FIC: Superheroes make poor patients and other facts of life, PG
Title: Superheroes make poor patients and other facts of life
Author: calcus
Rating: PG
Pairing: Clark/Ollie, Lois
Word count: c.1500
Summary: Oliver is injured and Clark has to put up with him for the month and a half it takes for him to get better, which is as hard as it sounds. Written for my schmoop_bingo card prompt, ‘nurse back to health’.
Spoilers: For season 6’s Justice probably? But this is future fic so no spoilers really.
Warnings: (If any) Slash.
Note: Unbeta’d. Point and I shall correct!
“What happened?” Clark asked, watching Oliver limp across the room. He was cradling his ribs with one hand and heading towards the kitchen.
“Nothing.” Oliver insisted.
“Nothing?” Clark heard the freezer open and close, then watched Oliver walk - even slower than he had a few moments before - over to the couch, sitting down slowly.
He put his foot up on the coffee table and began to remove his boot. Oliver winced as he bent over.
“You’re ridiculous.” Clark said and abandoned his laptop and his admittedly very boring story about a funding cut for the local fire service.
(“Slow news day,” Perry had said, sounding disapproving. “I hate slow news days.” Lois had smirked and then said “We could always make it more interesting with pictures of shirtless fire-fighters. I would read that.” Perry had then spent ten minutes yelling at Lois, which had been the high point of his day, mostly because that meant Perry wasn’t yelling at him.)
Clark sat down on the coffee table, pushing aside the centrepiece of fresh flowers that the housekeeper put there every morning. He picked up Oliver’s injured foot and put it gently in his lap. Oliver collapsed back against the couch, pressing his hands against his side. “Oh god.” He said.
He removed Oliver’s boot and took the sock off, snatching the bag of frozen peas from Oliver’s hand. “I should call Emil. You might need an x-ray.” He said, placing the peas on Oliver’s foot.
“It’s fine.” Oliver insisted.
“Do you remember the last time you insisted you were fine? You ended up having a stress fracture. Just insisting you’re fine won’t make you fine. Stupid maybe, but not fine.”
Oliver scowled.
“You’ve been walking on this foot?” Emil asked, gently turning the foot to the left.
Oliver whacked Emil with the magazine he’d been reading. “That hurt! And yes.”
Emil placed the foot back down on the table. “You’re an idiot.”
“I’ve been telling him that for years.” Clark said.
Oliver sighed. “My ribs hurt.”
He was ignored. “Going to need an x-ray. Shouldn’t take long. I’ll strap those ribs while we’re waiting.”
“You heard the doctor. Bed rest for a week, crutches for a month after that.” Clark pushed the wheelchair along the corridor of the Justice League headquarters, heading to the control room. Oliver sat sullenly in the chair; he glared at everyone they passed, daring them to say anything.
Not that they would. Clark was infamously protective.
Which had never stopped Bart. “Didn’t feel like walking?”
Oliver ignored him, staring resolutely forward.
“You know he could have carried you. The big guy in blue does have super strength. Like a bride, over the threshold and into the control room.” Bart said dramatically, walking as though carrying something very heavy in his arms.
Oliver kicked out sharply with his uninjured foot, hitting Bart in the shins.
“Ow!”
“Oops. Sorry. Foot slipped.”
Clark rolled his eyes and rolled Ollie past Bart. “Behave.”
“It was an accident!” Oliver insisted.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Clark said, patting Oliver on the shoulder.
“He kicked me!” Bart reached down and rubbed his shin. “Ow.”
Oliver stared up at the ceiling, arms crossed over his chest while Clark set up the TV from his study on the dresser. “Alright!” Clark said, disturbingly cheerful. “So we have a TV, a Blu-ray player and this game thingy all set up.”
“It’s an Xbox,” Oliver grumbled. “Not a ‘game thingy’.”
Clark shrugged. “Never really been big on them honestly. Lois said she’ll be over later, I figured you two could play together.”
Oliver huffed. “I’m not a child. You can’t just give me video games and chocolate to bribe me into staying in bed.”
Clark superspeed out the door and then reappeared a moment later, holding a plate of chopped vegetables in his hands. “No chocolate. How about carrot sticks?” He placed the plate on the bed and leaned down and pressed a kiss into Oliver’s hair. “I’ll be in the lounge room. Yell if you need me okay?”
Oliver muttered something that might have been ‘will do’ but might also have been ‘go screw yourself’ and picked up a carrot stick.
He and Lois played Halo for a few hours that afternoon, eating Lois’ smuggled chocolate and Oliver bitching about Clark’s very accurate mother-hen impression.
“He only does it because he cares.” Lois pointed out, throwing a plasma grenade that killed several Covenant troops.
“I know,” He shrugged. “I’ve been alone so long it’s hard to get used to what people do when someone they love is hurt. My parents died and then I went to boarding school, which are about as warm and loving as standing in the middle of a snow storm in Siberia. I don’t want to just sit here but I don’t want him to worry either. Guy behind you.”
Lois’ avatar ducked behind a pillar and then ran up a flight of stairs. “You need to rest. That injury could become chronic if you don’t. Also, what kind of idiot are you? Patrolling while injured is Bruce-level stupidity Ollie. You could hurt yourself even more seriously than you already have.”
Oliver’s avatar was run through with an energy sword and he scowled, throwing his controller down onto the bed. “I know. I wish he’d just -” Oliver let out a frustrated noise.
“Not care?” Lois suggested, smirking.
“No,” Oliver said. “I don’t know.” He picked up his controller as he respawned and he shuffled down the bed so he could rest his head on Lois’ shoulder.
Clark looked up from his computer as Lois walked down the stairs, her feet bare and her heels held in one hand. “Hey, he sleeping?”
Lois nodded. “Just about.” Lois took a moment to bury her toes in the plush carpet and then put her shoes on, trying to smooth out the bed head that she’d developed lying on Clark and Oliver’s bed.
He leaned back into the couch, smiled and said, only half joking “Should I be jealous?”
Baffled, Lois said “Jealous?”
“I saw the two of you snuggling before. I thought maybe you’d decided to rescind your no Superheroes policy.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You better be joking mister, or I’m going to find some of that green stuff you hate so much and shoving it where the sun don’t shine.”
He laughed. “I am, mostly. He’s just been kind of grumpy and irritating.”
Lois sat down beside him on the couch, smoothing out her wrinkled skirt. After several moments of awkward silence, she said “Give it a few days. He’ll want sex and then he’ll be sweet as apple pie.”
Clark rolled his eyes. “I’m just remembering why no one goes to you for relationship advice.”
She shrugged.
As it turned out, Lois was right. A few days later, after Oliver’s mood having gotten worse and worse with each day that he spent in bed, Oliver’s mood changed dramatically. He smiled and was sweet and understanding and inquired after what stories Clark was working on and didn’t try to go further than the bathroom and then back to bed. That evening Clark played hooky with his usual rounds of the city. If the world fell to pieces because Superman took a night off, then he wasn’t doing his job right.
By the time Emil proclaimed Oliver ready to begin rehabbing (and hobbling around on crutches on) his foot, Clark was considering moving into his fortress full-time and Oliver was trying to work out the best way to murder a Kryptonian and get away with it.
Being driven around by a chatty Eastern European man, being in immense pain by lunchtime and still not allowed to patrol ensured that Oliver spent a great deal of his time in a foul mood. Clark however, no longer feeling like he had to ensure that Oliver kept to his doctors orders regarding bed rest, felt gloriously cheerful about the whole thing. “We never spend this much time together!” Clark said one evening over dinner, laughing, and had duck to avoid the dumpling that Oliver threw at him.
A month later, Oliver was deemed healthy. When Clark rang the physio to confirm it himself, the man said “He’s fine. Me, I’ll be needing therapy. And not the physical kind.”
In the very early morning after Oliver’s first patrol for almost a month and a half, the two did their usual evening routine of dancing around each other in the bathroom, brushing their teeth and getting ready for bed. Clark was in bed, dozing, when Oliver dropped down onto bed beside him, smiling. “You don’t appreciate the simple things in life, like being able to walk from one place to another, til you can’t do them.” As Oliver settled into bed and let out a very amusing satisfied sigh, Clark buried his face into the pillow and tried not to laugh too loudly.
Author: calcus
Rating: PG
Pairing: Clark/Ollie, Lois
Word count: c.1500
Summary: Oliver is injured and Clark has to put up with him for the month and a half it takes for him to get better, which is as hard as it sounds. Written for my schmoop_bingo card prompt, ‘nurse back to health’.
Spoilers: For season 6’s Justice probably? But this is future fic so no spoilers really.
Warnings: (If any) Slash.
Note: Unbeta’d. Point and I shall correct!
“What happened?” Clark asked, watching Oliver limp across the room. He was cradling his ribs with one hand and heading towards the kitchen.
“Nothing.” Oliver insisted.
“Nothing?” Clark heard the freezer open and close, then watched Oliver walk - even slower than he had a few moments before - over to the couch, sitting down slowly.
He put his foot up on the coffee table and began to remove his boot. Oliver winced as he bent over.
“You’re ridiculous.” Clark said and abandoned his laptop and his admittedly very boring story about a funding cut for the local fire service.
(“Slow news day,” Perry had said, sounding disapproving. “I hate slow news days.” Lois had smirked and then said “We could always make it more interesting with pictures of shirtless fire-fighters. I would read that.” Perry had then spent ten minutes yelling at Lois, which had been the high point of his day, mostly because that meant Perry wasn’t yelling at him.)
Clark sat down on the coffee table, pushing aside the centrepiece of fresh flowers that the housekeeper put there every morning. He picked up Oliver’s injured foot and put it gently in his lap. Oliver collapsed back against the couch, pressing his hands against his side. “Oh god.” He said.
He removed Oliver’s boot and took the sock off, snatching the bag of frozen peas from Oliver’s hand. “I should call Emil. You might need an x-ray.” He said, placing the peas on Oliver’s foot.
“It’s fine.” Oliver insisted.
“Do you remember the last time you insisted you were fine? You ended up having a stress fracture. Just insisting you’re fine won’t make you fine. Stupid maybe, but not fine.”
Oliver scowled.
“You’ve been walking on this foot?” Emil asked, gently turning the foot to the left.
Oliver whacked Emil with the magazine he’d been reading. “That hurt! And yes.”
Emil placed the foot back down on the table. “You’re an idiot.”
“I’ve been telling him that for years.” Clark said.
Oliver sighed. “My ribs hurt.”
He was ignored. “Going to need an x-ray. Shouldn’t take long. I’ll strap those ribs while we’re waiting.”
“You heard the doctor. Bed rest for a week, crutches for a month after that.” Clark pushed the wheelchair along the corridor of the Justice League headquarters, heading to the control room. Oliver sat sullenly in the chair; he glared at everyone they passed, daring them to say anything.
Not that they would. Clark was infamously protective.
Which had never stopped Bart. “Didn’t feel like walking?”
Oliver ignored him, staring resolutely forward.
“You know he could have carried you. The big guy in blue does have super strength. Like a bride, over the threshold and into the control room.” Bart said dramatically, walking as though carrying something very heavy in his arms.
Oliver kicked out sharply with his uninjured foot, hitting Bart in the shins.
“Ow!”
“Oops. Sorry. Foot slipped.”
Clark rolled his eyes and rolled Ollie past Bart. “Behave.”
“It was an accident!” Oliver insisted.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Clark said, patting Oliver on the shoulder.
“He kicked me!” Bart reached down and rubbed his shin. “Ow.”
Oliver stared up at the ceiling, arms crossed over his chest while Clark set up the TV from his study on the dresser. “Alright!” Clark said, disturbingly cheerful. “So we have a TV, a Blu-ray player and this game thingy all set up.”
“It’s an Xbox,” Oliver grumbled. “Not a ‘game thingy’.”
Clark shrugged. “Never really been big on them honestly. Lois said she’ll be over later, I figured you two could play together.”
Oliver huffed. “I’m not a child. You can’t just give me video games and chocolate to bribe me into staying in bed.”
Clark superspeed out the door and then reappeared a moment later, holding a plate of chopped vegetables in his hands. “No chocolate. How about carrot sticks?” He placed the plate on the bed and leaned down and pressed a kiss into Oliver’s hair. “I’ll be in the lounge room. Yell if you need me okay?”
Oliver muttered something that might have been ‘will do’ but might also have been ‘go screw yourself’ and picked up a carrot stick.
He and Lois played Halo for a few hours that afternoon, eating Lois’ smuggled chocolate and Oliver bitching about Clark’s very accurate mother-hen impression.
“He only does it because he cares.” Lois pointed out, throwing a plasma grenade that killed several Covenant troops.
“I know,” He shrugged. “I’ve been alone so long it’s hard to get used to what people do when someone they love is hurt. My parents died and then I went to boarding school, which are about as warm and loving as standing in the middle of a snow storm in Siberia. I don’t want to just sit here but I don’t want him to worry either. Guy behind you.”
Lois’ avatar ducked behind a pillar and then ran up a flight of stairs. “You need to rest. That injury could become chronic if you don’t. Also, what kind of idiot are you? Patrolling while injured is Bruce-level stupidity Ollie. You could hurt yourself even more seriously than you already have.”
Oliver’s avatar was run through with an energy sword and he scowled, throwing his controller down onto the bed. “I know. I wish he’d just -” Oliver let out a frustrated noise.
“Not care?” Lois suggested, smirking.
“No,” Oliver said. “I don’t know.” He picked up his controller as he respawned and he shuffled down the bed so he could rest his head on Lois’ shoulder.
Clark looked up from his computer as Lois walked down the stairs, her feet bare and her heels held in one hand. “Hey, he sleeping?”
Lois nodded. “Just about.” Lois took a moment to bury her toes in the plush carpet and then put her shoes on, trying to smooth out the bed head that she’d developed lying on Clark and Oliver’s bed.
He leaned back into the couch, smiled and said, only half joking “Should I be jealous?”
Baffled, Lois said “Jealous?”
“I saw the two of you snuggling before. I thought maybe you’d decided to rescind your no Superheroes policy.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You better be joking mister, or I’m going to find some of that green stuff you hate so much and shoving it where the sun don’t shine.”
He laughed. “I am, mostly. He’s just been kind of grumpy and irritating.”
Lois sat down beside him on the couch, smoothing out her wrinkled skirt. After several moments of awkward silence, she said “Give it a few days. He’ll want sex and then he’ll be sweet as apple pie.”
Clark rolled his eyes. “I’m just remembering why no one goes to you for relationship advice.”
She shrugged.
As it turned out, Lois was right. A few days later, after Oliver’s mood having gotten worse and worse with each day that he spent in bed, Oliver’s mood changed dramatically. He smiled and was sweet and understanding and inquired after what stories Clark was working on and didn’t try to go further than the bathroom and then back to bed. That evening Clark played hooky with his usual rounds of the city. If the world fell to pieces because Superman took a night off, then he wasn’t doing his job right.
By the time Emil proclaimed Oliver ready to begin rehabbing (and hobbling around on crutches on) his foot, Clark was considering moving into his fortress full-time and Oliver was trying to work out the best way to murder a Kryptonian and get away with it.
Being driven around by a chatty Eastern European man, being in immense pain by lunchtime and still not allowed to patrol ensured that Oliver spent a great deal of his time in a foul mood. Clark however, no longer feeling like he had to ensure that Oliver kept to his doctors orders regarding bed rest, felt gloriously cheerful about the whole thing. “We never spend this much time together!” Clark said one evening over dinner, laughing, and had duck to avoid the dumpling that Oliver threw at him.
A month later, Oliver was deemed healthy. When Clark rang the physio to confirm it himself, the man said “He’s fine. Me, I’ll be needing therapy. And not the physical kind.”
In the very early morning after Oliver’s first patrol for almost a month and a half, the two did their usual evening routine of dancing around each other in the bathroom, brushing their teeth and getting ready for bed. Clark was in bed, dozing, when Oliver dropped down onto bed beside him, smiling. “You don’t appreciate the simple things in life, like being able to walk from one place to another, til you can’t do them.” As Oliver settled into bed and let out a very amusing satisfied sigh, Clark buried his face into the pillow and tried not to laugh too loudly.