30 Days of Puckurt Drabble: Day 11
It's day eleven of our June 30 Days of Puckurt drabble fest!
Here be the rules; don't forget to include a rating if the piece is rated higher than PG ( Read more... )
Here be the rules; don't forget to include a rating if the piece is rated higher than PG ( Read more... )
It’s been two hours since he’s seen Kurt and one and a half of those hours had been spent alternatively pacing the length of the ICU waiting room and jiggling his leg up and down when he does sit.
Puck jerks his head up as a short man with dark features and olive skin hovers in the doorway; he has a laminated hospital ID around his neck and dark circles under his eyes. He’s here on behalf of one of the patients.
“Family of Kurt Hummel?”
Puck is on his feet and moving within a second, and he realizes from the little flinch of the man that maybe he’s looming a little too strongly. But he needs to know - needs to know if Kurt is okay. “I am.”
Brown eyes meet his from below and Puck feels irritation and agitation build from the assessing gaze he receives. “I’m his boyfriend,” he says, a note of challenge in his voice.
The man takes in his statement with more aplomb than his mohawk. “He’s out of surgery and on his way to the ICU now. I was one of the attending surgeons.” The man, the doctor, then looks behind himself and down the hall, and turns back to Puck. “They’re just wheeling him through right now if you want a glance before they get him situated.”
Puck heart jumps in his chest and he feels his eyes widen. “Yeah,” he breathes out and steps up beside the doctor in the doorway. From down the hall he can hear the sound of multiple footsteps and the rattle of wheels.
A large bed surrounded by several nurses and what Puck assumes is a doctor approaches, and Puck can see the dark chestnut hair and the fair skin that he is so familiar with peeking out of a blanket. He can see that Kurt’s eyes are closed as they get closer, can see the way he has gained a little colour to his cheeks and lips, and that his breathing is only assisted by a nasal cannula.
Far too soon Kurt is wheeled right passed him without stopping and disappears behind the set of doors leading to the ICU. Puck’s body reacts by stepping in his direction automatically, and he has to stop himself from running to catch up.
“Will I be able to see him soon?” It is the question that Puck has been dreading - he’s heard of gay and lesbian couples being denied visitation before, and he won’t let that be the case here, whether the hospital agrees or not.
“You’re his partner, right?”
“Yeah.” Puck instinctively crosses his arms and tenses his muscles.
The surgeon simply nods his head. “Then yes; when they get him situated and the nurse gives you the go-ahead you should be able to.” At Puck’s quickly-wiped away look of surprise and suspicion, and surgeon cocks his head a little to the right. “It’s your legal right at this hospital.”
Puck frowns a little even as the announcement releases a large amount of pent-up anxiety from within him. “I thought -”
The doctor shakes his head. “You can thank President Obama - he signed a memo about visitation rights that will allow you to see him. Regardless of familial tie or marriage status.”
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Puck walks slowly forward, eyes locked on the high cheekbones and the stark contrast between the dark circles around Kurt’s eyes and the pallor of the rest of his skin. There is something about the white sheets and blue blanket that seem to sap the sass and strength that characterizes Kurt from the other boy, leaving him small and fragile-looking on the bed. It hurts Puck more than he imagined to see all of the reasons he calls Kurt ‘Princess’ dimmed away.
“He was just awake,” says the nurse as he turns to Puck and gestures toward a hard plastic chair. “He’s been drifting in and out. But he shouldn’t stay asleep too long.”
Puck nods and approaches Kurt’s side cautiously. Just hours ago he had held the shivering man in his arms and waited for an ambulance to arrive, waited long enough that Kurt lost the ability to think or talk coherently, and stopped shivering altogether.
Collapsing into the chair, Puck reaches forward and wraps his hand around Kurt’s, feeling the flesh of the other man under his fingers to make sure he’s really there. “He’s so cold.”
“We have to warm him up slowly. Going too fast does more harm than good, and we want to get him stabilized without any negative effects.”
Puck nods and turns his attention back to Kurt, running his finger over the elegant fingers and thin wrist, careful to avoid the IV port taped to the pale skin. As he lets his thumb caress over Kurt’s knuckles, feels the softness of the skin between them, he looks up and catches Kurt staring at him.
Kurt licks his lips and rasps, “Hey.”
Puck stands and bends over Kurt’s bed, bringing his face in close, and brushes an errant strand of hair off of the other man’s forehead. “Hey,” he says back. “How are you feeling?”
Kurt’s eyes drift closed for a moment and then open again. “I’m not sure,” he says.
Puck lets out a little huff of laughter. “That’s probably the drugs speaking.”
“Are you okay?” Kurt’s eyes are hazy, but he is trying his hardest to focus.
“I’m fine, Princess. I told you so.” Kurt smiles in response and nods a little, and even injured Puck can tell he wants to roll his eyes. “I love you.”
Kurt blinks at him and smiles a little wider. “I love you, too.”
Everything seems to crash down on Puck at once, like as the pressing threat of Kurt dying is diminished, all of the other emotions are unlocked. His hands are shaking and he feels like he just might need to sit down before he falls down, and there is a sudden tightening in his throat that tells him he is close to tears. He hates crying, but the thought of losing Kurt, the almost-reality of it, pushes all of his compunctions away.
He sits with Kurt’s hand in his for a short time, watching as the blue-green-grey of the countertenor’s eyes flutter closed a few times only to reopen minutes later. As Kurt focuses on him one of those times, Puck asks, “Did you know about the new visitation rights in hospitals?”
Kurt smiles a little, hand squeezing Puck’s with cool fingers. “Yeah. I did.”
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A/N: I AM NOT a medical doctor - I’m a mere undergrad studying physical anthropology. I am likely to have made mistakes - any and all information in the previous writing was taken from personal experience, three years of sports medicine and an epic skim of various articles in medical journals. I apologise if I got something wrong; I tried pretty hard to keep everything real-ish, but I just don’t have the experience to do so completely.
To ithicajackal: I tried to use your prompt, but when looking up visitation rights in US hospitals (they let everyone in to the CICU after my dad’s heart attack - I’m in Canada, and I don’t know if that’s even normal for here :S), I discovered a little surprise. I just had to include it - I hope you enjoyed anyway! :D
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♥
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Now I do! Thank you!
And I loved this continuation so much. With Puck and the EMTs and Kurt all drugged up and being worried about visitation rights... <3
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Thank you <3
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I'd say eighteen, though. Just after high school, maybe, so a parent/guardian wouldn't have to be involved (although I don't know very much about the healthcare system in the US :/ so I may be completely off my game here).
Thanks <3
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Thanks ♥
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