Lindsay Monroe/Don Flack
iluvroadrunner6 wanted me to write about the Five Loves of Lindsay Monroe and I did and she wished that I brached off the Don Flack one I wrote. So here it is.
When Danny asked her if she still wanted a ride home, she was hesitant. On one hand she wanted to see if Don was okay, but on the other...she kind of wanted to go home.
So she did. And the whole way home she listened to Danny go on and on about Don. In a way it was a way to break the awkward silence, but in another way it was annoying. Lindsay didn’t think Flack was the greatest guy ever, and he didn’t really take a liking to her.
Lindsay told Danny goodbye when he let her off and watched him drive away. She stood in front of her building for what seemed like an hour until she decided she wanted to go back to the hospital and see Don.
And she had no idea why. It was one of those weird things where she didn’t want to
do something, but she thought about what could happen if she didn’t. Lindsay hailed a cab and in no time she was back at Sacred Heart Hospital.
Lindsay stood in front of that same window again, except this time she wasn’t hovering off to the side, she was standing right in front of it. Looking at all the bandages on Don’s face. She remembered waking up in the hospital looking just like he did and for a split second she wished she could tell Don that it was never going to be okay unless he wanted it to be okay.
It was okay for her to look at herself in the mirror in the morning, maybe she could teach Don how to look at his reflection and not be repulsed by the fact that it could have been so much worse.
Lindsay sighed and pushed open the door, feeling more vulnerable and pathetic on the inside than she had outside, in the observation hallway she was stuck staring from. She sighed again, this time hearing her voice echo around the room (surprisingly not blanketed by the beeps from the machines), and walked over to Flack’s bedside, sitting down in a chair that she was sure had been occupied by
both Stella and Mac (respectively) at one point or another.
Thoughts of where they might be flitted through Lindsay’s imagination and she leaned forward (placing her left hand on the mattress beside Don) to get a better look at Don’s face. She ended up placing her right hand on his and wondering when he would wake up. But on the other hand....
Was it sad that she didn’t care if he lived through this or not? Was it completely cruel and sickening to think that she wished he wouldn’t wake up? She hated him, he was mean, he was sarcastic and he thought she was a replacement for someone he knew and cared about.
But if she hated him so much, why was she still sitting by his side, holding onto his hand, trying not to cry?
Lindsay, pulled her hand off of his and ran her wrist roughly across her eyes,
blinking as her eyes stung. Lindsay jumped as she felt a hand brush against her hand, the one she left on the bed.
“Flack?” whispered Lindsay softly, looking down at her hand then back up at his face. His eyes were closed, but it looked like he was semi-conscious. Lindsay shook her head and cleared her throat. She reached up with her free hand and brushed Don’s hair off of his forehead. “You’re going to be okay,” she said quietly. “You’re gonna look all messed up for awhile, and your mom’s going to cry the first time she see’s you smile at her, but you’re going to be just fine.”
Of course he didn’t say anything, he didn’t acknowledge her in the least bit, but it felt nice to make the first move, to move on.
When Danny asked her if she still wanted a ride home, she was hesitant. On one hand she wanted to see if Don was okay, but on the other...she kind of wanted to go home.
So she did. And the whole way home she listened to Danny go on and on about Don. In a way it was a way to break the awkward silence, but in another way it was annoying. Lindsay didn’t think Flack was the greatest guy ever, and he didn’t really take a liking to her.
Lindsay told Danny goodbye when he let her off and watched him drive away. She stood in front of her building for what seemed like an hour until she decided she wanted to go back to the hospital and see Don.
And she had no idea why. It was one of those weird things where she didn’t want to
do something, but she thought about what could happen if she didn’t. Lindsay hailed a cab and in no time she was back at Sacred Heart Hospital.
Lindsay stood in front of that same window again, except this time she wasn’t hovering off to the side, she was standing right in front of it. Looking at all the bandages on Don’s face. She remembered waking up in the hospital looking just like he did and for a split second she wished she could tell Don that it was never going to be okay unless he wanted it to be okay.
It was okay for her to look at herself in the mirror in the morning, maybe she could teach Don how to look at his reflection and not be repulsed by the fact that it could have been so much worse.
Lindsay sighed and pushed open the door, feeling more vulnerable and pathetic on the inside than she had outside, in the observation hallway she was stuck staring from. She sighed again, this time hearing her voice echo around the room (surprisingly not blanketed by the beeps from the machines), and walked over to Flack’s bedside, sitting down in a chair that she was sure had been occupied by
both Stella and Mac (respectively) at one point or another.
Thoughts of where they might be flitted through Lindsay’s imagination and she leaned forward (placing her left hand on the mattress beside Don) to get a better look at Don’s face. She ended up placing her right hand on his and wondering when he would wake up. But on the other hand....
Was it sad that she didn’t care if he lived through this or not? Was it completely cruel and sickening to think that she wished he wouldn’t wake up? She hated him, he was mean, he was sarcastic and he thought she was a replacement for someone he knew and cared about.
But if she hated him so much, why was she still sitting by his side, holding onto his hand, trying not to cry?
Lindsay, pulled her hand off of his and ran her wrist roughly across her eyes,
blinking as her eyes stung. Lindsay jumped as she felt a hand brush against her hand, the one she left on the bed.
“Flack?” whispered Lindsay softly, looking down at her hand then back up at his face. His eyes were closed, but it looked like he was semi-conscious. Lindsay shook her head and cleared her throat. She reached up with her free hand and brushed Don’s hair off of his forehead. “You’re going to be okay,” she said quietly. “You’re gonna look all messed up for awhile, and your mom’s going to cry the first time she see’s you smile at her, but you’re going to be just fine.”
Of course he didn’t say anything, he didn’t acknowledge her in the least bit, but it felt nice to make the first move, to move on.