(no subject)
WHO: Jasper Reynard, Jess Winters, and an eventual appearance by Carol.
WHAT: A bedside visit, and the sort-of-boyfriend-doctor-thing meets the mother-in-law. Awkward results.
WHERE: Mt. Sinai hospital.
WHEN: Friday, May 23, evening -- after these two entries.
REYNARD: By all counts, it wasn't a particularly well-timed disaster. There was no sense of building drama with stirring background music -- it just happened, which is how these things normally went. Just like the previous mess with the Ripper, Reynard was not in time to be amongst the wave of concerned friends, well-wishers and knights in shining armour assaulting Jess' journal; he had, in fact, missed the entry entirely. It was the result of having a job, and a stressful one at that. He was not standing conveniently by the front doors when they rushed her into his very own hospital. He didn't see frantic runs with gurneys down the hallways of Mt. Sinai. No, he had just come out of a late surgery -- he was talking to a nurse on the fourth floor -- he enjoyed another cup of coffee before retreating back to his office to check his voicemail and wrap up the paperwork on a patient.
Then he saw her name on the first page of his compendium: Chelsea's entry spreading the news. Trust the journal system to remain a steadfast source of gossip. And though their efforts to save their friend were all well and good, Chelsea St. Clair and Leo Cole had one very large drawback against them when it came to travel time:
They didn't work at Mt. Sinai.
Reynard stopped at the reception, asked around, drew one coworker to the side, and eventually the fruits of his interrogation led to one particular hospital room, a bundle of flowers from the giftshop tucked under one arm.
"Jess."
JESS: She couldn't even remember falling. One minute she was scrawling a message in her journal--she'd been so tired, she couldn't understand it--the next, nothing. Waking up with half a dozen masked men looming over her, a white light shining in her face. Had any of her limbs been working properly, she would have shoved them off, pushed them away; but it seemed like she could barely lift her head, let alone get her arms to move. She faded in and out of consciousness, never quite aware of what was going on, who was touching her, what was in that syringe--it was like a bad horror film--worse--Jesus shit, where was her son?
Her body made to sit up with a jerk when she came to, but couldn't quite muster the energy. She flopped over on her side, curling up, the tubes in her nose and hand and arm tangling against her. What were they for? God. The last time she'd been in a hospital--the last time, she'd come out a widow. She felt something warm and heavy rising up in her chest, and swallowed it down. It wasn't easy. The lump kept coming up every few seconds, as soon as she made to focus on something else. She wasn't going to cry here.
Christ. Matty. Where was he? There weren't any nurses around; the room was quiet but for the steady blips on the EKG, and the rustling of scratchy sheets beneath her. Had they called someone? Was he all right? With the neighbors or--Carol. Shit.
She heard her name, but didn't respond right away. Another nurse, perhaps. Maybe this one could tell her something. "Where's--" she started, rolling gingerly onto her back, and stopped. Her face slackened. Shit. "Reynard."
REYNARD: "Good to have you back."
He smiled, lips curving into his most practiced look of reassurance. No harm in pretending he'd been here longer than he had -- it might just calm her a little. Reynard paused in silence to look at her chart, then cast a glance across the IV tubes, pumping his girlfriend full of nutrients she sorely needed. He should have seen this coming. He'd known she wasn't getting enough sleep and was pushing herself too hard. But after all, she'd been pushing herself too hard for as long as he'd known her.
Something gnawed in his gut. It was partly annoyance, and partly something else.
"Matthew's in the nursery."
JESS: Something loosened instinctively in her gut. Thank God. She could hear some vague Hebrew in the back of her head--old prayers of relief. She hadn't thought about those in over ten years. The knot continued loosening until it was a flaccid, immobile lump in the pit of her stomach, weighing her down with all the other worries surfacing all around it. One of her thumbs ticked nervously against the wires attached to her forefinger.
It was an effort to sit up, but Jess had never been one to cop out on anything. That was the whole reason she was here, wasn't it? The irony would hit her later, certainly, but for the moment, she merely focused on pushing herself up against the tilted bed and pillows. She had only passed out, right? Why did she feel so ragged? "Carol hasn't--" she said, awkwardly, and swallowed. "Carol hasn't shown up yet, I guess." Change that right around from a question. No reason to seem even less unsure of herself than she already was.
Then, a significant pause. Here came the awkward guilt. "You don't need to stay. I'll be out soon."
REYNARD: That statement only elicited a small but contemptuous snort. Damned pride issues. Yet another odd thing they had in common. "They took you to Sinai. I work here, Jess -- this visit isn't exactly out of my way." With that said, he settled himself on the edge of the bed and deposited the slightly-droopy bouquet onto the bedside table.
"I could pin these up on the walls, but like you said, you'll be out of here soon."
Another quirked smile. Reynard didn't sound concerned; something churned beneath the surface, but to the general eye and ear, he seemed confident about her recovery. A good sign for her recuperation. An unflappable calm he'd honed over years of practice, absorbing emotional hits as they came.
JESS: "Real chivalrous," she said wryly, scrunching up one side of her face in something like a smirk. The wires in her nose broke it in half, but it was an attempt. She eyed the flowers vaguely--it wasn't often she received them, so they were always a strange and unnerving thing--picking at one of the sadly drooping petals with still-weak fingers. "Don't think they'd look good on the walls anyway. Your ex seriously do that?"
REYNARD: He shrugged, noncommittal. "She gave them to me and we put them up on the ceiling. They withered. It looked alright while they were there, though -- it was quite beautiful."
Then, suddenly realising how much he'd divulged -- his teenage years weren't often a point of discussion between them, to be honest -- Reynard stiffened. His hands smoothed over the edge of her sheets, fingers plucking at the fabric, and then he reoriented his gaze to look at her. The man tried another smile.
"You tried to juggle about a thousand things at once. This might be proof it cannot be done. Are you feeling better?"
JESS: Well, then. Even not entirely coherent, it was difficult to miss discomfiture in Reynard, mostly because the man was never uncomfortable. Jess watched him carefully, eyebrows knitting together and climbing into her hair by turns, but said nothing. It was best never to say a word about these random forays into his past, or she'd never hear more about them later. Not that she needed to. But--well, he had at least ten years on her. It was interesting, at least, to see where he came from. Perhaps. She wasn't really sure.
She let it lie. Back to being uncomfortable herself. It seemed easier, between the two of them. She seemed to be in a state of discomfort far more than he was. "Don't really know what happened," she said after a moment. It was a little more honest than she wanted to be, but the man was currently sitting on the edge of her hospital bed, after all. It wasn't like she could say everything was fine.
REYNARD: "You blacked out," he answered candidly. "I talked to the doctor and nurses who took you in. They couldn't be a hundred-percent certain until you woke up and could answer questions, but, well. They'll be back later to speak to you." Reynard's lips pressed tight, his tone laced with concern or disapproval, it was hard to tell. "The lack of sleep probably did it, by the way."
He was on the verge of saying more -- food, nutrition, health, taking care of your own body and not running it into the ground -- but he quelled the next sentence. Jess was wrapped up in a hospital bed. Pompous as he could be, he knew she didn't need to be lectured by a doctor who wasn't even her attending.
Well, he was attending to her, but in an entirely different manner.
JESS: "Oh," Jess said, after a long moment. There wasn't much to say to that. Everyone and their mother had been warning her not to run herself into the ground the past few months--but what was she supposed to do? Rest easy while her funds dwindled and Carol continued to prove her unfit? She had to work. And if she lost a few hours of sleep here or there--but that was the whole problem, wasn't it? She was legitimizing all this and now--now she had no idea what was going to happen.
She shifted awkwardly on the bed, a bubble of impotent rage and revulsion welling up inside her throat. If she spoke, she was sure it would all come spilling out in tears or vomit or blood or who knew what else. It took a few heavy swallows to get it back down, and then her finger was tentatively giving the side of Reynard's smooth, dry hand a small brush. Tiny callouses against his sterilized palm, affectionate in a way only someone unused to affection could do. "Thanks for stopping by, anyway," she said, carefully regulating the discomfort in her voice. She meant it; it was just strange to say it.
REYNARD: These two were emotionally hampered and sentimentally stifled, but Reynard knew enough of closeness that he didn't jerk away from the touch. To his credit, he didn't even look surprised -- instead, he gave Jess' hand a brief, comforting squeeze, and then let go. He was, after all, well-trained in playing the role of perfect boyfriend.
"Is there anything you want? Water? Food? Bad television, worse coffee? I can even fetch the doctor." Tight smile. He knew the odds weren't likely for her wanting to speak to the professionals charged with fussing over her. Jess avoided. The conversation with the physician and nurse would happen, of course, but that particular time hadn't come yet.
JESS: "No doctor," she said immediately, and for a second belied that nervousness that she was working so painfully to hide. Jess wasn't so much terrified of hospitals--as what happened in them. The last time she had been in one, after all, had been to identify a body. Her voice caught for a moment, but not about the hospital itself. The one thing she did want, she was almost positive she couldn't have. Always the way of things, wasn't it? "Guess I can't see Matty, huh."
REYNARD: "Once you're stable and they've seen to you, I imagine," was his response. Reynard had actually managed to make himself comfortable on the side of the bed -- equally balanced between Jess' side and the edge of the cot, one knee propped up against the small side table. "Perhaps--"
The sound of footsteps, and a the door opening interrupted his thoughts. Reynard swivelled to see a woman in the hospital room -- older, and not one he recognised, though he immediately noted the finery of her clothing and the delicate care that had been taken with her looks, despite her age. His steel-grey eyes flicked back to Jess, his private look to her obviously questioning. Who was this? Was she--
JESS: "Carol." Where had her voice gone? It sounded strange and quiet in her throat, breathless, like the wind had just been knocked out of her. Jess found herself sitting up straighter, and the somewhat calm air she had managed with Reynard alone shattered. The tell-tale anxiety that always accompanied unexpected Carol sightings rose in her chest, an angry buzzing in her ears. She didn't meet Reynard's gaze; her eyes were locked on her mother-in-law. "Hello," she added, only aware of how absurd it sounded once it was out of her mouth. If she could have snatched it back, she would.
Carol merely stared. Her eyes, blue like Danny's and Matty's, darted between Jess and the unfamiliar man at her bedside. A slim eyebrow rose, but Carol, in true form, said nothing. "Jessica," she said. Carol never said hello. "They called me--left a message on my voicemail, rather. Is Matty all right?"
"He's fine," Jess said after a moment. Nevermind the tubes and machines keeping her conscious; but then again, had it been Carol in the hospital bed, Jess would have likely asked after Matty herself. "In the--nursery, they told me." Quick look at Reynard. This was going to be shit. "I'm fine," she added, an afterthought. "And, um. This is Dr. Reynard."
Well done, Jess. Well fucking done.
REYNARD: That warranted another sidelong glance. So. He knew she was between a rock and a hard place. Which is what had Reynard, after that initial pause, not missing a single beat -- she'd given him a cue? Well, he would run with it. He immediately slipped off the side of the bed and stepped forward into Carol Winters' direct line of sight, essentially cutting Jess off from view. Instead, the sight was replaced by a surgeon with a winning smile; no labcoat, but a long overcoat, and beneath it, a finely-ironed shirt and tie.
When he shook her hand, the grip was firm and steady. His introductions came smoothly.
"Hello, Mrs Winters." Another tight smile, Reynard's specialty. "It's so nice to meet you. As you can see, Jess--" A brief stumble, where he almost said 'Jessica', then didn't, then almost did, before finally plunging onwards, "Jessica is fine. You could probably call it a minor fainting spell. Your grandson is downstairs in good care, and the attending physician will be by soon."
JESS: As charming and smooth as Reynard was, Carol had been brought up in a world of smooth, charming men; he was just one more to size up and evaluate. She shook his hand in a grip as steady as his own, eyebrow still high in her hair. "Pleasure. You're not her doctor, then." It wasn't a question. She brushed back an errant strand of blonde hair. From just behind Reynard's shoulder, Jess caught a small tightening of the woman's jaw--the only sign that she was not all at rights. "What exactly happened?" and this not even to the doctor present, but to the woman in the bed. You had to give Carol credit. She wasn't easily swayed from her course, whatever it might have been.
REYNARD: "No, I'm not." The smile never wavered. He wasn't her doctor, and he couldn't pretend to be -- that would have been a bit stronger than a white lie. But he could be in the room, and he could feign confidence and assurance for her while Jess answered the question. Reynard had no choice but to stand aside and look away, waiting to see what Jess did with the inquiry.
JESS: Great. Jess looked helplessly from mother-in-law to--well, to whatever Reynard could be called, since all the obvious labels were out of the question, and she was seriously beginning to question if that whole being-there-to-support-your-girlfriend thing even applied to him. Her mouth opened once and shut itself again, as if of its own accord. She didn't really know what had happened, was the problem, and the increasing sense of her own ineffectiveness seemed to dawn on her. Helpless; a goddamn damsel in distress. This princess shit was really coming back to bite her in the ass, wasn't it?
"I--fainted," she said after a beat, and bit back the 'I guess.' Habit, that, and one that Carol hated. Her mother-in-law's eyebrows rose again, and if her face softened slightly, her voice did not waver.
"Are you ill?" she asked, fingertips drumming on her waist.
"No," Jess said immediately. "I mean. Not sick, just--overworked, I guess."
Shit. Wrong phrase. Carol's mouth thinned, and the air between her and Jess seemed to bristle. The older woman, suddenly and incontrovertibly, held all the power. Jess's shoulders sank. "I see," Carol said, after a moment. "I suppose it was too much to ask you to take on Matty full-time," she added, and Jess' heart almost came thudding out of her chest.
"No, it's not--it's nothing to do with him, Carol, just--too many shifts at work." True enough.
Carol surveyed her coolly. There seemed to be an effort to keep her face composed--God forbid she show weakness in front of some man, who Lord only know how he knew her son's wife--but Jess couldn't say over what. Then again, ever since that afternoon at the cemetery, the two had carefully and pointedly forgotten that Carol ever showed emotion besides composure and matriarchal dignity. "I'm glad you're--I suppose all right is the right term. Not ill?" A brief glance at the good doctor for confirmation.
REYNARD: "Not ill," he reaffirmed, arms crossed.
JESS: "Good," Carol said shortly, adjusting the cuffs of her linen jacket with a practiced gaze. There was an awkward moment in which she glanced up at Reynard, an impasse of black coat and steady eyes, and then at Jess, small and twitchy in the hospital bed, before making a decisive movement towards the latter. There was little of concern in Carol's step or face; she was not a woman prone to displays of affection or softness. Even Matty had long grown used to his grandmother's oddly firm way of caring for him; years ago, Danny had warned Jess that his mother was just like that, that you had to search for the warmth in her, but it was there.
Her hand came down on Jess' forehead before she realized it, cool and maternal even in its brisk motions. Palm to temples--checking for temperature--then back of her fingers to Jess' cheek. Her face did not change. "Good," she said again, just as shortly. The older woman's hands were soft from years of manicures and lotion, but still firm. "Daniel never liked you getting ill," she added after a moment, quietly. There was little doubt Reynard could hear, being no more than five feet away, but it was a small concession--a tiny allowance that if Daniel cared, Carol did as well. Her brisk tone was back in half a second. "Not that I could really blame him, with the state of you. Honestly, Jessica. If you could take a little less care of yourself, I"m sure we'd all appreciate it." Was that a hint of dry humor? Jess could hardly reply.
"I'll be ok," she said after a moment.
"I'm perfectly aware," Carol said, rummaging in her purse. Out came a small white business card, which she placed squarely on Jess' bedside table, beside the flowers. "Have them forward me the bill. All my contact information is on the card; they can call me at the office once the paperwork is sorted."
She gave Reynard a perfunctory, somewhat obliging nod, a small glance in Jess' direction, and then departed as sharply and without preamble as she'd come. Jess stared at the door in silence for a long moment.
"Mother-in-law," she said finally, as if the belated introduction was at all necessary.
REYNARD: "So that was Carol. Rather nice to finally put a face to the name. She seems--" Reynard struggled with finding the right adjective, before saying, delicately: "very fierce."
One way of putting it. He'd almost said 'competent', but words like 'competence' and 'suitability' had been bandied about her court trials more often than comfort allowed. 'Fierce' would have to be the descriptor of choice. And the man's trained eye, so used to assessing women both old and young, had noted the similarities between them. Perhaps Jess' quiet, stubborn strength wasn't quite as visible right now, crumpled in a hospital bed as she was, but Reynard was familiar with it and now he'd seen glimmers of it in her mother-in-law's level gaze. No wonder they didn't get along. They were too damned alike.
JESS: Not quite, Reynard. Jess had gotten on fine with Carol for the most part when Danny was alive; now it all came down to the woman trying to take away her son. Jess inhaled carefully, regulating her breathing and heartrate with every ounce of willpower she had. Carol visits did this, and there was no benefit to having machines belie her calm by starting their cacophanous beeping.
She nodded after a moment, and shrugged. "Yeah, you could say that." Something was itching at the back of her shoulders, but she couldn't say what it was. "Sorry." What was it? "That you had to stay for that."
Ah. Yes. Carol had said it: Danny hated Jess getting ill. Just like that, her mother-in-law had brought him back into the room, settled that weighty guilt and revulsion of her recent actions right back on Jess' chest. Danny was back in the room, with the man she was fucking. Yeah. That was comfortable. Jess tried to sit up again, slipped the heel of her palm on the pillow beneath her, and scrambled to resume her seat. Jesus. When were they going to let her go home?
REYNARD: Soon enough, if measured by Reynard's relative standards -- he was used to surgery, after all, and used to recommending weeks or months of rest -- but obviously not soon enough by Jess' watch. He still took some time to stand there, however, eyes locked on her as she squirmed. He was analysing the situation.
And whatever conclusions he reached, it led to a sigh, a short little exuding of breath, and fingers twitching to unconsciously adjust his collar -- the one and only nervous habit he hadn't managed to eradicate by sheer bloody-minded force of will. Then, breathing more freely, his tie slightly looser, Reynard stopped by the side of her bed and leaned in close, dropping a kiss on her forehead.
"I believe it's about time for me to go back to the office. I'll see about finding your doctor on my way out, tell him you're awake."
JESS: Jess touched his loosened collar with awkward, hesitant fingertips. It was affectionate in its own way; affectionate and distant all at once, like a teenager being kissed for the first time. She wasn't used to it, but she tried anyway. Fingers drifted to neck and jaw, small against the firm squareness of his face, and then the tubes attached to her forefinger came jarringly into view. Her hand fell away.
"Thanks for stopping by," she said, more instinctively than anything. There didn't seem to be much feeling behind it -- but then again, it was Jess. "And the flowers." She opened her mouth and froze, and perhaps it was the medications keeping her sedated, but she finally managed to plow forward with her initial thought. "Won't be around when they discharge me, then, yeah."
REYNARD: "I suppose it depends on when they do," he answered through thin lips, one hand briefly brushing Jess' hair -- it wasn't the same as Carol's maternal concern, because Jasper possessed not one single fatherly bone in his body, but it was close enough to matter. "Give me a call if you need a ride home. I seem to be here most of the time anyway."
JESS: "I noticed," she said, with a ghost of a laugh. The words echoed back in her head, and they seemed a little too accurate for her tastes at the moment. Reynard's absences from her life seemed to outnumber his appearances, especially in regards to the calamities department -- which, of course, practically ate up all the other ones. She flashed him a tremulous half-smile when he left, as unobtrusively as he had come. Had the nurse not come in to give her another sedative, she might have sat up all night wondering after his retreating back.
WHAT: A bedside visit, and the sort-of-boyfriend-doctor-thing meets the mother-in-law. Awkward results.
WHERE: Mt. Sinai hospital.
WHEN: Friday, May 23, evening -- after these two entries.
REYNARD: By all counts, it wasn't a particularly well-timed disaster. There was no sense of building drama with stirring background music -- it just happened, which is how these things normally went. Just like the previous mess with the Ripper, Reynard was not in time to be amongst the wave of concerned friends, well-wishers and knights in shining armour assaulting Jess' journal; he had, in fact, missed the entry entirely. It was the result of having a job, and a stressful one at that. He was not standing conveniently by the front doors when they rushed her into his very own hospital. He didn't see frantic runs with gurneys down the hallways of Mt. Sinai. No, he had just come out of a late surgery -- he was talking to a nurse on the fourth floor -- he enjoyed another cup of coffee before retreating back to his office to check his voicemail and wrap up the paperwork on a patient.
Then he saw her name on the first page of his compendium: Chelsea's entry spreading the news. Trust the journal system to remain a steadfast source of gossip. And though their efforts to save their friend were all well and good, Chelsea St. Clair and Leo Cole had one very large drawback against them when it came to travel time:
They didn't work at Mt. Sinai.
Reynard stopped at the reception, asked around, drew one coworker to the side, and eventually the fruits of his interrogation led to one particular hospital room, a bundle of flowers from the giftshop tucked under one arm.
"Jess."
JESS: She couldn't even remember falling. One minute she was scrawling a message in her journal--she'd been so tired, she couldn't understand it--the next, nothing. Waking up with half a dozen masked men looming over her, a white light shining in her face. Had any of her limbs been working properly, she would have shoved them off, pushed them away; but it seemed like she could barely lift her head, let alone get her arms to move. She faded in and out of consciousness, never quite aware of what was going on, who was touching her, what was in that syringe--it was like a bad horror film--worse--Jesus shit, where was her son?
Her body made to sit up with a jerk when she came to, but couldn't quite muster the energy. She flopped over on her side, curling up, the tubes in her nose and hand and arm tangling against her. What were they for? God. The last time she'd been in a hospital--the last time, she'd come out a widow. She felt something warm and heavy rising up in her chest, and swallowed it down. It wasn't easy. The lump kept coming up every few seconds, as soon as she made to focus on something else. She wasn't going to cry here.
Christ. Matty. Where was he? There weren't any nurses around; the room was quiet but for the steady blips on the EKG, and the rustling of scratchy sheets beneath her. Had they called someone? Was he all right? With the neighbors or--Carol. Shit.
She heard her name, but didn't respond right away. Another nurse, perhaps. Maybe this one could tell her something. "Where's--" she started, rolling gingerly onto her back, and stopped. Her face slackened. Shit. "Reynard."
REYNARD: "Good to have you back."
He smiled, lips curving into his most practiced look of reassurance. No harm in pretending he'd been here longer than he had -- it might just calm her a little. Reynard paused in silence to look at her chart, then cast a glance across the IV tubes, pumping his girlfriend full of nutrients she sorely needed. He should have seen this coming. He'd known she wasn't getting enough sleep and was pushing herself too hard. But after all, she'd been pushing herself too hard for as long as he'd known her.
Something gnawed in his gut. It was partly annoyance, and partly something else.
"Matthew's in the nursery."
JESS: Something loosened instinctively in her gut. Thank God. She could hear some vague Hebrew in the back of her head--old prayers of relief. She hadn't thought about those in over ten years. The knot continued loosening until it was a flaccid, immobile lump in the pit of her stomach, weighing her down with all the other worries surfacing all around it. One of her thumbs ticked nervously against the wires attached to her forefinger.
It was an effort to sit up, but Jess had never been one to cop out on anything. That was the whole reason she was here, wasn't it? The irony would hit her later, certainly, but for the moment, she merely focused on pushing herself up against the tilted bed and pillows. She had only passed out, right? Why did she feel so ragged? "Carol hasn't--" she said, awkwardly, and swallowed. "Carol hasn't shown up yet, I guess." Change that right around from a question. No reason to seem even less unsure of herself than she already was.
Then, a significant pause. Here came the awkward guilt. "You don't need to stay. I'll be out soon."
REYNARD: That statement only elicited a small but contemptuous snort. Damned pride issues. Yet another odd thing they had in common. "They took you to Sinai. I work here, Jess -- this visit isn't exactly out of my way." With that said, he settled himself on the edge of the bed and deposited the slightly-droopy bouquet onto the bedside table.
"I could pin these up on the walls, but like you said, you'll be out of here soon."
Another quirked smile. Reynard didn't sound concerned; something churned beneath the surface, but to the general eye and ear, he seemed confident about her recovery. A good sign for her recuperation. An unflappable calm he'd honed over years of practice, absorbing emotional hits as they came.
JESS: "Real chivalrous," she said wryly, scrunching up one side of her face in something like a smirk. The wires in her nose broke it in half, but it was an attempt. She eyed the flowers vaguely--it wasn't often she received them, so they were always a strange and unnerving thing--picking at one of the sadly drooping petals with still-weak fingers. "Don't think they'd look good on the walls anyway. Your ex seriously do that?"
REYNARD: He shrugged, noncommittal. "She gave them to me and we put them up on the ceiling. They withered. It looked alright while they were there, though -- it was quite beautiful."
Then, suddenly realising how much he'd divulged -- his teenage years weren't often a point of discussion between them, to be honest -- Reynard stiffened. His hands smoothed over the edge of her sheets, fingers plucking at the fabric, and then he reoriented his gaze to look at her. The man tried another smile.
"You tried to juggle about a thousand things at once. This might be proof it cannot be done. Are you feeling better?"
JESS: Well, then. Even not entirely coherent, it was difficult to miss discomfiture in Reynard, mostly because the man was never uncomfortable. Jess watched him carefully, eyebrows knitting together and climbing into her hair by turns, but said nothing. It was best never to say a word about these random forays into his past, or she'd never hear more about them later. Not that she needed to. But--well, he had at least ten years on her. It was interesting, at least, to see where he came from. Perhaps. She wasn't really sure.
She let it lie. Back to being uncomfortable herself. It seemed easier, between the two of them. She seemed to be in a state of discomfort far more than he was. "Don't really know what happened," she said after a moment. It was a little more honest than she wanted to be, but the man was currently sitting on the edge of her hospital bed, after all. It wasn't like she could say everything was fine.
REYNARD: "You blacked out," he answered candidly. "I talked to the doctor and nurses who took you in. They couldn't be a hundred-percent certain until you woke up and could answer questions, but, well. They'll be back later to speak to you." Reynard's lips pressed tight, his tone laced with concern or disapproval, it was hard to tell. "The lack of sleep probably did it, by the way."
He was on the verge of saying more -- food, nutrition, health, taking care of your own body and not running it into the ground -- but he quelled the next sentence. Jess was wrapped up in a hospital bed. Pompous as he could be, he knew she didn't need to be lectured by a doctor who wasn't even her attending.
Well, he was attending to her, but in an entirely different manner.
JESS: "Oh," Jess said, after a long moment. There wasn't much to say to that. Everyone and their mother had been warning her not to run herself into the ground the past few months--but what was she supposed to do? Rest easy while her funds dwindled and Carol continued to prove her unfit? She had to work. And if she lost a few hours of sleep here or there--but that was the whole problem, wasn't it? She was legitimizing all this and now--now she had no idea what was going to happen.
She shifted awkwardly on the bed, a bubble of impotent rage and revulsion welling up inside her throat. If she spoke, she was sure it would all come spilling out in tears or vomit or blood or who knew what else. It took a few heavy swallows to get it back down, and then her finger was tentatively giving the side of Reynard's smooth, dry hand a small brush. Tiny callouses against his sterilized palm, affectionate in a way only someone unused to affection could do. "Thanks for stopping by, anyway," she said, carefully regulating the discomfort in her voice. She meant it; it was just strange to say it.
REYNARD: These two were emotionally hampered and sentimentally stifled, but Reynard knew enough of closeness that he didn't jerk away from the touch. To his credit, he didn't even look surprised -- instead, he gave Jess' hand a brief, comforting squeeze, and then let go. He was, after all, well-trained in playing the role of perfect boyfriend.
"Is there anything you want? Water? Food? Bad television, worse coffee? I can even fetch the doctor." Tight smile. He knew the odds weren't likely for her wanting to speak to the professionals charged with fussing over her. Jess avoided. The conversation with the physician and nurse would happen, of course, but that particular time hadn't come yet.
JESS: "No doctor," she said immediately, and for a second belied that nervousness that she was working so painfully to hide. Jess wasn't so much terrified of hospitals--as what happened in them. The last time she had been in one, after all, had been to identify a body. Her voice caught for a moment, but not about the hospital itself. The one thing she did want, she was almost positive she couldn't have. Always the way of things, wasn't it? "Guess I can't see Matty, huh."
REYNARD: "Once you're stable and they've seen to you, I imagine," was his response. Reynard had actually managed to make himself comfortable on the side of the bed -- equally balanced between Jess' side and the edge of the cot, one knee propped up against the small side table. "Perhaps--"
The sound of footsteps, and a the door opening interrupted his thoughts. Reynard swivelled to see a woman in the hospital room -- older, and not one he recognised, though he immediately noted the finery of her clothing and the delicate care that had been taken with her looks, despite her age. His steel-grey eyes flicked back to Jess, his private look to her obviously questioning. Who was this? Was she--
JESS: "Carol." Where had her voice gone? It sounded strange and quiet in her throat, breathless, like the wind had just been knocked out of her. Jess found herself sitting up straighter, and the somewhat calm air she had managed with Reynard alone shattered. The tell-tale anxiety that always accompanied unexpected Carol sightings rose in her chest, an angry buzzing in her ears. She didn't meet Reynard's gaze; her eyes were locked on her mother-in-law. "Hello," she added, only aware of how absurd it sounded once it was out of her mouth. If she could have snatched it back, she would.
Carol merely stared. Her eyes, blue like Danny's and Matty's, darted between Jess and the unfamiliar man at her bedside. A slim eyebrow rose, but Carol, in true form, said nothing. "Jessica," she said. Carol never said hello. "They called me--left a message on my voicemail, rather. Is Matty all right?"
"He's fine," Jess said after a moment. Nevermind the tubes and machines keeping her conscious; but then again, had it been Carol in the hospital bed, Jess would have likely asked after Matty herself. "In the--nursery, they told me." Quick look at Reynard. This was going to be shit. "I'm fine," she added, an afterthought. "And, um. This is Dr. Reynard."
Well done, Jess. Well fucking done.
REYNARD: That warranted another sidelong glance. So. He knew she was between a rock and a hard place. Which is what had Reynard, after that initial pause, not missing a single beat -- she'd given him a cue? Well, he would run with it. He immediately slipped off the side of the bed and stepped forward into Carol Winters' direct line of sight, essentially cutting Jess off from view. Instead, the sight was replaced by a surgeon with a winning smile; no labcoat, but a long overcoat, and beneath it, a finely-ironed shirt and tie.
When he shook her hand, the grip was firm and steady. His introductions came smoothly.
"Hello, Mrs Winters." Another tight smile, Reynard's specialty. "It's so nice to meet you. As you can see, Jess--" A brief stumble, where he almost said 'Jessica', then didn't, then almost did, before finally plunging onwards, "Jessica is fine. You could probably call it a minor fainting spell. Your grandson is downstairs in good care, and the attending physician will be by soon."
JESS: As charming and smooth as Reynard was, Carol had been brought up in a world of smooth, charming men; he was just one more to size up and evaluate. She shook his hand in a grip as steady as his own, eyebrow still high in her hair. "Pleasure. You're not her doctor, then." It wasn't a question. She brushed back an errant strand of blonde hair. From just behind Reynard's shoulder, Jess caught a small tightening of the woman's jaw--the only sign that she was not all at rights. "What exactly happened?" and this not even to the doctor present, but to the woman in the bed. You had to give Carol credit. She wasn't easily swayed from her course, whatever it might have been.
REYNARD: "No, I'm not." The smile never wavered. He wasn't her doctor, and he couldn't pretend to be -- that would have been a bit stronger than a white lie. But he could be in the room, and he could feign confidence and assurance for her while Jess answered the question. Reynard had no choice but to stand aside and look away, waiting to see what Jess did with the inquiry.
JESS: Great. Jess looked helplessly from mother-in-law to--well, to whatever Reynard could be called, since all the obvious labels were out of the question, and she was seriously beginning to question if that whole being-there-to-support-your-girlfriend thing even applied to him. Her mouth opened once and shut itself again, as if of its own accord. She didn't really know what had happened, was the problem, and the increasing sense of her own ineffectiveness seemed to dawn on her. Helpless; a goddamn damsel in distress. This princess shit was really coming back to bite her in the ass, wasn't it?
"I--fainted," she said after a beat, and bit back the 'I guess.' Habit, that, and one that Carol hated. Her mother-in-law's eyebrows rose again, and if her face softened slightly, her voice did not waver.
"Are you ill?" she asked, fingertips drumming on her waist.
"No," Jess said immediately. "I mean. Not sick, just--overworked, I guess."
Shit. Wrong phrase. Carol's mouth thinned, and the air between her and Jess seemed to bristle. The older woman, suddenly and incontrovertibly, held all the power. Jess's shoulders sank. "I see," Carol said, after a moment. "I suppose it was too much to ask you to take on Matty full-time," she added, and Jess' heart almost came thudding out of her chest.
"No, it's not--it's nothing to do with him, Carol, just--too many shifts at work." True enough.
Carol surveyed her coolly. There seemed to be an effort to keep her face composed--God forbid she show weakness in front of some man, who Lord only know how he knew her son's wife--but Jess couldn't say over what. Then again, ever since that afternoon at the cemetery, the two had carefully and pointedly forgotten that Carol ever showed emotion besides composure and matriarchal dignity. "I'm glad you're--I suppose all right is the right term. Not ill?" A brief glance at the good doctor for confirmation.
REYNARD: "Not ill," he reaffirmed, arms crossed.
JESS: "Good," Carol said shortly, adjusting the cuffs of her linen jacket with a practiced gaze. There was an awkward moment in which she glanced up at Reynard, an impasse of black coat and steady eyes, and then at Jess, small and twitchy in the hospital bed, before making a decisive movement towards the latter. There was little of concern in Carol's step or face; she was not a woman prone to displays of affection or softness. Even Matty had long grown used to his grandmother's oddly firm way of caring for him; years ago, Danny had warned Jess that his mother was just like that, that you had to search for the warmth in her, but it was there.
Her hand came down on Jess' forehead before she realized it, cool and maternal even in its brisk motions. Palm to temples--checking for temperature--then back of her fingers to Jess' cheek. Her face did not change. "Good," she said again, just as shortly. The older woman's hands were soft from years of manicures and lotion, but still firm. "Daniel never liked you getting ill," she added after a moment, quietly. There was little doubt Reynard could hear, being no more than five feet away, but it was a small concession--a tiny allowance that if Daniel cared, Carol did as well. Her brisk tone was back in half a second. "Not that I could really blame him, with the state of you. Honestly, Jessica. If you could take a little less care of yourself, I"m sure we'd all appreciate it." Was that a hint of dry humor? Jess could hardly reply.
"I'll be ok," she said after a moment.
"I'm perfectly aware," Carol said, rummaging in her purse. Out came a small white business card, which she placed squarely on Jess' bedside table, beside the flowers. "Have them forward me the bill. All my contact information is on the card; they can call me at the office once the paperwork is sorted."
She gave Reynard a perfunctory, somewhat obliging nod, a small glance in Jess' direction, and then departed as sharply and without preamble as she'd come. Jess stared at the door in silence for a long moment.
"Mother-in-law," she said finally, as if the belated introduction was at all necessary.
REYNARD: "So that was Carol. Rather nice to finally put a face to the name. She seems--" Reynard struggled with finding the right adjective, before saying, delicately: "very fierce."
One way of putting it. He'd almost said 'competent', but words like 'competence' and 'suitability' had been bandied about her court trials more often than comfort allowed. 'Fierce' would have to be the descriptor of choice. And the man's trained eye, so used to assessing women both old and young, had noted the similarities between them. Perhaps Jess' quiet, stubborn strength wasn't quite as visible right now, crumpled in a hospital bed as she was, but Reynard was familiar with it and now he'd seen glimmers of it in her mother-in-law's level gaze. No wonder they didn't get along. They were too damned alike.
JESS: Not quite, Reynard. Jess had gotten on fine with Carol for the most part when Danny was alive; now it all came down to the woman trying to take away her son. Jess inhaled carefully, regulating her breathing and heartrate with every ounce of willpower she had. Carol visits did this, and there was no benefit to having machines belie her calm by starting their cacophanous beeping.
She nodded after a moment, and shrugged. "Yeah, you could say that." Something was itching at the back of her shoulders, but she couldn't say what it was. "Sorry." What was it? "That you had to stay for that."
Ah. Yes. Carol had said it: Danny hated Jess getting ill. Just like that, her mother-in-law had brought him back into the room, settled that weighty guilt and revulsion of her recent actions right back on Jess' chest. Danny was back in the room, with the man she was fucking. Yeah. That was comfortable. Jess tried to sit up again, slipped the heel of her palm on the pillow beneath her, and scrambled to resume her seat. Jesus. When were they going to let her go home?
REYNARD: Soon enough, if measured by Reynard's relative standards -- he was used to surgery, after all, and used to recommending weeks or months of rest -- but obviously not soon enough by Jess' watch. He still took some time to stand there, however, eyes locked on her as she squirmed. He was analysing the situation.
And whatever conclusions he reached, it led to a sigh, a short little exuding of breath, and fingers twitching to unconsciously adjust his collar -- the one and only nervous habit he hadn't managed to eradicate by sheer bloody-minded force of will. Then, breathing more freely, his tie slightly looser, Reynard stopped by the side of her bed and leaned in close, dropping a kiss on her forehead.
"I believe it's about time for me to go back to the office. I'll see about finding your doctor on my way out, tell him you're awake."
JESS: Jess touched his loosened collar with awkward, hesitant fingertips. It was affectionate in its own way; affectionate and distant all at once, like a teenager being kissed for the first time. She wasn't used to it, but she tried anyway. Fingers drifted to neck and jaw, small against the firm squareness of his face, and then the tubes attached to her forefinger came jarringly into view. Her hand fell away.
"Thanks for stopping by," she said, more instinctively than anything. There didn't seem to be much feeling behind it -- but then again, it was Jess. "And the flowers." She opened her mouth and froze, and perhaps it was the medications keeping her sedated, but she finally managed to plow forward with her initial thought. "Won't be around when they discharge me, then, yeah."
REYNARD: "I suppose it depends on when they do," he answered through thin lips, one hand briefly brushing Jess' hair -- it wasn't the same as Carol's maternal concern, because Jasper possessed not one single fatherly bone in his body, but it was close enough to matter. "Give me a call if you need a ride home. I seem to be here most of the time anyway."
JESS: "I noticed," she said, with a ghost of a laugh. The words echoed back in her head, and they seemed a little too accurate for her tastes at the moment. Reynard's absences from her life seemed to outnumber his appearances, especially in regards to the calamities department -- which, of course, practically ate up all the other ones. She flashed him a tremulous half-smile when he left, as unobtrusively as he had come. Had the nurse not come in to give her another sedative, she might have sat up all night wondering after his retreating back.