Michaela looked away from the offering immediately, Hank's words lingering in her head. Trying to distract herself by picking at the drying blood around the edges of her fingernails, Michaela soon found her teeth gnawing lightly on her lower lip, the violence of her gestures increasing as she frantically struggled to remove the redness from her fingers.
In a desperate attempt to shield the trembling of her jaw and the glistening of her eyes, Michaela lowered her face, once again noticing the small glass only inches from her gripped hands.
"Michaela, ain't no-one gonna know, I swear," Hank's voice was dull, slightly hoarse, the bartender was not accustomed to speaking in such a soft tone. Michaela looked up at him, her breath caught in her throat, her vulnerability completely exposed.
Hank turned away to glance downwards, feeling the glass removed from his outstretched hand. His head still lowered, Hank could hear her swallow the whiskey, however he did not look up again until the object was returned to his grasp.
Michaela dropped her hands in front of her, feeling the potent liquid still burning her lips. She brought a hand quickly to her left eye, wiping away the tears threatening to spill over.
Still not daring to look at her, Hank refilled the glass. Again, he extended his arm forward, locking his eyes on the transparent object, skeptical as to whether she would take it once again.
Michaela frowned, certainly not expecting him to offer her another glass. Looking away, she took several steps back towards the door she'd just exited from, realizing she didn't want to go back in there. She couldn't. She didn't want to see Suzie; didn't want to see the fear, shock, and pain on the girl's face, as if mirroring what she held secluded behind her own eyes.
Michaela began to feel incredibly trapped; not wanting to leave and risk being seen in such a distressed state, however unable to muster the strength to return to her patient.
Leaning back against the wall once again, Michaela looked Hank up and down, curious as to his total disregard for her presence. Her head moving between the corridor leading out to the Saloon, full of rambunctious noisy men, and the closed door leading to the injured girl's room, Michaela dropped her gaze, her eyes catching the blotches of dried blood still discoloring the palms of her hands. Running her hands along the sides of her royal blue skirt, Michaela knew the metaphoric gesture was merely a futile attempt at consoling herself.
"Another and that'll stop bothering you," Hank's voice again was grave, gesturing to her hands. Michaela realized he'd been there throughout her entire mental battle, without saying a word or moving an inch.
Staring from her hands pressed tightly against the sides of her skirt, Michaela reached her left hand forward a second time, removing the glass from Hank's fingers. She was just as disconcerted as she had been previously, the sharpness of the liquor invading her mouth, seeping it's way down her throat, her lips tingling as her breathing quickened momentarily.
A minute or so passing, Michaela felt her breathing begin to slow, the tightness in her chest abating as she started to feel more in control of her emotions.
"Better?" Hank had brought his eyes up to look at her after she'd consumed the second glass of whiskey.
She nodded slowly in response, glancing between Hank and the now empty glass in her hand, her expression one of a soft pout.
Michaela maintained her grip on the object, holding it out towards him, her voiceless request understood immediately. Hank, his hand extended to take the glass back from her, raised an eyebrow in disbelief, however refilled the glass for the third time. Michaela devoured the contents in a single motion, Hank's mouth dropping open in utter speechlessness.
"Michaela, ya better go easy on," Hank tried to object, however the small glass was once again held out towards him.
"You really don't want to," The bartender tried to persuade her against further drinking, however noticed the vacant, lost expression hidden behind her large, soulless eyes.
Sighing, Hank slowly filled the glass for the fourth time, Michaela bringing it to her lips with more hesitance, taking slower, more tentative sips, her eyes beginning to drift around the near-empty corridor.
"Michaela, here," Hank's relief when she let him take the near-empty glass from her was short-lived, the bartender knowing that immediate discretion needed to be implemented if this was going to be kept quiet.
Hank noticed Michaela's eyes start to glaze over, quickly pacing to Suzie's door, knocking several times, Myra's head appearing after a short moment.
"Hank, can't ya at least give us a bit of," Myra began, Hank tilting his head awkwardly in Michaela's direction, Myra stepping further out into the hall, having just started to wonder where Dr Mike had disappeared to.
"Ah, Myra, we got a bit of a situation ah. Need ya to take care of Michaela here, get her back to the Clinic," Hank, his voice so low and delicate, Myra had to strain to hear him.
"You all right, Dr Mike?" Myra turned from Hank to the Doctor, seeing her standing emotionlessly against the wall.
"She weren't feelin' too well, had a glass of whiskey, or two. Four," Hank stepped closer to Myra as he completed his sentence to prevent Mike hearing.
"She what?" Myra brought a hand to her mouth in horror, never having imagined Michaela Quinn to be the type of woman who'd sniff a glass of whiskey, let alone down four shots in under five minutes.
"Hank, what the heck were you thinkin' of, getting Dr Mike drunk?" Myra hissed.
"Listen, just get her back to the Clinic quick, coz that stuff's gonna kick in before ya know," Hank and Myra turned, Michaela pushing herself slowly from the wall, as she realized her body was moving faster than her mind; needless to say, a situation she'd never found herself in before.
"Come on, Dr Mike, let's go," Myra crossed the corridor, quickly arriving at her side, grateful when Michaela didn't object to her slipping an arm around her waist to support her.
"Myra, better make sure no-one sees ya. Oh and ah, her um, that doctor bag thing," Hank pointed awkwardly to the black leather bag resting on the edge of the bed, visible only partly through the ajar door.
Myra gave Hank a slightly perturbed look, as it had been he who had furnished Michaela with the alcohol to start with, before stepping back into the bedroom, collecting Michaela's medical bag and arriving back in the corridor. Hank opened the door to Myra's room, beckoning them with his hand.
"Hank, what on earth?" Myra queried, her eyebrows drawn in miscomprehension.
"You can slip out through your window, can't ya? You take her through the Saloon like that, all hell's gonna break loose." Myra realized Hank had a point, and pulled gently on Michaela's right arm, leading her in the indicated direction.
"Where are we?" Michaela's words slurred ever so slightly, feeling her feet move underneath her.
"We're going back to the Clinic, Dr Mike. Come on." Myra maintained a strong grip on her hand, Hank shaking his head from side to side as the women disappeared slowly from his sight.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
After having assisted Dr Mike to the Clinic, Myra quickly realized she was going to require help; she needed to return to Suzie, and Dr Mike was by now in no fit state to be left alone.
"Grace. Grace!" Myra hissed, not really dressed to be seen in public, lurked around the café, trying to catch the woman's eye without drawing too much attention to herself.
"Myra, what in heaven's name," Grace turned from the stew she was stirring on the stove, to her right, seeing the girl partially concealed behind a shrub.
Waving her hand silently to Grace, Myra waited until the Negro woman had approached her.
"Oh Lord, what are you doin' behind that bush, girl? What's all this about?" Grace, her hands gripped firmly to her hips in moderate annoyance questioned.
"Ah I ah, I've got a erm, a problem," Myra, her voice still hushed continued, Grace raising her eyebrows suspiciously.
"You sure you shouldn't be talkin' to Dr Mike, then?" Grace looked slightly out of her depth, never feeling completely comfortable around any of Hank's girls.
"Ah, ya see, that's the problem. Dr Mike she, she's," Myra flapped her hands exasperatedly in front of her face, her mouth twitching as she struggled to put it into words.
"She's what?" Grace tried to fob her off, not drawn-in by Myra's dramatics.
"She's drunk," Myra, her voice dropped, and barely a foot from Grace's face, managed to blurt out.
"Now you listen here, do I look like some sort of fool." Grace tried to pull away.
"No I, I ain't messin' with ya here, Grace. I swear. Suzie got hurt by a fella and Hank went and got Dr Mike. Took care a Suzie fine and all, then don't know what happened, she just went all pale like and left the room. Hank apparently gave her some whiskey, trying to calm her down."
"That man's got a nerve, corruptin'," Grace sighed, Myra cutting her off once again.
"See, don't think it was all his fault. Said Michaela downed four shots in only a couple a minutes," Myra sighed, Grace slowly beginning to comprehend that this was potentially the falling apart Dorothy and Olive had predicted just that morning.
"Well, where is she now? You didn't leave her over," Grace's face suddenly took on a concerned seriousness, quickly reducing the heat on the stove, Myra arriving by her side.
"No, no, managed to get her to the Clinic few minutes ago but she was struggling to walk then. No idea what she's gonna be like by now. I gotta get back to the Saloon though." Myra looked between Grace and their surroundings, sorry that she had to take Grace from her work.
"Don't you worry 'bout it, I'll look after her. Just you tell Hank I'm gonna have a few words to say to him next time I see him," Grace quickly untied her apron, flinging it across a chair before taking off down the alleyway towards the Clinic.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"Dr Mike?" Grace opened the heavy wooden door slowly, before noticing Michaela perched seemingly calmly behind her desk, a book in her right hand.
"Grace, thought I'd tidy up," Michaela, despite the severe slurring of her words, appeared otherwise fully competent.
"Well, let's see if I can help you there," Grace arrived quickly at Michaela's side, assisting her to pile up the assortment of textbooks and journals cluttering the desk.
"There we are, all done," Grace announced, her tone comforting and non-judgmental. Michaela, a book still gripped tightly in her fingers, was memorized by the spots of dried blood still caked on the back of her hand.
Slipping the book delicately from Michaela's grasp, Grace helped her to her feet, the pair crossing the room to the basin, Grace filling it with water from the nearby pitcher and watching silently as Michaela began washing her hands.
"Won't come off," Michaela continued scrubbing the soap against her delicate hands, Grace leaning in closer, somewhat preoccupied with wanting to get Michaela lying down before she became unmanageable.
"Dr Mike, it's fine. See, all the blood's gone, all clean," Grace frowned, continuing to watch Michaela scrub cruelly at her soft skin, water splashing over the edge of the basin.
"No, it's not," Michaela sighed, allowing the soap to drop with defeat to the basin, her head lowered.
Grace, understanding her words, remained silent as she reached for a clean towel, gently pulling Michaela's arms from the water. Neither speaking, Grace moved the small towel over Michaela's fingers and palms, cupped in her own, until they were dry. Grace looked up as Michaela nervously pulled her hands back, her palms still touching for several moments until she let them sink by her side.
"Dr Mike, shall we go sit down on the bed, don't want you falling over," Grace encouraged, Michaela remaining still until the woman reached gingerly for her right shoulder. Feeling Michaela tense under her hand, Grace guided her towards the corridor, Michaela's movements deteriorating further just within the previous couple of minutes.
Michaela had felt the blanket of delayed consciousness wash over her in the hallway back at the Saloon, however not minding at first as it dulled the anxiety she was experiencing.
Now, after having arrived back in more familiar surroundings, the detached sensation returned. Whilst for ten minutes or so her intoxication had provided a warm and comforting distraction from her pain, the alcohol continuing to build-up in her system, Michaela now began to feel less and less in control. With this feeling came an exacerbated helplessness. However, without the inhibitions to manage it, Michaela felt her defenses drop, words passing from her lips before she was even aware the thought had entered her mind.
"I'm just like them," Michaela whispered, being led through the doorway into the closest recovery room. Her steps were awkward and staggered, her arms swinging loosely by her sides as she struggled to m aintain her balance.
"What's that?" Grace muttered, more concerned with helping her friend to arrive carefully on the edge of the bed, before taking a seat beside her.
"Myra," Michaela trailed off, the details of her thoughts not being expressed, Grace however catching on immediately, having heard the banter being passed around the town.
"Don't you be ridiculous, ain't the same thing," Grace felt awkward, wanting to reach for Michaela's arm in comfort, however knowing she was still sensitive to physical contact.
"Is exactly the same thing, shouldn't have let him," Michaela crossed her arms over her chest, the movement sloppy, yet the emotional defensiveness real. Her voice was soft, her speech increasingly slurred, and her normally infallible grammar declining.
"Dr Mike I, I'm sure you didn't let him," Grace, beginning to feel extremely overwhelmed by the direction their conversation was taking, found herself with no choice but to try to reassure Michaela to the best of her ability.
"I knew, knew it would happen. I didn't stop it," Michaela, the fingers of her right hand still clutched to her left upper arm, brought her left hand upwards, her right hand slipping down to wrap tightly around her left wrist.
"You were hurt bad, Dr Mike. You musta tried to stop it," Grace frowned, seeing the anguished regret appear on Michaela's face, recollections of the trauma now uninhibitedly replaying themselves in her mind.
"I," Michaela's face crumbled, the tears gathering around her eyes finally falling along her cheeks, dripping silently from her jaw line. Given her level of intoxication, Michaela seemed oblivious to Grace's presence, her words drawn-out, slurred, however her pain exposed.
"I couldn't. He had a knife pressed against my throat. I wanted to die. I couldn't. I should have let him slit my throat. I keep thinking it would have been better," Michaela had dropped her left hand to her lap, her right hand gripping the side of her neck, feeling the cold, metallic blade against her skin.
Her eyes drifted from her lap to the floor, whilst her mind remained many miles away.
Grace decided mere words would not reach Michaela's pain now, so remained silent only several feet beside her, watching as Michaela's eyes flickered, moving only occasionally. Grace could only imagine the horrors behind them.
"Nothing I said made any difference. I couldn't move, he held my wrists, he," Michaela clenched her eyes tightly closed, feeling his fingers on her face, on her chest, feeling his mouth pressed against hers. Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke, the tone breathy and unsupported, words still slurred together. "I wanted to fight but I couldn't, my entire body was pinned. It didn't stop. He touched me in places I've never been touched before. I didn't think the pain could get any worse and then it would, and I stopped feeling anything else. I tried to think of the children but all I could see was Sully, his body still at the bottom of the cliff. He was dead. I couldn't help him. I'd let him down, that I shouldn't be letting this happen. I should have fought whilst I had the chance." Michaela's voice retained its previous ragged quality, her speech lacking inflection.
"But still that wasn't the worst. It was waking up hours later, cold. I couldn't move, that's when I felt the blood. I knew then, it had really happened. I had been raped." Michaela blinked several times, struggling to put the next memories into sequence.
"The second time was the worst," she admitted, her voice dark.
Grace stayed quiet, merely meeting her gaze occasionally, as Michaela looked towards her.
"He was rougher, it hurt even more, and I couldn't escape the pain. He didn't care that I was bleeding. I could barely breathe." Michaela shook her head, feeling a shiver run down her body as she remembered fragments of the experience.
"Then the others came in," her voice was cold and haughty.
Grace leaned forward, seeing the vacant expression on Michaela's face. She knew from conversations with Dorothy, that there had never been any indication of more than one.
"Grace, do you know what it feels like to want to die?" Michaela asked, as lightly as a child.
Grace was aware that this was the first time since she'd been there that Michaela had held eye contact with her.
"Yes," Grace spoke, barely above a whisper.
Michaela raised her eyebrows, not having expected Grace to reply affirmatively.
"I felt so small; so powerless. But that wasn't the worst of it. It was the fact that they enjoyed it. I was a trophy for them because I was a white woman. There's so much that I can do, that I know, but none of that mattered to them. To have my entire identity reduced to just being female." Michaela broke the eye contact, "I would've quite happily not been female in the first place."
Grace waited silently, unsure if Michaela was going to continue.
"I was aware of being female at a very young age," Grace admitted quietly, noticing Michaela reestablish eye-contact.
"Who hurt you?" Michaela shook her head, feeling a deeper empathy than she thought possible.
Grace blinked, "Man who owned my mother. Weren't nothin' she could do."
"Grace, I'm sorry. I didn't know," Michaela spoke softly.
"I ain't even told Robert E., Dr Mike," Grace admitted.
Michaela looked away, back down at her hands clutched in her lap. "How did you get over it?"
Grace found the question slightly confronting, not sure if she actually was over it. "I don't think you get over it. Always a part of who you are. But I was so young, I didn't know no different. My mother was always there, comforting me if I had a nightmare, makin' sure I knew it weren't my fault. Guessin' that helped."
Michaela quickly drew another conclusion. "How did you marry?"
Grace took a moment to understand what Michaela had meant. "Surely you had nice experiences before, you can remember instead?" Grace quickly dismissed Michaela's comment, before seeing her look away.
The realization of what Michaela had just said sunk in.
"I'm sorry, Dr Mike, I," Grace quickly considered her answer. "Guess I just made sure I really cared for the person, took things slowly," she thought back over her teenage years of exploration. "If it helps, I can promise ya it ain't the same."
"Then, how do you stop the shame?" Michaela asked.
Grace swallowed, knowing that she had struggled with this most of her life. "By placing the blame where it belongs, which ain't on us," Grace offered inadequately.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"Mornin', Robert E," Matthew dismounted Scout, tying the horse securely to the fence beside him.
"Hey Matthew, didn't think we'd be seeing you for a few days, Olive been needin' all the help she can get from what I hear," The Blacksmith paused in his work, extending a hand warmly to the young man.
"Neither'd I. Scout threw a shoe, Olive told me to come on in, get you to take care of it, said she could do without me a few hours," Matthew shook his hand sincerely, before stepping back to lean against the nearby fence.
"Sure bein' mighty considerate, ain't she? Don't sound like the Olive Davis I know," Robert E. chuckled, his words not meant disrespectfully, however aware of Olive's toughness when it came to her workers.
"Doesn't look too bad. Got some time, I'll get right to it," Robert E. untied the horse, leading him towards the livery, Matthew following silently.
"So how's everythin' been with you folks? Anythin' I can do, you just have to say," Robert E. quickly reassured the young man, the pair arriving amongst the other horses in the livery, Matthew holding Scout whilst Robert E. found the necessary tools.
"Appreciate it. Been all right so far, I guess. Dr Mike's been coping real well. Brian's the one causin' all the trouble, acting real strange 'round her. Started kicking me so bad the other day, left bruises on my shin," Matthew removed his hat, shaking his head in recollection.
"Now that ain't like Brian. Never seen him hurt a fly," Robert E. contributed, beginning to gently dig out the broken nail from the horse's hoof.
"Me neither. All I done was lift him outa the wagon when we got to the schoolhouse. He ain't been sleepin' neither. Colleen's been tellin' me she's thinkin' a moving out to the barn, apparently he's up all hours of the night crying, screamin'," Matthew muttered, sitting on a nearby bale of hay whilst Robert E. continued tending to the horse.
"Sure sounds like somethin's got him spooked. Tried talkin' to him?" Robert E. suggested, patting Scout's neck comfortingly.
"Tried, yeah. Won't talk to me, Colleen neither. But he latches onto Dr Mike every moment he's with her. Colleen's getting pretty sick of it, reckons Dr Mike oughta be tougher on him but I dunno, he's still just a kid," Matthew recalled the sensitive conversations they'd had, realizing the events of the last month had confronted Brian with many challenges.
"Colleen ain't that much older, either. From what Grace's been saying, that girl's been left to manage a lot on her own and gotta be difficult for her, somethin' like this," Robert E. trailed off, forcing himself to return his attention to the horse, and not retreat into personal concerns.
"S'ppose I hadn't really thought about it like that. She has been pretty rung out lately. Thought she didn't mind an' all but the way she's been snappin' at Brian, you might have a point there," Matthew placed his hat beside him on the hay, resting on his knees as he continued to watch Robert E. work, both drifting off into silence.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"So being here isn't any better. It doesn't make it stop. I can still feel it, I can still see it," Michaela looked downwards, her right hand upturned in her lap.
"The blood is still there," she whispered, swallowing.
Grace remained silent throughout Michaela's poignant reminiscence, deciding it was best to let her friend talk, without interjecting with false pleasantries. Watching Michaela gaze down, mesmerized by her previous visions, the tears drying on her cheeks, Grace moved her hand only slightly, reaching for Michaela's arm as she had the year before.
"Rest for awhile, Dr Mike," she whispered, her right arm gesturing to the pillows at the head of the bed.
Michaela turned her head slowly, glancing from the inviting pillows back to her hands clasped neatly in her lap, about to acquiesce, before intolerable nausea settled in her stomach. Michaela swallowed and leant forward slightly, immediately realizing what was to follow.
Grace saw the suddenly grounded change in her friend's expression, quickly getting to her feet and spying a basin in the corner of the room, managing to relocate the large bowl in front of Michaela just in time.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"I'll be right back Becky, just need to go get a book from the Clinic," Colleen squeezed her friend's hand warmly, and began pacing thoughtfully across the meadow from the schoolhouse to the bridge. Having just been let out for recess, the young girl was fascinated by their upcoming science project and knew Dr Mike had the exact book she needed.
Quickening her pace slightly in excitement, Colleen, although still tired from the physical demands of the previous few weeks was beginning to feel more relaxed, with the exception of Brian, the last few days had remained uneventful, and she was confident Brian would settle down given time.
"Hey, Sully," she smiled, seeing him sauntering from Robert E's, Wolf faithfully by his side. The pair approached, Sully brushing her shoulder affectionately.
"Colleen, don't you have school?" Sully queried.
"Recess. Just going to get a book from Dr Mike. Startin' this new project, I'm so excited!" Colleen clenched her fists by her side, looking between the Clinic and Sully.
Sully chuckled lightly, seeing so much of Michaela coming through in Colleen after such a short time.
"Was just headin' there myself. Thought ya ma might want to do mornin' tea," Sully continued, both arriving outside the Clinic door, Colleen knocking lightly, however getting no response.
"Wagon was at Robert E's just a few minutes ago. She oughta be there," Sully mused, Colleen shrugging her shoulders, tentatively pushing the door open and looking into the vacant room.
"Ain't no-one here," The young girl stepped into the room, Sully following behind her, noticing the slightly askew features of the room: books piled untidily on Michaela's desk, and a bowl filled with slightly red-tinged water.
"Sure she won't mind me just takin' the book, will she?" Colleen crossed the room arriving at the bookcase, quickly finding the brown-leather bound textbook she required.
"Shouldn't think so," Sully replied, being distracted by a faint commotion coming from one of the recovery rooms down the hall.
Eyes narrowing worriedly, he followed the noise, Colleen frowning and remaining several paces behind him, the pair making their way into the corridor, Sully now able to identify the gagging-type sounds he was hearing.
"Dr Mike?" Colleen called, looking briefly into the first recovery room. Sully, however, quickly located the source of the noise.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
Grace looked up from her position on the edge of the bed, her hand rested securely on her friend's back, Michaela consumed by violent retching into the large bowl on the bed beside her.
Sully was the first to arrive in the doorway, looking instantly from Grace's worried expression, to Michaela's drained face.
"Dr Mike, what?" Sully paced quickly across the room, Grace extending a hand to ward off his approach, Colleen appearing by his side, her eyes widening in concern as she ran quickly to Michaela's right side, an arm wrapping immediately around her shoulders.
"Oh, Dr Mike! Why didn't someone come fetch me?" The young girl exclaimed.
"It's all right, Colleen. Everything's fine," Grace tried to comfort the child. Michaela, neither aware of Colleen's nor Sully's presence, remained bent forwards across the bed, her hands supporting her weight, her chest rising and falling with each heaving movement.
"Dr Mike?" Colleen tried to get her attention, however Michaela continued to show no acknowledgement, her eyes remaining downcast, her face and neck red with effort and her hair matted around her forehead.
Colleen looked disbelievingly between Grace and Michaela; realization suddenly dawning on her as the unmistakable odor of alcohol filled her nose.
"Miss Grace, is she," Colleen's jaw dropped, stepping away from Michaela's side, the book remaining clutched firmly against her chest, studying Michaela's crumpled form, a look of intense aversion flooding over the young girl's face.
"She's drunk?" Sully speculated, remaining perfectly still. His mind was working overtime, making simultaneous deductions; Michaela would never touch a drop of alcohol in her life: Something was seriously wrong.
Sully was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Colleen's shrill voice, her disgust and fury evident from her tone as well as her words.
"How, how could you do somethin' like this! I don't understand, this just ain't like you! After everything you've always said about drinkin' and how it don't solve nothin', you go and do somethin' like this! You just don't care, do you! Screaming at Matthew and me over nothin', tryin' to act like everything's all right in front a Brian all the time, now this! I thought you, of all people, were better than this!" Colleen ended, the book in her right hand being flung to the ground with as much force as she was able, pages splitting from the dark brown binding and collating into a jumbled pile against the wooden floorboards.
Catching her breath, tears forming in her eyes, Colleen turned and dashed from the room. Grace and Sully met eyes silently, the young girl's cries melding with the echoing of her footsteps along the corridor, both fading as she fled from the Clinic distraught.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"I'll go," Grace stood quickly, about to follow after the young girl, Sully meeting her as she approached the doorway.
"No, best leave her be. She just needs some time to herself. She'll come back when she's ready," he replied calmly, his voice evenly paced.
"You're right," Grace nodded, taking her seat back next to Michaela, who had managed to stop retching by this stage.
"'Sides, you've got a café to run. I'll stay here," Sully took several steps closer to the bed, Grace looking across at Dr Mike with uncertainty.
"Think she's doin' a little better. Dr Mike?" Grace rubbed her shoulder, Michaela lifting her head wearily in response.
"Sully's going to stay here," Grace rose from the edge of the bed, Michaela appearing not to have heard her.
"She's still pretty out of it, maybe just wait 'til she stops throwing up, then she'll probably want to sleep for a while," Grace nodded sympathetically, hovering in the doorway, taking another glance in Michaela's direction.
"I can't thank you enough, Grace. I'm sorry about this." Sully arrived on the side of the bed, Michaela's attention still focused on the bowl in front of her.
"No need, just bein' a friend. Sully, we're all here, ya know that," Grace replied, her expression genuine and stoical.
"I know. It'll be all right," Sully sighed, watching as Grace departed down the corridor before letting his gaze drop, recounting the events of the previous few minutes. Of all the experiences he'd considered he would have these last few weeks, sitting beside an intoxicated Michaela Quinn was never one of them.
Michaela remained positioned over the large bowl for several minutes, slowly feeling the queasiness abate. With each breath passing in and out of her lungs, she felt confident she could slowly return to a fully upright sitting position. Looking up slowly, she took in her surroundings, her mind still cloudy, however recognizing Sully's presence beside her for the first time. His expression was almost unreadable; however, she could see no judgment in his soft blue eyes.
"Sully?" Michaela heard the single word leave her lips, her eyes, although still glazed over, locking with his instantly.
"Ssh, it's all right, Michaela." He gingerly moved slightly closer towards her, and upon establishing she didn't seem to object, rested his right hand over her left one delicately.
"I'm sorry." She looked down at his hand on hers, her eyes dropping closed sleepily, Sully barely having time to comprehend her murmured reply before reaching an arm to her shoulder to steady her.
One hand on her shoulder, he quickly placed the bowl on the floor beside the bed, his attention consumed now in helping Michaela slide along the quilt, her head eventually finding the pillows, her eyes closing immediately in stupor.
Brushing her matted hair lightly from her face, Sully felt the fine strands between his fingers once again, before letting them drop lightly back to the side of her face.
Remaining over her for several moments, he watched in silence. His head less than a foot from hers, Sully felt his heart pain. The wish to hold her in his arms, as he had done weeks before, returned. His head tilting, tracing out the delicate features of her face with his eyes, Sully brought his finger to his lips, gently kissing it, before reaching down and ever so tenderly running it along Michaela's right cheek.