The space in front of her house was not unoccupied this time. A small, 2-seater Sedan he assumed to be hers was parked there.
So, he parked across the road instead, then stepped out of his car with the supplies in tow.
As he crossed the road, he studied the little façade. Her bungalow was one of many other small houses in that road; while some could easily be 2-storied houses, hers was so low that it was most definitely just one-storied.
The front was painted white and had a slanting red roof. A small overhang in front of the porch led towards the wooden, maroon door. It looked sturdy and had no peephole. A small, black letterbox was nailed next to it. Similarly, the house number, composed of separate pieces of gold-painted metal bent into the shapes of a 1 and 2, was hammered above the door into the wall.
Two windows flanked the door, each adorned with potted flowers. He smiled; how she managed to maintain those next to work and the cooling conditions was beyond him. He decided that it all looked very fitting and Ava-worthy. He couldn't imagine her living anywhere else.
As he got closer, his eyes searched for a doorbell. However, there wasn't one, so he fisted his hand and rapped his knuckles sharply against the door.
He heard his knocks echo into the house. He paused, ears cocked, but couldn't hear anything inside.
He pounded again, more forcefully. Still nothing. Maybe she's asleep, he thought.
He kept pounding, now without break, intent of being let in.
Finally, he heard the sound of a lock being twisted behind the door. He stopped knocking and buried his free hand in the pocket of his jeans.
Seconds later, the door swung inwards, revealing Ava to him. A half-naked, bare-footed Ava, to be precise.
She was only wearing a loose grey tank-top over matching black bra and boxer-style panties. He gulped as he took her body in, was she trying to torture him? The tank top was several sizes too large. In fact, it was so loose that it didn't provide her with much modesty and did little to hide her ivory skin from his eyes. He had to force himself not to let his gaze linger on her full-looking breasts by bringing his eyes up to meet hers.
She didn't look any better than when he'd seen her at hospital. Her eyes were bleary and she was squinting at him, probably trying to make sense of his presence. Her disorientation confirmed to him that she must have been sleeping.
They stared at each other for a moment; her confused, him taken aback. Finally, she opened the door wider and turned her back to him. He took that as an invitation to let himself in.
As he stepped into her cosy living room and closed the door behind him, she made her way to a 3-seater sofa and slowly lowered herself into it, clutching an armrest and groaning quietly in the process.
He glanced around. Across the room, directly in front of the door he'd entered from, there was a corridor leading to the rest of the house.
The sofa plus an armchair to his right took up the bulk of the room, facing a TV within a wall-unit full of books on his left. A wooden table stood in the middle of the room, displaced slightly towards the sofa so as to create a wider passage through to the corridor. It was close enough to the sofa that it could be comfortably used as a footrest or for placing bowls of crisps on it while watching TV. All in all, the living room had a very comfortable, homey feel to it.
Furthermore, Connor noticed that there were clothes haphazardly splayed out on the floor, starting at the door with boots, a coat and scarf and finishing at the sofa with a pair of thick socks.
He couldn't help but smirk in amusement as he picked up her scrub top, the dark grey sweater shirt she often wore underneath, and her scrub pants, on his way towards her.
She'd clearly stripped off almost all of her clothes upon her arrival home and left everything lying on the floor. The different clothing pieces led him towards the sofa like Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs had led them home.
He sat down next to her, placing the clothes he'd picked up and the bag he'd brought with him on the low-lying table. As he unzipped his jacket, he asked "Do you think it's wise to open the door half-naked to a stranger?"
She glanced down at her scarcely-clad body, then looked up at him and scoffed, "You're hardly a stranger"
He didn't miss the surliness in her cracked voice.
Connor rolled his eyes, "I could have been. You have no peephole. And what exactly happened to your clothes?"
"Hot flush 's soon 's I arrived home that has yet to pass."
He noticed that she was keeping her spoken words to a minimum and that her frown wasn't directed at him. She's in pain. Is she keeping herself hydrated?
He placed a hand over her forehead; it engulfed half of her face. Her eyes fluttered shut and she let out a quiet moan. He wasn't surprised; her skin felt like a furnace against his hand. He then moved his hand to feel for the lymph nodes in her neck, gently massaging either side of her head. Sure enough, he found them to be enlarged.
"You're running quite a temperature, that explains why you're feeling so hot. Still, it's no good for your health…"
…Or my sanity…
"For you not to be wearing any clothes."
He sorted through the grey and blue fabrics in front of him, setting the scrubs aside and picking out the sweatshirt. "So, let's get this back on" he concluded, untwisting it. Not giving her a chance to object, he found the neck-hole, stretched it open and pulled it over her head, gently freeing her chin and hair in the process.
Since she didn't have much of a choice, she clumsily cooperated, lifting an arm and forcing it through the first armhole. He held it open for her, then rolled up the second sleeve to make it easier for her to wear. When her second arm was covered and those delicate shoulders were finally not bare anymore, he gently gripped the hem of the shirt that was riding just above her breasts and tugged it down till it hid her bellybutton.
She then leaned against the backrest of the sofa, closed her eyes and mumbled "No pants. Too hot."
He eyed the scrub pants despite her plea. He should be helping her to wear those; the fever would break eventually and then she'd feel cold without pants. But it felt too intimate for him to crouch down in front of her and manually dress her lower body. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable.
His eyes swept the room again and he spotted a neatly-folded blanket on the armchair. He leaned over her to reach for it.
As he opened it and draped it across her lap, its beautiful stitching caught his eye; it looked to be handmade. The blanket was composed of ripples in about 15 different hues of blue, gold, green and grey, and the interlocking effect of the ripples reminded him of a beach. It was extremely soft and looked slightly worn.
"Have you been drinking?" he asked once he was done admiring the blanket and had tucked it in at her waist. She shook her head, "Just comes right back up."
He winced sympathetically. "Then I'll give you some IV fluids. It'll slow your recovery if you're not hydrated."
She cracked an eye open. There was a trace of humour and surprise in her voice, "You got me a drip?"
He smiled at her, "I did. Also got some painkillers that should knock you out for 8 hours. But you need to get hydrated first. When did you last take anything against the pain?"
He saw her glance at a clock on the wall.
"3 hours ago. Tylenol-cold-n-flu."
"Ok, so we have to wait at least another 3 hours till I can give you the meds I brought. And you need to eat something in the meantime."
"Eat?" she scrunched her nose.
"Yeah. You need the sugars for energy to fight this cold. Don't worry, I'm not expecting you to eat a steak. I was thinking of making you some broth or soup. Then, once you get the meds, you'll wake up feeling much better. Doctor Latham swore by them."
"Fine" she said, closed her eye again, then held out her right hand. "Put the IV in there."
"Want to lie down till I prepare some food?"
She nodded, so he got up from next to her, grabbed her ankles and swung them up onto the sofa. She stretched herself out across the seats, groaning quietly as the movement irritated her aching bones and joints.
The blanket slipped down, freeing her legs. Once she had settled herself on her back, lying flat, Connor gently rearranged the blanket to cover her legs again, then rummaged through the bag for the IV kit.
He opened a disinfecting wipe, took her right hand in both of his and swabbed the back of it clean. He discarded the wipe, opened the sealed needle and warned, "Just a little prick…"
He exhaled in relief when the needle entered her vein immediately, despite how flat it was. He taped it in place using a plaster and some bandages, then squeezed the bag a couple of times. The saline started flowing into her veins.
Satisfied, Connor set her hand down on top of her belly, then draped the bag on top of the sofa.
"Try to get some sleep until it's time for your meds. In the meantime, I'm gonna see what food you have in your kitchen and prepare something."
She didn't open her eyes but still smiled lightly. "Thank you" he heard her faintly.
"Ava" she was dimly aware of someone calling her. She frowned, really not wanting to be dragged out of oblivion. She could feel the pain radiating through her body even though her mind was so far away from it, so if she resurfaced from sleep's embrace, it would hurt worse.
However, the person was relentless and quickly moved on to shaking her shoulders. "Ava, come on, wake up."
It was Connor, she realised. Reluctantly, she dragged her eyes open. He was towering over her, gently shaking her. He smiled when he saw her eyes and before she could protest, he was slowly pulling her up into a sitting position.
Her stomach lurched alarmingly but she didn't dry-heave.
Something cold draped on her forehead started to slip down as he sat her up so she reached for it. It was a wet face-cloth. It felt good, so she held it up.
"Feeling dizzy?" he asked when he'd gotten her upright. The room was spinning lightly, so she admitted, "Little bit."
She lowered her legs onto the floor as he reached across her lap for two fluffy pillows on the armchair. She recognised them instantly; one had a turquoise cover, the other had sharks on it. They were the pillows from her bed.
He must've been in my room she thought as he stuffed them behind her back to prop her up.
Next, he picked up a thermometer from the table and held it in front of her. She reluctantly opened her mouth and allowed him to push it under her tongue and hold it there.
As they waited for it to take the reading, she looked at the table. It was stocked with medicinal items. There were plasters, syringes, boxes of pills and a small vial of something fluid. A glass of water stood there, too.
She frowned as she considered the items, she didn't have any of those in her drawers. He must've brought all of that with him, not just the IV and pain meds.
Coming to think of it, that thermometer wasn't hers, either; she hadn't come around to buy one yet… She fought not to let her mouth twitch into a smile. Had Connor really gone through all of this trouble for her?
A minute later, the thermometer started to beep frantically. He gently pulled it away from her mouth and spared it a quick glance.
"You're running a high fever" he informed her with a worried frown.
She shrugged, she knew that much without the thermometer. Still frowning, he handed her the water, "Here; drink, it should ease your throat. And take some domperidone, it'll make sure you won't throw up."
She carefully let go of the facecloth; it remained put against her skin, then took the glass from him. She noticed that she was still hooked to the drip.
He popped out a small white pill from one of the boxes on the table.
"How long have I been sleeping?" she asked weakly after swallowing the pill with tiny sips of water. Her IV bag looked to be full, suggesting that no time had passed. Which wasn't good. She was in pain and wanted the meds now.
"Almost 3 hours. It's just past 11 o'clock now. That's your second IV, by the way, in case you were wondering why it's still so full."
She nodded, relieved. She certainly felt more alert now that she was being rehydrated, even if the pain was still raging through her.
Connor continued, "I've made you some chicken soup. As soon as you've had some, you can have the pain relief and sleep everything off."
She sniffed the air; sure enough, she could smell a delicious, tangy aroma. She half-smiled. Although food was the last thing on her mind, having some soup would mean she was a step closer to the meds. They'd better be as good as he promised.
"I need to use the bathroom first." She said sheepishly. It was easier to talk now than before; thanks to the drink she'd just had.
He smiled in understanding and tugged the blanket at her hips away, freeing her legs. She sighed in relief as cool air hit her bare legs; she was still feeling as if she'd been running during a hot summer day in South Africa.
Ava then peeled the facecloth off and braced herself on the table in front of her to stand up, trying not to moan out loud as the simple action of getting onto her feet sent jabbing pains through her bones.
He stood up with her and allowed his hands to hover near her waist in case she stumbled.
Once she was upright, the floor beneath her feet did feel quite unsteady, so she reached out for him, hands gripping the jumper at his chest.
"Whoa, you ok?" he asked, concerned, as she swayed in his arms. His hands quickly descended onto her waist and held her in place. She took a couple of deep breaths, then nodded, "Dizzy spell. Think I'm good now."
She slowly let go, and sure enough, stood without trembling. He too reluctantly removed his hands from her and picked up the IV bag. As she slowly stepped around him, he handed it to her so that she could carefully make her way to the bathroom.
Soon after, he managed weakly "How about you put on some pants now that you're up?"
She turned around, gauging his facial expression. Managing a small smile, she said, "Nah, I'm good. Unless my legs are distracting you?"
"What? No, it's just, it looks cold to be without them." He sounded innocent enough, but the slight wideness to his eyes suggested to her that he might have been feigning ignorance.
Still smiling lightly, she assured him, "Trust me, I'm so hot right now."
"Yeah, you are" he said very quietly once she'd turned her back to him again. She probably wasn't meant to hear it. Her stomach fluttered dangerously, while she knew it wasn't because of the nausea, she still hurried a bit faster towards the bathroom. As she walked, she wondered if his gaze was now lingering on her butt.
When she emerged from the bathroom minutes later, she found the living room empty. She returned to the 3-seater, placed the IV bag on top of it, then slowly lowered herself in a sitting position against the pillows. They comfortably supported her weight, and she was pleased to notice that her stomach wasn't feeling dangerous anymore. The domperidone he'd given her was working.
She then pulled the ripple blanket onto her lap and opened it up again. Even though she was still sweltering hot, Connor had been right when he asked if she wanted to wear pants. It certainly didn't help her weakened immune system to be exposed to the cold room.
A few moments later, he came back into her view, a steaming mug in his hands. As the tangy smell wafted closer to her, she realised that she had developed a small appetite for the soup. The salts would increase her blood pressure and help to combat the faintness still lingering.
He handed her the mug, then a straw.
"I found these bamboo straws in your drawer" he said, sounding amused. She smiled, making a mental note to explain the concept of reusability to him once she had more energy, "Thanks, Connor."
Then, she took a tentative sip. The soup had a creamy texture but wasn't too heavy and slid down her throat without hurting much. She moaned quietly and sucked on the straw again; the soup tasted good, was lubricating her dry mouth and throat and didn't seem to be bothering her stomach.
"Take it easy" he warned as he settled himself in the armchair next to her. She erred on the side of caution and took very small, slow sips.
It warmed her from the inside that he'd clearly been worried enough about her that he'd come to her home and was settling her down. Here he was, taking care of her! She shuddered as she considered what state she would currently be in without his help. She surely wouldn't be well hydrated and hence be even weaker. Plus, the Tylenol she'd been popping like candy every 4 hours hadn't been effective at all. His pain meds sounded like a dream.
As she sipped, she was embarrassingly aware that he was mostly gazing at her, as if gauging her to see if she was going to hurl.
She also caught him glancing around the room. Had he gone up to where she kept framed pictures in the unit and studied them closely? If he had, he'd probably ask her about them later. They definitely portrayed a different Ava than he was accustomed to. She wouldn't be surprised if he'd ask her about them during surgery in front of the whole OR, as mini-payback for all of the grief she'd caused him. She tried not to think about that possibility, for domperidone or not, her stomach wasn't quite ready to tolerate nervous butterflies on top of liquids.
Once the mug was empty, she leaned forwards to set it down on the table. As she let her body fall back to the pillows, she smiled and croaked out, "That was delicious. Now, talk to me about the pain meds you brought!"
Ava then wriggled herself to lie down on her side. This position left her less vulnerable to feeling dizzy and she was pleasantly surprised at how comfortable it felt.
He eyed her, "Sure you wanna get comfortable here? Don't you want to sleep it off in your bed?"
She wrinkled her nose, the thought of having to get up again was not appealing. "Nah, I'm fine here."
"Okay" he said hesitantly, then answered her question, "I got you some injectable Toradol."
She nodded, that was an anti-inflammatory drug that decreased fever, swelling and pain. "Oh, goodie" she breathed.
He smiled at that, "The dose I'm going to administer will relieve you of the pain and should send you to sleep for 6 to 8 hours. By then, your body would hopefully have got the viral infection under control so your symptoms won't return as severely."
"6 to 8 hours, are you going to have to catheterise me?" she cracked a joke. He turned pink, "No, you'll only be lightly asleep towards the end of the slumber. You'll wake up when your body needs to relieve itself."
She couldn't help but grin. Despite being a doctor and familiar with the human body, Connor sounded awfully shy just then.
"Ok, so shoot me up, Doc."
She watched as he reached for a sealed syringe and the vial of the medication.
"I can either inject this intravenously using a new vein; I didn't think of bringing a port I'm afraid so I can't use your right hand. Or, I can inject it directly into a muscle" he said, glancing at her to see her reaction.
She shrugged, "Whatever you think is medically best, Doc."
"Will you stop calling me that?" he asked, humour evident in his voice. She watched him unwrap the syringe and draw out a hefty amount of the medication into it.
"Whoa" she muttered. He chuckled, "You're young with no medical history, so you can safely tolerate this."
"How would you know?" she asked. He didn't reply but smiled wider. I'll need to find out how he knows that later.
He tapped the syringe lightly, then pushed the plunger just enough for some liquid to escape the tip. Finally, he got up from the couch and crouched down in front of her.
"Muscle" she answered his previous question. Mostly because she knew that he'd probably have to give her the shot in the butt (since her arms were clad but her legs bare) and wanted to see how that affected him. But also because she didn't want both of her hands to be bruised. She always got bruises from blood tests or IVs.
"Ok, in that case, it'll have to be in your buttocks, Ava. Easiest access."
She didn't say anything but let him pull the blankets down to her mid-thighs and push up her cotton panties, just enough to expose the cheek closest to him. She watched him intently, pleased to see him pinking up again. She tensed as he brought the cold disinfectant wipe to her skin, it felt like an ice-cube against her flushed body. Then, he pushed the needle into the muscle and pressed the plunger down.
"All set" he said, pressing some cotton wool against the puncture wound before gingerly rearranging her underwear over it and covering her legs with the blanket again.
She was surprised at how quickly her eyelids drooped.
"Ahh" she sighed as the pain started to ebb away. It reminded her of how the tide vanished on her favourite beach at home. One minute the waves were there, lapping at her, trying to knock her over and the next they were rushing off into the distance. Just like the aches in her body. She felt herself become lighter.
He smiled at her and draped the wet cloth onto her forehead again, pushing some sticky strands off her face in the process, "Sleep well, Ava."
"You'll let yourself out, yeah?" she asked, struggling to focus on him. But his reply was lost as she drifted off into the first painless, healing and wholesome sleep since she first started feeling sick.