[Original: Drabble] "Batter up" [Zeke Jones, G]
Title: Batter Up
Prompt: writerverse challenge #03 march mini table of doom, prompt #9 ‘smashing headache’
Word Count: 536
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Zeke wakes up in the hospital, after a run-in at a crime scene.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Batter Up
“Hey, there, slugger,” said Howell’s voice, before I even knew I was awake.
That seemed odd, because my partner never called me nicknames, except for ‘rookie’, but I didn’t have long to think about it, as I registered several things all at once- the general hum and beeping of a hospital room, the stiff feeling of having been unconscious rather than asleep, and a raging, pounding headache.
I shut my eyes again and felt Howell’s hands on my shoulder, leaning over me and blocking most of the light.
“I called the nurse,” he said, his voice low. “You’ve been out for three hours and they didn’t want to risk giving you anything too strong while you were unconscious, in case there was brain damage.”
“It hurts like hell,” I said. “But I don’t think there’s any brain damage. Aren’t you supposed to ask me my name and the date and who’s the President?”
Howell ignored me, “What do you remember?”
I frowned, thinking, curling one hand around my partner’s wrist, his hand still on my shoulder. “Wong and Emerson got a tip from one of their CIs and called us in for backup,” I said. The two detectives had been investigating a string of home invasions that had been getting increasingly violent, and there was a chance to catch the suspects in the act. We had. “You and I went in through the… laundry room. I went to the left and found a woman tied to a kitchen chair. I knelt to untie her and-”
I broke off with a mimed hit to the back of my head. “Did you catch the guy, sir?”
My partner shrugged. “Yes and no,” he said. “Wong and Emerson collared the guys doing the B-and-Es. I caught the twelve-year-old kid who’d hidden in his room, then snuck out with a baseball bat to rescue his mom.
Reflexively, I reached up to touch the back of my head, feeling a nasty lump. I was embarrassed that a kid had snuck up on be, but I looked up in time to see a flash of guilt on Howell’s face, probably for not protecting me from such a ridiculous, but dangerous, threat.
I squeezed his wrist, hard, knowing that neither of us could talk the other out of those feelings, and changed the subject, “Is the kid around, so I can show him I’m okay?”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” said a nurse. She barely came up to Howell’s shoulder, but I could tell she meant business. “And did I not tell you to page me as soon as she was awake, Officer Howell?”
“You did and I did,” said Howell. “You never said I couldn’t talk to her in between.”
The nurse snorted. “Forget doctors, cops make the worst patients. How do you feel, Officer Jones?”
“Like someone tried to split my head open,” I said. “But it’s getting better.”
She scowled and took my vitals. “A mild concussion,” she said. “Now that you’re awake and coherent, I can give you something for the pain. And you’re not to be left alone for at least twenty-four hours, understood?”
That was clearly not directed at me, and Howell nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
THE END
Current Mood:
mellow
Prompt: writerverse challenge #03 march mini table of doom, prompt #9 ‘smashing headache’
Word Count: 536
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Zeke wakes up in the hospital, after a run-in at a crime scene.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Batter Up
“Hey, there, slugger,” said Howell’s voice, before I even knew I was awake.
That seemed odd, because my partner never called me nicknames, except for ‘rookie’, but I didn’t have long to think about it, as I registered several things all at once- the general hum and beeping of a hospital room, the stiff feeling of having been unconscious rather than asleep, and a raging, pounding headache.
I shut my eyes again and felt Howell’s hands on my shoulder, leaning over me and blocking most of the light.
“I called the nurse,” he said, his voice low. “You’ve been out for three hours and they didn’t want to risk giving you anything too strong while you were unconscious, in case there was brain damage.”
“It hurts like hell,” I said. “But I don’t think there’s any brain damage. Aren’t you supposed to ask me my name and the date and who’s the President?”
Howell ignored me, “What do you remember?”
I frowned, thinking, curling one hand around my partner’s wrist, his hand still on my shoulder. “Wong and Emerson got a tip from one of their CIs and called us in for backup,” I said. The two detectives had been investigating a string of home invasions that had been getting increasingly violent, and there was a chance to catch the suspects in the act. We had. “You and I went in through the… laundry room. I went to the left and found a woman tied to a kitchen chair. I knelt to untie her and-”
I broke off with a mimed hit to the back of my head. “Did you catch the guy, sir?”
My partner shrugged. “Yes and no,” he said. “Wong and Emerson collared the guys doing the B-and-Es. I caught the twelve-year-old kid who’d hidden in his room, then snuck out with a baseball bat to rescue his mom.
Reflexively, I reached up to touch the back of my head, feeling a nasty lump. I was embarrassed that a kid had snuck up on be, but I looked up in time to see a flash of guilt on Howell’s face, probably for not protecting me from such a ridiculous, but dangerous, threat.
I squeezed his wrist, hard, knowing that neither of us could talk the other out of those feelings, and changed the subject, “Is the kid around, so I can show him I’m okay?”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” said a nurse. She barely came up to Howell’s shoulder, but I could tell she meant business. “And did I not tell you to page me as soon as she was awake, Officer Howell?”
“You did and I did,” said Howell. “You never said I couldn’t talk to her in between.”
The nurse snorted. “Forget doctors, cops make the worst patients. How do you feel, Officer Jones?”
“Like someone tried to split my head open,” I said. “But it’s getting better.”
She scowled and took my vitals. “A mild concussion,” she said. “Now that you’re awake and coherent, I can give you something for the pain. And you’re not to be left alone for at least twenty-four hours, understood?”
That was clearly not directed at me, and Howell nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
THE END
Current Mood:
mellow