She's in her office late one evening. Her long dark hair hangs loosely to her shoulders. Her long, tired fingers massage her temples briefly, as she reviews a forensic report. She discards her glasses, and the folder onto her desk, as her head throbs. There is a knock on her door, and she vacates her seat.
"Come in," she motions, as she rises from her seat to stretch.
Fin smiles at her, "It looks like we're all going to be here late. We are getting ready to order out. You're the tie breaker."
"What are my options?" Captain Benson queries as she attempts to ignore her migraine. She tugs off her blazer, and casts it aside on the back of her chair.
"Thai, or pizza, of course. The same debate we have every single time. Liv, are you okay?"
The scene before her fades to black before she can respond to him.
A beeping monitor, and a ticking clock overhead are the first thing she hears when she regains consciousness. As her eyes open they are assaulted by the bright overbearing harshness of overhead lights. Her head throbs, more now than before. As her hand lifts to touch her head she locates an IV inserted into it. Her heart, and mind race towards anxiety, and conclusions.
"Hey, take it easy, boss," Fin muses calmly from nearby.
Her glance shifts towards him. She finds him seat in a green vinyl chair just beyond the side rail of her Stryker hospital bed.
"Why am I here?"
"You were settling our take out dilemma, or you were about to when you hit the floor."
"Oh."
"It all happened so fast. One minute I was asking if you were okay, and the next you're taking a nosedive into the desk."
"So you didn't order the pizza? I must be hallucinating…"
His dimples reveal themselves as he places a small box on the bedside table in front of her.
"It's from the cafeteria, but I know you have to be starving."
"We have case to crack. Can you go find the attending? I really think that I am okay to get out of here."
"You have been unconscious for twenty seven minutes," he informs her.
"So they are going to want to do a full work up?"
"They already did a CT of your head. They are awaiting lab results now. I learned while I was waiting that I am your designated next of kin."
"Shit… Fin I meant to tell you. Last summer when I sliced my toe on a piece of broken glass, and had to have stitches they insisted I update my forms. I hope you're not too pissed."
"I'm not at all. I am currently a hair concerned about you."
"Have they given you any indication what might be going on?"
"So far what they do know is that your blood pressure was low, and is likely a result of dehydration."
"This is where you lecture me about taking better care of myself, huh?"
"I won't waste my breath. You've proven you're too damn hard headed."
She smirks, "If you're here with me who is…"
He cuts her off, "Amanda can hold down the fort. I mean we have to give her a shot. I am not going to be around to be your right hand forever."
His phone starts vibrating. She shoots him a look. He nods as he vacates his seat, and heads into the hallway to take the call. As he is getting an update from the squad room the doctor slinks into the room.
"Good afternoon Captain Benson, I am Dr. Branson."
She furrows her brow, "I have shoes older than you."
He scoots towards her on a green rolling stool, "I see that your wit is intact."
"I am hoping this is where you tell me that I need to stay hydrated, and everything else has checked out, so I can get back to work."
"Not exactly. The good news is that the CT of your head came back, and you aren't having an internal bleeding. The laceration to your head is not deep enough to require sutures. I would like to keep you overnight to rehydrate you, and monitor your EKG. There was a slight anomaly that I want to monitor further. My hope is that it clears up once you are rehydrated. As long as it resolves you can go home first thing in the morning."
"That seems a little unnecessary."
"In light of the circumstances it is most prudent course of action."
Her brow furrows as she gesticulates, "What circumstances are you referring to, exactly?"
"I guess the nurse's win the bet," he sighs.
"Bet? What bet? What is going on here?"
"Among other things I should never wager a bet against the nurses. They are veterans, and they are never wrong. I never win. They said you didn't know. I should have listened."
"Dr. Branson, I don't care about your wager with the nurses. What are you talking about?"
"You are not going to be going home tonight. I will be admitting you overnight to monitor a host of metrics. The bed coordinator has assigned you to room 211, and someone will be coming to get you shortly."
"211? Why am I going to the second floor?"
He hangs his head, and grumbles under his breath as he types on the tablet to pull up her chart. He accesses her labs, and offers her the tablet.
