“You’ll be fine.” Jim gave him another kiss before Chapel came back. Len was transferred to a hovergurney. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
In the time it took for Jim to go to the bathroom, Len had come back and was reclining fairly upright on the biobed; Chapel was tucking a towel into the front of his scrub top. “He should be awake in a few minutes.”
Jim pulled his chair closer. Len’s mouth hung slightly open, and he resembled a chipmunk with a mouthful he was so swollen. And drooling. Jim had forgotten how much he himself had drooled. Hence the towel.
There was some rustling; Jim looked over to see Len’s eyes blink sluggishly open. Normally vibrant hazel was dull and glazed. Jim concluded Len was most likely drugged to his eyeballs. And on the good shit, too.
“Hey,” Jim said softly, scooting his chair closer yet so he could card his fingers through Len’s bangs, pushing them away from his eyes. Len worked his jaw; Jim lifted the corner of the towel tucked into his front to wipe away the drool clinging to this corner of his chin. “I should probably let M’Benga know you’re awake…”
“No need, Captain. I’m right here.” Geoff smiled, stepping to the other side of the bed and verifying the data coming from the biobed sensors. He looked at his patient. “You came through both surgeries great. I want you on nothing but incredibly soft foods - puddings, Jell-O, ice cream - and liquids. I’ll have Christine bring you some ice chips to start with, since the anesthesia probably made you a little nauseous. The best thing you can do is to rest, Leonard, including your voice. So no speaking, yet.”
Len’s patented no shit look was a little diminished, but there all the same. Geoff ignored it, as did Jim, who settled in to wait for the ice chips, fingers tracing random patterns on the back of Len’s hand as it rested by his side. Christine arrived with the ice chips, promptly handed them off to Jim with a smirk, and gave Len a pat on the arm on her way back out, drawing the privacy curtain. Jim stood by the bed, ice chips in hand, and looked down at an obviously miserable Len.
“You feel up for some of these?”
Len blinked twice. Jim was a little confused.
“That a yes?”
Len’s hand flailed for Jim’s, finger-tracing yes onto Jim’s palm with a shaky thumb.
Jim was quite sure that Len had, on numerous occasions, fed him ice chips post-surgery while Jim was drugged to the gills and barely coherent. This was Jim’s first time, the role reversal so potent and wrong in ways that Jim couldn’t explain, that it tightened something in his chest. Len looked up at him, trusting and glazed, and the thing in Jim’s chest constricted again. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of Len’s mouth before sliding over his ear, mindful of his jaw, to whisper, “You know I love you, right?”
The corners of Len’s mouth twitched, fingers tangling in as much of Jim’s sleeve as he could reach without moving. Jim could read enough of Len’s body language to know there was a silent but tangible Love you too, Jim floated his way.
They managed half the ice before Len yawned, wincing. Jim set the cup down and then brushed Len’s bangs off his forehead again, noting the skin was warm. Not enough to be concerned with, but warmer than Len usually was. Hazel eyes fluttered again, slipping closed as Jim settled again in his chair, tracing engine schematics over the back of Len’s hand.
In the time it took for Jim to go to the bathroom, Len had come back and was reclining fairly upright on the biobed; Chapel was tucking a towel into the front of his scrub top. “He should be awake in a few minutes.”
Jim pulled his chair closer. Len’s mouth hung slightly open, and he resembled a chipmunk with a mouthful he was so swollen. And drooling. Jim had forgotten how much he himself had drooled. Hence the towel.
There was some rustling; Jim looked over to see Len’s eyes blink sluggishly open. Normally vibrant hazel was dull and glazed. Jim concluded Len was most likely drugged to his eyeballs. And on the good shit, too.
“Hey,” Jim said softly, scooting his chair closer yet so he could card his fingers through Len’s bangs, pushing them away from his eyes. Len worked his jaw; Jim lifted the corner of the towel tucked into his front to wipe away the drool clinging to this corner of his chin. “I should probably let M’Benga know you’re awake…”
“No need, Captain. I’m right here.” Geoff smiled, stepping to the other side of the bed and verifying the data coming from the biobed sensors. He looked at his patient. “You came through both surgeries great. I want you on nothing but incredibly soft foods - puddings, Jell-O, ice cream - and liquids. I’ll have Christine bring you some ice chips to start with, since the anesthesia probably made you a little nauseous. The best thing you can do is to rest, Leonard, including your voice. So no speaking, yet.”
Len’s patented no shit look was a little diminished, but there all the same. Geoff ignored it, as did Jim, who settled in to wait for the ice chips, fingers tracing random patterns on the back of Len’s hand as it rested by his side. Christine arrived with the ice chips, promptly handed them off to Jim with a smirk, and gave Len a pat on the arm on her way back out, drawing the privacy curtain. Jim stood by the bed, ice chips in hand, and looked down at an obviously miserable Len.
“You feel up for some of these?”
Len blinked twice. Jim was a little confused.
“That a yes?”
Len’s hand flailed for Jim’s, finger-tracing yes onto Jim’s palm with a shaky thumb.
Jim was quite sure that Len had, on numerous occasions, fed him ice chips post-surgery while Jim was drugged to the gills and barely coherent. This was Jim’s first time, the role reversal so potent and wrong in ways that Jim couldn’t explain, that it tightened something in his chest. Len looked up at him, trusting and glazed, and the thing in Jim’s chest constricted again. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of Len’s mouth before sliding over his ear, mindful of his jaw, to whisper, “You know I love you, right?”
The corners of Len’s mouth twitched, fingers tangling in as much of Jim’s sleeve as he could reach without moving. Jim could read enough of Len’s body language to know there was a silent but tangible Love you too, Jim floated his way.
They managed half the ice before Len yawned, wincing. Jim set the cup down and then brushed Len’s bangs off his forehead again, noting the skin was warm. Not enough to be concerned with, but warmer than Len usually was. Hazel eyes fluttered again, slipping closed as Jim settled again in his chair, tracing engine schematics over the back of Len’s hand.
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