popular. All of Metropolis's flowershops, right here."
"And a few of Gotham's. Friends from school. Or, more accurately, their parents' secretaries. Still, it's nice."
"I see my idea wasn't exactly original."
"You don't have too many of those. I still like them best, though. I promise."
"So, how did you break *this* leg? Climbing trees again?"
"No. Didn't Dad tell you?" Silence. "Dad *didn't* tell you. How did you find out?"
"There are other people in this household besides him."
"There's nobdoy else in this *family*. I just thought he'd say something. Even though—"
"Even though you asked him not to."
"Yeah. I keep forgetting, he doesn't really care enough to say anything."
"Come on. This isn't helping. What happened this time?"
"I feel like the only reason you come here is because I've broken something or pulled something."
"That's because it *is* the only reason I'd come here. This better not be a plea for attention. It seems to be working pretty well."
"You really hate Metropolis, don't you?"
"It's got its good points. Spill."
"Fine, it's not that—it's kind of embarassing. I was showing off in my tumbling class last night—"
"You had classes on a Sunday night?"
"My coach says there's no rest for the wiry. So. There are a lot of gymnasts in the troupe, you know? And one of the guys was bragging that no girl could do the rings, because they were all about strength and endurance."
"And you wanted to play Uber-Girl."
"I prefer Super-Girl, thanks very much. Anyway, there were some rings set up in the gym, and I tried them out."
"And…?"
"Okay, first of all, it's a *lot* easiser to get tangled up in those things than you might think. Harriet got a picture of me at one point; I look like a spandex-covered pretzel. Anyway, I managed to get myself untwisted, but then I tried to do a roll, and I couldn't get my arm around fast enough, and there was a snap, and I fell."
"You broke your leg by twisting your arm?"
"No, the snap was a tendon in my arm going 'Ow.' The break happened right after the falling bit."
"Ah."
"Do you want to sign my cast?"
"Where?"
"Oh. Good point. Do you like the picture? That's Mike's, the guy who was bragging about the endurance and stuff. He felt so bad that he spent about half an hour when I was unconcious, drawing this. Kind of cute."
"That's supposed to be you? You look like one of the Sailor Moon girls."
"He's got a thing for anime. He says the next time I break something, he'll draw one of the Powerpuffs."
"Blossom? Or Buttercup? You're not really the Bubbles type."
"The fact that you know their names disturbs me more than words can possibly express."
"I like the Cartoon Network."
"This conversation is giving me hives. Anyway, here. Nobody signed on the back of my calf yet. I think. I can't really see it, so much. Somebody could have written something like 'You suck,' and I wouldn't know about it."
"You'll have to keep the cast after it heals."
"Add it to my collection? Dad says signing a cast is prosaic."
"Don't you mean 'proletarian'?"
"Eh, it's something with a 'p' and lots of syllables. The pen's on the nightstand."
"You'd think he'd have learned by now, that you are nothing if not 'p' and lots of syllables."
"Thanks for coming."
"Stop moving around when I'm writing this. It's awkward enough."
"Sorry."
"And no talking. You have a very bumpy calf."
"Look who's talking about bumpy."
"Don't start, or I'll scribble all over your Sailor Lilly picture. There."
"What did you write?"
"You'll have to read it yourself."
"That could pose some difficulties."
"It says, 'To the sister I love more than life itself, wishing you a speedy recovery.'"
"It so doesn't say that."
"Well, you'll have to wait until someone you actually trust comes to visit, and have them read it to you."
"I take it back, what I said about liking your flowers the best. They're 'p' and lots of syllables."
"That's just the pain talking."
"Yeah, the pain in my ass. Meaning you."
"Maybe it's the drugs talking."
"Yeah, the drug in my… wait, that doesn't work as an insult. Dammit."
"You get much sleep last night?"
"Well, considering I was stuck here, with a nurse popping in every five seconds to stick something somewhere uncomfortable, and people paging Dr. Code Blue, not really."
"Okay. Why don't you get some rest. I'll be back."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to get some food. I've been driving for the past three hours, it's past lunchtime, and I'm hungry. I'll be back. Promise."
"Fine. But if you wrote anything mean, I'm going to save this cast just so I can beat you over the head with it."
"I'm sufficiently threatened. I think that's the biggest one yet."
"Yup. Dr. Morrissette said that I'm keeping him in business all by myself. All these injuries more than make up for your distressingly good health. Oh, which reminds me. What's with the high white blood cells count?"
"I'll save my breath and not ask how you knew that—"
"Very wise—"
"And instead tell you it's nothing to worry about. I don't get sick."
"I know. I'm still bitter about the time I tried to infect you with chicken pox."
"Go to sleep. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"If you're going to be back, why do I want to go to sleep?"
"Because you're a lot more charming when you're unconcious."
"Leave."
*
"Humph?"
"Lilly. It's Lex."
"Hey. Okay, I'm not really awake, but you're not here, you're on the phone, so I'm confused."
"It looks like I won't be there for a while."
"Where are you?"
"Doing ninety in a forty-five speed zone, somewhere between there and Smallville. There's a nutcase taking hostages at the plant."
"What?"
"I don't know what's going on, either. I'll be there in about twenty minutes—I just didn't want one of your gymnast goons to break something of mine when you found out I ran out on you."
"Don't worry about it. Just call me when you fix it, okay? And don't do anything that'll make Dad come down there, because he'll start yelling and you'll get grumpy and do something dumb just to piss him off. Your need to rebel sometimes has the tendency to get you in trouble."
"High school psychology classes ought to be banned."
"You're a textbook case, Bumps. Sorry."
"I'll call."
*
"Hello?"
"Hey. You look like death on sliced bread. The cameras don't add ten pounds, but they make you look like Casper the Friendly Ghost."
"It's already on the news?"
"Are you kidding? You and Dad made CNN tonight. Nice shirt, by the way."
"What are they saying about me?"
"The better question is, why am I learning about this on the news?"
"Because I just saw Dad lift off and I'm now in the process of pouring myself some brandy. Haven't had the chance to call you yet."
"Ooh, ladies and gentlemen, he'd deep in the sulking phase. Should I call back?"
"I prefer to call it the brooding phase."
"You're not Angel, so you don't get to brood. Explain yourself."
"The lunatic turned out to be an ex-employee, Earl Jenkins. He's convinced the plant did something awful to him a while ago, took a class field trip hostage in order to get some answers. Dad screwed up, I had to go in and he proceeded to seal me inside the plant with Jenkins, Clark, and a lot of methane gas."
"*Clark* was there?"
"Yep. It was his class's field trip. The guy—Earl Jenkins—used to work for his dad."
"Huh. Weird little grouping. So what happened?"
"Other than Clark saving my life again, not much."
"Another rescue? You guys have a bizarro relationship."
"I'm beginning to agree with you. He managed to pull me and Jenkins up from a disintegrating bridge."
"Would you've died if he hadn't?"
"Very likely."
"Kind of romantic."
"It's too bad your leg's already broken, because I'm tempted to cause you pain right now."
"Says the big man who's 150 miles away. So was that why you had to leave so fast?"
"Yeah. I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner."
"Don't worry about it. I just want to…"
"What?"
"Dad played the cameras pretty well. They showed the hugging thing."
"Oh."
"Lex. He's not worth hating."
"I… I'm coming back to the hospital tonight. Okay?"
"Take the limo. And drink some more on the way."
"See you soon."
*
"Good morning, sunshine."
"Damn. I told the nurses to keep you out."
"Turns out they love money; got all excited when they found out I had some. This is good stuff. Are you allowed to have any?"
"I think the morphine or whatever they're giving me is enough. But thanks."
"No problem."
"You don't look drunk."
"I'm not. Figured it wouldn't make a good impression, stumbling into Metropolis General with an open bottle of burbon and a dour expression."
"You *have* an open bottle of liquor and a dour expression."
"But I'm not stumbling. Dad hasn't dropped by today?"
"Of course not. Here, I had them bring in another bed for you. I know it's not the best—"
"It's perfect. Thanks." Shuffling sounds. "Ah. Heaven."
"Check out the remote on the side."
"What—oh! Nice. Up, down, up, down. I should get one of these for the house. Up, down, up down."
"You are drunk."
"Mildly tipsy. You *did* tell me to drink something on the way here."
"Good point. So. Are you okay?"
"Right as rain. I'm awake at two in the morning, I've got a sister with a broken leg, a plant that just suffered a serious depression in morale, a father who's… him, and a town that hates me now more than ever."
"They *hate* you? You just went in there and rescued all their kids!"
"But it was my fault."
"No, it was Dad's fault. They're going to throw a parade for you tomorrow."
"Mph. Maybe."
"Whatever. So, you gonna try to give Clark that truck again?"
"I somehow doubt he'll be any more eager to accept it than last time."
"You mean, his father still won't let him take it."
"Which reminds me. Do you remember Dad ever mentioning anything about a Jonathan Kent?"
"Who's that? Clark's father?"
"Yeah."
"Huh. No. Why?"
"They know each other. From somewhere."
"So now we know why Clark's father doesn't like you. Figures you're spawn of the devil."
"Which is accurate, as far as it goes."
"Hee. Dad would make the perfect Satan, you know?"
"Heh. Yeah, he would. So how long are you stuck here?"
"Couple more days. Otherwise I would have gone down there, too."
"Excuses, excuses. You could have gotten someone to carry you."
"I feel all torn up about not being there, trust me. So, what's Level Three?"
"How—?"
"There was some passing mention about a Level Three that Jenkins was looking for; Dad said on the news that it was some storage facility, and whenever he says something publicly it's always bullshit, so what is it?"
"Nothing, now. Just a big empty room about a hundred feet below ground."
"Okay, what *was* it?"
"I'm going to find that out."
"Good luck. Remember, he cleared everybody out except a few of the more clueless guys right before you took over. That's probably why. He's covered his tracks."
"Already figured that, but thanks."
"Well, I can never tell how quick or slow on the uptake you are, so I wanted to make sure. So."
"Yes?"
"Clark rescued you."
"Oh, for the love of—"
"Isn't it romaaaant—"
"Why did I come back here?"
"What I'd like to know is, what he was doing in the building."
"Jenkins took his field trip hostage."
"Jenkins let everybody go, I thought."
"Clark stayed behind."
"To save the love of his life?"
"Maybe they can fix a morphine drip to my arm, too, keep me from having to listen to you."
"Morphine doesn't make you go deaf."
"Yeah, but it would make this conversation a lot more enjoyable."
"So you're saying he just stayed behind to be a good citizen."
"Presumably."
"Buulll-shiiiiiit."
"Look, he knew Jenkins. Maybe he figured he could talk him out of killing me, or he had an idea of where Level Three was. He was the one who found it."
"How?"
"No idea. X-ray vision, maybe."
"They grow very special people in Smallville."
"*Somebody* found it. Dad had the elevator leading down to Level Three walled over. But when Jenkins dragged me down there, it had been smashed with a sledgehammer."
"Not a very tough wall."
"I guess not. Anyway."
"Then Clark pulled you up."
"You know, I'm thinking back on it now, and it all seems so contrived. Jenkins was suffering from siezures of some kind. That's what he blamed Dad for; thought whatever experiment they were doing in Level Three had caused them. Anyway. He'd just start… shaking, and it got so violent he could break things. He killed someone, did you hear?"
"The janitor guy? I know. That was on the news, too."
"Well, we're on a bridge, spanning Level Three. About two hundred feet below us is the floor. And Jenkins has one of his attacks right there on the bridge. Bridge tears in half, we fall."
"And Clark pulls you up."
"Single-handedly."
"They grow *very* special people in Smallville."
"He claims it was adrenalin."
"And you think it was something else?"
"I don't know."
"You're awfully suspcious tonight."
"I'm awfully morose tonight."
"You want a real hug?"
"I'm good. But thanks for the offer."
"C'mon. It'll make you feel better."
"I don't think I can get up."
"Okay. I'll give you one tomorrow morning."
"Do you have a spare gown for me to sleep in?"
"Nope. But you give out some more of your pretty money, they nurses might give you something."
"I think I'll stick with just taking off my shoes."
"Go for it."
"Goodnight, kiddo."
"'Night, Bumpy."
"Hey. How are you doing?"
"Lex! I told Dad not to tell you. It's nothing, I just—"
"Stop it. Why didn't you want Dad to tell me?"
"Because I knew you'd come up here. Really, I'm fine. It'll heal in a month, tops. Why are your hands behind your back?"
"Pick one."
"Left. Oh, cute. Lillies. Too bad you didn't bring a vase."
"You didn't check my other hand."
"Oh! Thanks. They're beautiful—you can just put them… um, somewhere."
"You're pretty popular. All of Metropolis's flowershops, right here."
"And a few of Gotham's. Friends from school. Or, more accurately, their parents' secretaries. Still, it's nice."
"I see my idea wasn't exactly original."
"You don't have too many of those. I still like them best, though. I promise."
"So, how did you break *this* leg? Climbing trees again?"
"No. Didn't Dad tell you?" Silence. "Dad *didn't* tell you. How did you find out?"
"There are other people in this household besides him."
"There's nobdoy else in this *family*. I just thought he'd say something. Even though—"
"Even though you asked him not to."
"Yeah. I keep forgetting, he doesn't really care enough to say anything."
"Come on. This isn't helping. What happened this time?"
"I feel like the only reason you come here is because I've broken something or pulled something."
"That's because it *is* the only reason I'd come here. This better not be a plea for attention. It seems to be working pretty well."
"You really hate Metropolis, don't you?"
"It's got its good points. Spill."
"Fine, it's not that—it's kind of embarassing. I was showing off in my tumbling class last night—"
"You had classes on a Sunday night?"
"My coach says there's no rest for the wiry. So. There are a lot of gymnasts in the troupe, you know? And one of the guys was bragging that no girl could do the rings, because they were all about strength and endurance."
"And you wanted to play Uber-Girl."
"I prefer Super-Girl, thanks very much. Anyway, there were some rings set up in the gym, and I tried them out."
"And…?"
"Okay, first of all, it's a *lot* easiser to get tangled up in those things than you might think. Harriet got a picture of me at one point; I look like a spandex-covered pretzel. Anyway, I managed to get myself untwisted, but then I tried to do a roll, and I couldn't get my arm around fast enough, and there was a snap, and I fell."
"You broke your leg by twisting your arm?"
"No, the snap was a tendon in my arm going 'Ow.' The break happened right after the falling bit."
"Ah."
"Do you want to sign my cast?"
"Where?"
"Oh. Good point. Do you like the picture? That's Mike's, the guy who was bragging about the endurance and stuff. He felt so bad that he spent about half an hour when I was unconcious, drawing this. Kind of cute."
"That's supposed to be you? You look like one of the Sailor Moon girls."
"He's got a thing for anime. He says the next time I break something, he'll draw one of the Powerpuffs."
"Blossom? Or Buttercup? You're not really the Bubbles type."
"The fact that you know their names disturbs me more than words can possibly express."
"I like the Cartoon Network."
"This conversation is giving me hives. Anyway, here. Nobody signed on the back of my calf yet. I think. I can't really see it, so much. Somebody could have written something like 'You suck,' and I wouldn't know about it."
"You'll have to keep the cast after it heals."
"Add it to my collection? Dad says signing a cast is prosaic."
"Don't you mean 'proletarian'?"
"Eh, it's something with a 'p' and lots of syllables. The pen's on the nightstand."
"You'd think he'd have learned by now, that you are nothing if not 'p' and lots of syllables."
"Thanks for coming."
"Stop moving around when I'm writing this. It's awkward enough."
"Sorry."
"And no talking. You have a very bumpy calf."
"Look who's talking about bumpy."
"Don't start, or I'll scribble all over your Sailor Lilly picture. There."
"What did you write?"
"You'll have to read it yourself."
"That could pose some difficulties."
"It says, 'To the sister I love more than life itself, wishing you a speedy recovery.'"
"It so doesn't say that."
"Well, you'll have to wait until someone you actually trust comes to visit, and have them read it to you."
"I take it back, what I said about liking your flowers the best. They're 'p' and lots of syllables."
"That's just the pain talking."
"Yeah, the pain in my ass. Meaning you."
"Maybe it's the drugs talking."
"Yeah, the drug in my… wait, that doesn't work as an insult. Dammit."
"You get much sleep last night?"
"Well, considering I was stuck here, with a nurse popping in every five seconds to stick something somewhere uncomfortable, and people paging Dr. Code Blue, not really."
"Okay. Why don't you get some rest. I'll be back."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to get some food. I've been driving for the past three hours, it's past lunchtime, and I'm hungry. I'll be back. Promise."
"Fine. But if you wrote anything mean, I'm going to save this cast just so I can beat you over the head with it."
"I'm sufficiently threatened. I think that's the biggest one yet."
"Yup. Dr. Morrissette said that I'm keeping him in business all by myself. All these injuries more than make up for your distressingly good health. Oh, which reminds me. What's with the high white blood cells count?"
"I'll save my breath and not ask how you knew that—"
"Very wise—"
"And instead tell you it's nothing to worry about. I don't get sick."
"I know. I'm still bitter about the time I tried to infect you with chicken pox."
"Go to sleep. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"If you're going to be back, why do I want to go to sleep?"
"Because you're a lot more charming when you're unconcious."
"Leave."
*
"Humph?"
"Lilly. It's Lex."
"Hey. Okay, I'm not really awake, but you're not here, you're on the phone, so I'm confused."
"It looks like I won't be there for a while."
"Where are you?"
"Doing ninety in a forty-five speed zone, somewhere between there and Smallville. There's a nutcase taking hostages at the plant."
"What?"
"I don't know what's going on, either. I'll be there in about twenty minutes—I just didn't want one of your gymnast goons to break something of mine when you found out I ran out on you."
"Don't worry about it. Just call me when you fix it, okay? And don't do anything that'll make Dad come down there, because he'll start yelling and you'll get grumpy and do something dumb just to piss him off. Your need to rebel sometimes has the tendency to get you in trouble."
"High school psychology classes ought to be banned."
"You're a textbook case, Bumps. Sorry."
"I'll call."
*
"Hello?"
"Hey. You look like death on sliced bread. The cameras don't add ten pounds, but they make you look like Casper the Friendly Ghost."
"It's already on the news?"
"Are you kidding? You and Dad made CNN tonight. Nice shirt, by the way."
"What are they saying about me?"
"The better question is, why am I learning about this on the news?"
"Because I just saw Dad lift off and I'm now in the process of pouring myself some brandy. Haven't had the chance to call you yet."
"Ooh, ladies and gentlemen, he'd deep in the sulking phase. Should I call back?"
"I prefer to call it the brooding phase."
"You're not Angel, so you don't get to brood. Explain yourself."
"The lunatic turned out to be an ex-employee, Earl Jenkins. He's convinced the plant did something awful to him a while ago, took a class field trip hostage in order to get some answers. Dad screwed up, I had to go in and he proceeded to seal me inside the plant with Jenkins, Clark, and a lot of methane gas."
"*Clark* was there?"
"Yep. It was his class's field trip. The guy—Earl Jenkins—used to work for his dad."
"Huh. Weird little grouping. So what happened?"
"Other than Clark saving my life again, not much."
"Another rescue? You guys have a bizarro relationship."
"I'm beginning to agree with you. He managed to pull me and Jenkins up from a disintegrating bridge."
"Would you've died if he hadn't?"
"Very likely."
"Kind of romantic."
"It's too bad your leg's already broken, because I'm tempted to cause you pain right now."
"Says the big man who's 150 miles away. So was that why you had to leave so fast?"
"Yeah. I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner."
"Don't worry about it. I just want to…"
"What?"
"Dad played the cameras pretty well. They showed the hugging thing."
"Oh."
"Lex. He's not worth hating."
"I… I'm coming back to the hospital tonight. Okay?"
"Take the limo. And drink some more on the way."
"See you soon."
*
"Good morning, sunshine."
"Damn. I told the nurses to keep you out."
"Turns out they love money; got all excited when they found out I had some. This is good stuff. Are you allowed to have any?"
"I think the morphine or whatever they're giving me is enough. But thanks."
"No problem."
"You don't look drunk."
"I'm not. Figured it wouldn't make a good impression, stumbling into Metropolis General with an open bottle of burbon and a dour expression."
"You *have* an open bottle of liquor and a dour expression."
"But I'm not stumbling. Dad hasn't dropped by today?"
"Of course not. Here, I had them bring in another bed for you. I know it's not the best—"
"It's perfect. Thanks." Shuffling sounds. "Ah. Heaven."
"Check out the remote on the side."
"What—oh! Nice. Up, down, up, down. I should get one of these for the house. Up, down, up down."
"You are drunk."
"Mildly tipsy. You *did* tell me to drink something on the way here."
"Good point. So. Are you okay?"
"Right as rain. I'm awake at two in the morning, I've got a sister with a broken leg, a plant that just suffered a serious depression in morale, a father who's… him, and a town that hates me now more than ever."
"They *hate* you? You just went in there and rescued all their kids!"
"But it was my fault."
"No, it was Dad's fault. They're going to throw a parade for you tomorrow."
"Mph. Maybe."
"Whatever. So, you gonna try to give Clark that truck again?"
"I somehow doubt he'll be any more eager to accept it than last time."
"You mean, his father still won't let him take it."
"Which reminds me. Do you remember Dad ever mentioning anything about a Jonathan Kent?"
"Who's that? Clark's father?"
"Yeah."
"Huh. No. Why?"
"They know each other. From somewhere."
"So now we know why Clark's father doesn't like you. Figures you're spawn of the devil."
"Which is accurate, as far as it goes."
"Hee. Dad would make the perfect Satan, you know?"
"Heh. Yeah, he would. So how long are you stuck here?"
"Couple more days. Otherwise I would have gone down there, too."
"Excuses, excuses. You could have gotten someone to carry you."
"I feel all torn up about not being there, trust me. So, what's Level Three?"
"How—?"
"There was some passing mention about a Level Three that Jenkins was looking for; Dad said on the news that it was some storage facility, and whenever he says something publicly it's always bullshit, so what is it?"
"Nothing, now. Just a big empty room about a hundred feet below ground."
"Okay, what *was* it?"
"I'm going to find that out."
"Good luck. Remember, he cleared everybody out except a few of the more clueless guys right before you took over. That's probably why. He's covered his tracks."
"Already figured that, but thanks."
"Well, I can never tell how quick or slow on the uptake you are, so I wanted to make sure. So."
"Yes?"
"Clark rescued you."
"Oh, for the love of—"
"Isn't it romaaaant—"
"Why did I come back here?"
"What I'd like to know is, what he was doing in the building."
"Jenkins took his field trip hostage."
"Jenkins let everybody go, I thought."
"Clark stayed behind."
"To save the love of his life?"
"Maybe they can fix a morphine drip to my arm, too, keep me from having to listen to you."
"Morphine doesn't make you go deaf."
"Yeah, but it would make this conversation a lot more enjoyable."
"So you're saying he just stayed behind to be a good citizen."
"Presumably."
"Buulll-shiiiiiit."
"Look, he knew Jenkins. Maybe he figured he could talk him out of killing me, or he had an idea of where Level Three was. He was the one who found it."
"How?"
"No idea. X-ray vision, maybe."
"They grow very special people in Smallville."
"*Somebody* found it. Dad had the elevator leading down to Level Three walled over. But when Jenkins dragged me down there, it had been smashed with a sledgehammer."
"Not a very tough wall."
"I guess not. Anyway."
"Then Clark pulled you up."
"You know, I'm thinking back on it now, and it all seems so contrived. Jenkins was suffering from siezures of some kind. That's what he blamed Dad for; thought whatever experiment they were doing in Level Three had caused them. Anyway. He'd just start… shaking, and it got so violent he could break things. He killed someone, did you hear?"
"The janitor guy? I know. That was on the news, too."
"Well, we're on a bridge, spanning Level Three. About two hundred feet below us is the floor. And Jenkins has one of his attacks right there on the bridge. Bridge tears in half, we fall."
"And Clark pulls you up."
"Single-handedly."
"They grow *very* special people in Smallville."
"He claims it was adrenalin."
"And you think it was something else?"
"I don't know."
"You're awfully suspcious tonight."
"I'm awfully morose tonight."
"You want a real hug?"
"I'm good. But thanks for the offer."
"C'mon. It'll make you feel better."
"I don't think I can get up."
"Okay. I'll give you one tomorrow morning."
"Do you have a spare gown for me to sleep in?"
"Nope. But you give out some more of your pretty money, they nurses might give you something."
"I think I'll stick with just taking off my shoes."
"Go for it."
"Goodnight, kiddo."
"'Night, Bumpy."