Chapter 2: Dressing
Pietro sat in his bed, feeling numb all over. He should be… was supposed to be dead. But he wasn't. This was the second time he had escaped death. The first when he was a child and that Stark missile hit his home. Now this. Pietro rubbed his temples with his first two fingers, trying to fight off the headache he knew was coming. Too much information in too little time. And he was still feeling weak, tired, and sore. He looked over at the tray of food on the rolling table the nurse had pulled up to his bed. He was too stunned to eat much beside the banana while Dr. Short was talking to him. Now he surveyed what was left on the tray. It was mostly light stuff, designed not to upset his stomach too much after 30 plus days without solid food. There was a variety of fruits, a little bit of cheese and nuts for protein, some bread that smelled fresh, and a tall pitcher of water. Pietro's mouth watered at the sight of it, reminding him again how hungry he was. He felt like he could eat the whole thing in seconds. But he knew better. He had been in a coma for a month. Eating too much too fast would just make him sick. He reached for the bread and slowly began eating.
Over the next two hours, he slowly ate the entirety of his meal. While he ate, Pietro looked around the room, getting a better look at his surroundings. His hospital bed was fitted with crisp white sheets. Immediately to his left, there was an array of medical instruments with cords hanging off them ending in attachments that he knew must have been connected to his skin not so long ago. Along the left wall was a waist high counter with various medical supplies. A rolling doctor's stool was tucked underneath and a cabinet with drawers was on the end. The right wall was bare, with the exception of a rather uncomfortable looking chair in the corner where the right wall connected with the back. Between his bed and the chair was an orange sharps container, the black biohazard symbol a glaring contrast to the pristine whiteness of his room. Across from Pietro, the far wall was nothing but glass with the 'whooshing' door in the center. Hospital curtains were hanging from the ceiling here, pulled over most of the glass to give him some semblance of privacy. Finally, there was a small area jutting from the junction of the right wall and the glass. The area was walled off and the door leading to it was slightly ajar. It was dark inside but the blue sign depicting a toilet told Pietro this was his bathroom.
Pietro realized then how badly he needed to use the restroom. He shifted his blankets preparing to get up when he remembered he was naked save for the bandages wrapping around his chest and back. His eyes shifted to the glass wall before him. Though most of it was covered by the curtains, the door was unobscured and large enough to give anyone in the hall a good view of his naked body should he rise and walk to the restroom. Pietro's eyes made a pass over the room, looking for clothes.
The only clothes he'd have here would be the uniform he'd been brought here in. And judging by the wounds he could feel in his back, they had been blasted into Swiss cheese. He didn't see them in here anyway.
Surely there must be some type of hospital gown or something. His eyes landed on the set of drawers near the medical counter. They all had locks on them. Pietro doubted they'd be unlocked and he'd have to cross the room naked anyway to get there.
Looking out the glass door into the hallway once more, Pietro made up his mind. No one was out there and in the hours he'd been awake, the only person he'd seen was Dr. Short. Pietro shifted his legs under the blanket and swung them over the left side of the bed. Just that motion was painful. He steeled himself to stand up, his legs hanging over the bed, feet dangling just above the linoleum floor.
But then he thought better. He was still feeling so weak and pained. He doubted his legs would hold his body weight, despite however much his muscles must have atrophied during his coma. The last thing he wanted was to collapse naked on the floor for some nurse to find him later.
So instead, he turned his head to look behind him. Above the headboard of his hospital bed was a panel of light switches, a red button that paged the nurses station, a blue button that signaled he needed pain meds, and the purple button Dr. Short had indicated earlier; the one that was a direct link to her office. Pietro twisted, reaching around with his right arm. A searing pain flared up and down his spine, through his shoulder, and down his arm. He winced and grit his teeth. His finger hovered above the red button and then a second later he shifted his hand a depressed the purple button instead. It recessed into the wall and lit up with a purple light indicating his page had been sent.
Pietro twisted back around in his bed to face forward. The pain was ebbing now.
He wasn't sure why he hit the purple button instead of the red. Surely fetching him a hospital gown was below Dr. Short's status as a doctor. A nurse would have easily been able to help him. But Pietro still wasn't sure what kind of situation he had awoken into. And even though he didn't know her, he trusted Dr. Short.
A few minutes later, Pietro heard footsteps in the hallway. A moment after the sound reached his ears, he saw Dr. Short through the glass doorway. She was looking down at a mechanical lock that protruded from the door. She pressed her thumb against the scanner and Pietro heard a faint 'beep' as it registered her thumbprint. Then the doors 'whooshed' open. Dr. Short entered the room with the 'click-clack' of high heel shoes. In addition to wearing high heels, she had on her white lab coat that fell to just above her knees. It was unbuttoned to reveal a black dress shirt and a purple blouse.
The doctor must like purple. Pietro thought.
When she had entered the room, Pietro looked up into the doctor's face. Her eyebrows were raised on her forehead in an expression of concern.
"Pietro, are you okay?" She asked.
Suddenly, Pietro felt embarrassed paging her here just for some clothes. He swallowed and said thickly, "I… um… would it be possible to get some clothes?"
Pietro saw Dr. Short instantly relax, her worried expression vanishing. "Oh, yes, of course!" She didn't seem at all bothered by his silly request.
Dr. Short 'clip-clopped' over to the locked cabinet and took a ring of keys from one of the deep pockets of her lab coat. She bent at the knees, crouching on her heeled feet above the last drawer. She unlocked it and pulled out a set of clothes similar to the stark white outfit the nurse who had brought him his food had been wearing. Instead, his clothes were the faintest shade of blue. "These should fit you," Dr. Short said. In a few steps, she crossed over to his bed and handed him the clothes.
Though the fabric was stiff, it was soft. Pietro dropped the outfit in his lap and unfolded the shirt. He pushed his hands through the sleeves then bunched up the material to pull over his head. He had raised his arms only half way up to his head when the searing pain returned across his back. He winced again, a sharp 'hiss' escaping between his teeth.
Dr. Short took half a step forward. "Oh, let's get you some more pain meds." She reached over his shoulder and pressed a button behind him. Then, he felt her hand fall onto his shoulder. "Here, Pietro, let me help you." It was said as more of a question than a statement.
Pietro nodded, his eyes still closed in pain.
He felt the doctor grab the bunched up area of his shirt, and lift it up towards his head. It still hurt, but not nearly as much as when he tried to do it himself. As she pulled the fabric over his head, he felt her hands brush against the hair on the back of his head. Gently, she pulled the shirt down around his neck and shoulders. Her fingers brushed the edges of his bandages as she slid the material down his torso. When the shirt was fully on, the doctor withdrew her hands and Pietro let out a sigh. It felt good to have the cloth against his skin, feeling its warmth. He didn't know he had been so cold. He had never really been cold before. His increased basal metabolic rate had always kept his body temperature a few degrees higher than normal.
Now that his shirt was on he looked down at the pants sitting in his lap. How in the world was he supposed to get those on when he had so much trouble just with the shirt. Pietro felt the doctor's eyes on him.
"I can help you with those too," she said. "Here, let's stand you up."
Pietro felt heat rise to his cheeks. If Dr. Short was going to help him put on pants, surely she'd see the parts of him he was careful to keep covered with his hospital blanket. But this was silly. She was a doctor. She said herself that she had only realized he was alive when she began performing an autopsy on him. Obviously he would have been naked for that. But he was still embarrassed.
As if sensing this, Dr. Short said, "It's okay, I won't look."
Pietro finally looked up and met Dr. Short's eyes. She had an ever so subtle flush to her own cheeks. Somehow, that reassured him. He nodded again and took a breath, readying himself to stand.
Dr. Short held out her arms, her gaze locked on his face, and Pietro placed his arms on top of hers. He gripped her upper arm, just above her elbow. She held on to him, her grip gentle but firm. Pietro briefly thought how ridiculous this was. The doctor was shorter than even his sister. And even though he must have lost a lot of weight during his coma from lost muscle mass, he still weighed more than the slim doctor in front of him. How was she going to support his weight?
But this needed to be done. So Pietro swung his legs off the bed and placed his bare feet on the cold linoleum. He planted his feet and then stood. His legs almost gave out at the knees, his legs weak and wobbly from disuse. But, Dr. Short braced him by the arms and in a moment, his legs were able to support his weight and he stood, albeit shakily, on his own.
Dr. Short released his arms and grabbed the pants from the bed. She closed her eyes and knelt down before him. Bunching up one of the pant legs, she said, "Brace yourself between me and the bed and then lift your foot."
Pietro nodded for a third time, though she couldn't see, her gaze was trained firmly on the ground. Pietro placed one hand on the doctor's right shoulder and the other on the mattress of his hospital bed. He raised his foot from the floor. Dr. Short slipped the bunched pant leg over his foot.
"Okay," she said, "now the other."
Pietro placed his foot back on the floor and raised the other. In a second, the other pant leg was over his foot and he was back to having both feet firmly on the floor. Dr. Short grabbed the waist band of the pants and began pulling them up. Her fingers brushed against his calves as she did so and he felt wildly embarrassed again.
She stopped when she reached his mid-thigh, her gaze still actively avoiding the parts of him that were still naked. "I think you can do the rest."
Pietro bent slightly at the waist and pulled the pants up the rest of the way. He stood straight and adjusted the lay of the shirt over the waistband of the pants.
Dr. Short's gaze returned to his face. "There. Not so bad."
Pietro's eyes left her face and glanced over at the bathroom. "I… don't know if I can walk all that way on my own." He felt heat rise in his cheeks again, but this time due to shame. He had never relied on anyone else before. Not even his sister. He was twelve minutes older, after all. He was the big brother. He was the protector, the provider. The one to be relied on. But he swallowed his pride and looked questioningly at Dr. Short.
"Ah," she said, "well, shall we?" She held out her arm like a gentleman escorting a lady to a dance.
Pietro accepted it, gripping it tightly. He had to lean his body weight into her side as she led him across the room to the bathroom. It wasn't very far, maybe ten feet. But for Pietro it was an agonizing journey. He should have been able to cross this distance in less than a nanosecond. But that was before. Now, it seemed like a lifetime before he finally reached the bathroom door. It was horrible for him.
Pietro leaned against the door frame while Dr. Short pushed the door open and flipped on the light. Exhausted just from that small trip, Pietro said nothing and entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him. It was just a few steps to the toilet and he was able to make them on his own, though his gait was unsteady.
As he did his business in the bathroom, he heard the 'whoosh' of his door opening. He heard the doctor exchange words with someone and then the 'whoosh' sounded again. Pietro finished up, washing his hands whilst leaning heavily on the sink. When he exited the bathroom, Dr. Short was waiting for him.
She smiled. "You must feel better."
He nodded for a fourth time.
"Let's get you back in bed," Dr. Short said. She offered her arm again and he took it.
After another agonizingly long trip across the room, Pietro was back at his bed. Dr. Short helped him get back into it and he pulled the sheet up to his mid-chest, settling back on his pillows.
Dr. Short pulled a capped syringe out of her lab coat. His pain meds, he surmised. That must have been the conversation he heard while he was in the bathroom.
"This'll make you sleepy," the doctor said. "But you'll feel better."
Pietro sighed in understanding. He was dizzy again and the pain in his back had spread around to his chest and down his arms and legs from all the activity. He could feel fresh blood wetting the bandages on his back.
Dr. Short gently straightened his right arm and wiped a spot on the inside of the bend of his elbow with an alcohol swab. She palpated a vein with warm fingers. Then, she raised the needle and pulled the cap off with her teeth. It was wildly unprofessional but it amused Pietro for some reason. He could tell she had done this many times before. She was in her element; comfortable and relaxed giving him his meds. The last time she had pricked him, he had been half out of it. But now Pietro was fully awake and it surprised him when he still didn't feel the prick of the needle. Dr. Short was very good at what she did. She depressed the plunger of the syringe and in an instant, Pietro felt the heaviness of sleep as the medicine coursed through his veins. He felt sleepy and a sort of numbness was spreading across him, starting in his chest. He watched as Dr. Short recapped the needle, not with her teeth this time, and placed it in the sharps container to his right.
"Now, Pietro," she said. "Sleep." She turned on her heels and he heard the 'clip-clop' of her shoes as she walked to the door. As it 'whooshed' open, he called out to her.
"Dr. Short," his voice was slurred and sleepy. "Thank you."
The doctor turned back to him and smiled. "Of course Pietro. No problem."
He was half asleep when she said the next thing.
"And call me Dr. Alex."
His eyelids closed and before he could hear the 'whoosh' of the door as it closed, he was asleep.