He smiled to himself, knowing it was really early for her to be awake, but it meant the world knowing that she had come.
"You know, it'd be really considerate of you to plan this kind of thing later in the day, when I'm fully functional and awake," she said, kissing Elliot on the forehead.
"I'll remember that for next time, Maureen," he said, smiling at his daughter.
"I'm gonna grab coffee, I'll be here when you wake up," she said, her eyes still tired and her voice groggy.
"Promise?" Elliot said, suddenly glad that someone was going to be there for him.
"Scout's honor," she said, holding up three fingers. "Love you!"
A few hours later, Elliot began to wake up. He was aware he was in bed – not his own bed, but a bed nonetheless. He felt funny, his body leaden. Slowly things starting coming back to him. Sick, hospital, tonsils. Gone. He didn't feel a thing, though. No pain. He also realized there was something in his hand. Another hand, perhaps. A soft one, he could tell, his senses coming back to him. He could barely muster enough energy to squeeze it, but it must have worked because the owner of the anonymous hand squeezed back.
"Hey, you waking up?" he heard her ask. He vaguely recognized the voice. His daughter. Right, she had been there before surgery. She was here now, with him. Holding his hand. He forced his eyes open, but everything was blurry. He couldn't see without his glasses. He clumsily lifted his arm off the bed and poked at his eyes, hoping she would get the hint.
"Here you go," she said softly, sliding his glasses over his nose. He smiled, or at least he thought he smiled. He couldn't really feel his lips, or anything remotely close to his mouth.
"The doctor said everything went fine, you did great," Maureen comforted him. His eyes fluttered closed and he felt her place her hand on his forehead. "Can I get you anything? You're not supposed to talk, but you can write it down. Or use sign language, but I don't know sign language, so that might not be the best way to communicate," she said, and he appreciated the hint of sarcasm in her voice. He nodded his head and she handed him a dry erase board and helped him hold the marker in his hand. He felt useless as he wrote chicken scratch on the board. He was so tired, it took all his energy to write a single word.
"Cold?" she asked. "Want another blanket?" He nodded his head slightly as she pulled the covers up to his chin. He started to write thanks on the board, but got only as far as the 'a' when she said "You're welcome."
He nodded off to sleep again, her hand still intertwined with his. An hour later, Maureen, with one hand flipping the pages of her notebook, felt her dad squeeze her other hand. He was clutching his stomach and he had sweat beads on his forehead.
"What is it, dad?" she asked, a look of concern on her face. Elliot covered his mouth, trying anything to suppress the nausea he was feeling. He looked desperately at his daughter. From out of nowhere she grabbed a banana bucket for him to be sick in. It was horrible, his throat felt like it was on fire and he couldn't catch his breath. Maureen wiped his mouth with a washcloth and helped him settle back on his pillow.
"I'm going to grab a nurse, I'll be right back," she said gently.
Elliot closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, wishing his daughter didn't have to see him like this. He was a grown man and his teenage daughter was taking care of him. He fought off another wave of nausea and Maureen came back with a nurse.
The nurse smiled warmly at Elliot, putting her hand on his shoulder.
"Now there're those beautiful blue eyes I've heard so much about," she said, winking at Elliot. He felt his cheeks grow even hotter. "Stomach a little upset?" she asked, looking over his chart.
Elliot nodded slowly.
Lifting his arm off the bed, she asked, "On a scale of one to five, how much pain are you in? How many fingers?"
Elliot felt like he was in kindergarten. He stole a glance at Maureen, who had a look of worry and concern on her face. He held up two fingers.
"Only a two?" the nurse asked, raising her eyebrows.
Elliot sighed and lifted another finger.
"Well, you're lucky, Mr. Stabler. I come bearing gifts," she said, lifting a needle off the tray she had carried in. Elliot felt his stomach sink, he didn't want any more needles.
The nurse must have sensed his uneasiness, "Don't worry, I just shoot this straight into your IV. It's going to make you a little sleepy, but you'll feel much better when you wake up."
After she injected the medicine, she patted Elliot on the shoulder again and retreated to the door.
"Honey, come and get me if you need anything else," she said to Maureen. Maureen nodded and climbed next to Elliot on the bed.
"That was really gross," she said after a few minutes of silence.
Elliot couldn't help but shake his head at his daughter.
"Here, let me get that," she said, using the washcloth to wipe his lips. At least he thought she wiped his lips, he still couldn't feel them. He began poking at his face, wishing he could feel his lips.
"Don't worry, just a little slobber," Maureen said, making herself comfortable in her chair. She pulled her notebook onto her lap and brushed her hair out of her face. Elliot missed her so much, and even though he'd been asleep all day, he was glad she was there. He was embarrassed that his daughter was wiping the drool off his chin.
"Who would have thought the day would actually come when I had to wipe your face and tuck you into bed," she teased, knowing her dad couldn't make any sarcastic comments in return.
"Now get some sleep, I have to study, I have an exam tonight," she said, burying her nose in her book. Elliot obeyed, closing his eyes and letting the medicine work it's magic.