It's Sunday, which means Anna has a day off today.
This is good, because after
helping herself to some free flowers last night, she's... shall we say... disinclined to get up.
Incapable of it, one might say.
She's also running quite the fever, and it's rather lucky all things considered that people in comas are not, on the whole, given to
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His reaction at finding her in her current state is rather predictable. There's some fretting, freaking out, and worrying. And then the speeding to the hospital, where he's really little help to the ER staff. "She won't wake up and she has a fever" isn't anything they can't figure out for themselves in about thirty seconds.
So Clark waits, off to the side, out of all the important people's way. Worrying. This, at least, he's good at.
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It isn't long, however, until she's set up in a room of her own, it having been determined that she's not waking up anytime soon; and someone, carelessly, asks if Clark might not want to let her family know.
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Paperwork filled out, he settles into the small chair in Anna's room, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, watching and waiting.
And thinking.
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You could almost mistake her for sleeping, except that Anna slumbers far more restlessly than this.
You could almost mistake her for dead, except that - well.
And of course, though insurance isn't a problem... is it really needful, Clark, to permit her to continue in this state, struck down by some mysterious illness, when the easiest of solutions to the problem exists?
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