Chapter Text
As you pull into the hospital parking lot twenty minutes before the start of your shift, you realise that your lifetime habit of being too early for everything has finally paid off. It’s noticeably busier than usual and you’re forced to squeeze into one of the few remaining spaces that happens to be as far away from the hospital as possible. You don’t mind the walk, though. It’ll give you a chance to clear your head before entering the utter chaos that befalls your place of work during the holiday season.
It’s the same every year. The wards will be overflowing with visitors, making your job just that little bit harder. But you can’t begrudge the patients and their families; no one wants their loved ones to be alone on Christmas Eve. Besides, if you hadn’t taken on this extra shift you’d only be eating take out for one in your cramped apartment, so you can’t really complain.
Glancing in the rear-view mirror, your attention lands on the small bag lying on the backseat. You try to ignore the persistent pang of doubt. It’s nothing really – this gift - just a small token of friendship. So why are you so nervous about delivering it?
Walking through the automatic doors and into the entrance of the hospital, you feel like Jack Skellington finding yourself in Christmastown for the very first time. Throughout the whole of December the corridors have been decorated with Christmas trees, tinsel, and fairy lights; anything to spread a little holiday cheer. But tonight, the administrators have notched it up to another level. The decorations have been tripled to include fake snow and life-sized reindeer statues. Classic Christmas songs are blasting out of the speakers at full volume and volunteers dressed as Santa and his elves weave amongst the crowds of staff and visitors.
It will all be over after tomorrow you remind yourself, navigating your way through the throngs of people in order to reach the cardiothoracic department. The gift bag is clutched tightly in your hand. It’s not that you dislike Christmas, but with all your friends happily married and your family on another continent, it tends to get a little lonely. It’s your own fault, of course. You could have visited your parents for the holidays, but with every year that passes it's harder and harder to get on that plane.
Of all the wards in the hospital, yours has been the quietest lately. There are currently only five patients under your care which is unusual, but you prefer it this way. It means you’ve been able to spend more time with each of them. Means you’ve gotten to know them over the course of their stay and have tried to make their time in hospital a little less uncomfortable. Looking after people has always been your passion.
Depositing the gift bag in your locker, you reason that you have the whole twelve-hour shift to make up your mind what to do about it. You can’t help but wonder - if the ward had been busier, would you still have found yourself in this situation? Agonising over what to do about a silly little present.
After introducing yourself to the agency nurse also on shift tonight, you begin your rounds, making your way through the ward in the same efficient manner as every other day of the year. Like clockwork you run through your tasks, checking vitals, changing dressings, administering medication. In between patients you stop to chat with their families, make cups of tea, discuss certain cases with the doctor on-call. It takes the best part of an hour, until you only have one patient left to attend.
You’ve intentionally left him until last.
When you reach the bed, the only one without a cluster of visitors, he’s softly snoring. A black and white Christmas film is playing on the small television at the foot of his bed. Your eyes sweep over his familiar resting form, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. He’s been saying for weeks that he’s not one for celebrating the holidays, yet here you find him halfway through a festive film. Not wanting to wake him, you pull out the clipboard at the end of the bed and make a start on checking his vitals.
“Didn’t think you were workin’ tonight.” His deep, southern drawl catches you by surprise.
“Damn it! You scared me, Rick. I thought you were asleep.” You laugh, pressing a hand to your chest and feeling your heart thunder away beneath your tunic.
“Sorry.” He apologises, not looking very sorry at all as he shifts against the pillows. “The film was so borin’, you know. Was just restin’ my eyes. So, what you doin’ here?”
“Took on an extra shift.” You explain, fixing the cuff of the blood pressure monitor around his thick bicep. You’ve done this at least a hundred times by now, but you can never stop your attention from drifting to the intricate tattoos that wrap around his arms. You’ve always wanted to ask him about them, but you’ve never conjured up the nerve.
“On Christmas Eve?” The disbelief in his voice distracts you from the task at hand and you catch him raising an eyebrow in your direction. “Well, that’s sad.” You know him well enough now to understand that he’s only teasing. The Colonel has a surprisingly dry sense of humour.
“I didn’t exactly have any other plans.”
What you really want to say, is that you couldn’t stay away, that you purposely took on this shift to spend time with him. Because in the twelve weeks that he’s been a patient here, Rick Flag hasn’t had a single visitor and you couldn’t bear the thought of him being alone tonight.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t be out in time for Christmas”, you tell him as you scribble down the readings. “It must suck, being stuck here. I know you were hoping you’d be discharged by now.”
Considering the critical state that he arrived in, Rick has made a swift and impressive recovery, but he’s still weak. Given the seriousness of his injury you know the doctors are erring on the side of caution, meaning it will be at least a few more weeks before he can leave.
“Didn’t exactly have any other plans either.” He shrugs, the corners of his lips pulling up into a smile as you adjust his IV.
You’ve gotten to know Rick fairly well over the course of his stay on your ward. Well enough to know that he’s somewhat of a solitary creature, by all accounts married to his job. Still, it doesn’t stop you from asking. “I know I say this every day, but are you sure there’s no one you want me to call?”
“I’m sure. Told you before, you need to stop worryin’ ‘bout me. I’m fine, really darlin’.”
Darlin’.
Snapping on the latex gloves as you prepare to change his dressing, you quickly turn away; heaven forbid he should see your cheeks burning. It’s true, you probably should stop fussing over him. There’s just something about Rick Flag, something that draws you to him inexplicably. But God, how you know it’s inappropriate. He’s your patient.
The sooner he’s out of here, the better.
But you’ll miss him, a wicked voice in the back of your mind chimes out.
Fumbling through the supply drawer by his bedside, you take a breath and force yourself to switch back to your calm and clinical mode, the side of you that remembers you’re a professional. That assures you, you do not have feelings for your patient, and you are not going to give him that gift. Absolutely not. No way.
Returning to his side, you gently pull up the hem of Rick’s t-shirt, exposing the wall of his broad, muscular stomach and tanned chest. Stretching from the centre of his sternum all the way across his left pectoral muscle is a padded white dressing. You know exactly what lies beneath it. A stark reminder of just how close his brush with death was. With steady hands – you’ve done this almost every day for the last few months- you peel back the dressing.
“It’s looking much better”, you murmur, inspecting the healing wound. It’s a thick and angry jagged scar. One he’s going to be left with for the rest of his life. But you know he’s no stranger to scars. His body is littered with them. A hazard of the job, he’d joked to you when you’d first shown him the wound, but there’d been a tightness behind his eyes.
Propped up against the pillows now, Rick glances down at his chest watching you work. “Itches like a mother fucker.”
His fingers creep towards where you work, but you bat them away. “Don’t touch it. Do you want to get an infection?”
He quickly withdraws his hand, shaking his head and looking suitably sheepish.
“You know, you’re gonna need to learn how to take care of this yourself before they discharge you.” You tell him once you’ve finished. “I won’t be around to do it for you.” The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them.
You meant it as a joke, but his hazel eyes instantly flick up to meet yours, searching your gaze. He opens his mouth, on the verge of replying, but right at that very moment the call buzzer rings out, dragging you away from him.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
It’s well past midnight by the time you return from assisting with the emergency in the neighbouring department. With visiting hours long over, your ward has fallen quiet except for the constant hum and intermittent beeping of the various machines. You’ve been a nurse here for three years now, but you still don’t know what half of them do.
Now that the main lights have been switched off, you make your way carefully along the rows of beds, giving each occupant a cursory glance. In the far corner of the room the agency nurse is typing up paperwork at the solitary computer, her tired face illuminated by the glow of the screen.
All your patients are soundly asleep except for one.
Even whispering, his deep voice manages to rumble through your chest. “Thought you’d forgotten about me”, Rick teases as you approach.
If only.
His face is lit by a small reading light. Dark circles ring his eyes but there’s a spark of something that looks suspiciously like relief as you sink into the chair by his side. Ignoring the traitorous flutter in your stomach, you scold him softly. “You should be resting.”
“Was waitin’ for you to come back”, he grunts.
“I could have been all night.”
“Doesn’t matter. You always come back to me.”
It’s just a turn of phrase. It doesn’t mean anything, but you lean back in your seat and glance at your watch purely to avoid looking at him. You should really grab something to eat, your break is way overdue, but for the time being your body seems incapable of moving away.
“So c’mon, what’re your plans for tomorrow? Make me feel slightly better about bein’ stuck here.”
“Rude”, you laugh. “I’ll have you know I’m planning an action-packed day of force-feeding myself mince pies and re-watching all the best sitcom Christmas specials.”
“Stop right now before you make me jealous.” He groans, before the two of you settle into a comfortable silence.
It was in these quiet hours, while the rest of the hospital slept, that you and Rick first bonded. You can remember, as clear as day, the moment he was wheeled onto your ward following the emergency surgery to repair his heart. If it hadn’t been for the life-threatening nature of his injuries, you realise you never would have crossed paths. Under any other circumstance, as a Colonel injured in the line of duty, he would have been treated in a military hospital. But your team – a world renowned cardiothoracic department – were deemed his best chance at survival.
Once he’d been transferred to the bed – the same one he still occupies today - you’d been handed a heavily redacted file and left to get on with his treatment. It had taken several days for Rick to come around and when he did, he’d been shaken and disorientated, barely able to remember his own name, let alone what had happened to him. The nightmares and panic attacks soon followed.
As it became apparent that he wasn’t getting any visitors, you took it upon yourself to be there for him, not only as his nurse but also as his friend, because no one deserves to suffer alone. Even now - months later - whatever happened to land him here on your ward, it still haunts him, but you’re still here, to comfort him when he cries out in sleep, to soothe him from the nightmares.
“I always hated Christmas”, he tells you, breaking the silence and drawing you out of your memories. “Tell me something good.”
It’s a game the two of you play, to help distract him from the nightmares. You share pieces of yourself, stories of your life, and he eats it up every time.
“I’m running out of things to tell you, Rick”, you sigh. “I’m a very boring person.” You’ve explained this countless times. You still can’t understand why he likes your stories so much. But Rick always disagrees.
“Nonsense, darlin’. You’re not borin’. You’re real. You know how refreshin’ that is after the life I’ve led?”
His eyes are laser focused on you and the sense that he wants to say something more lingers in the air. You need to remove yourself from the situation, lest you do or say something very stupid.
“I – um - I got you something.” You blurt out, jumping up from the chair as if you’ve been shocked. “I’ll be right back.” You hurry from the room before he can reply, feeling his eyes on you.
Gift bag in hand as you return from your locker, you notice a commotion coming from the reception desk. Two members of the public appear to be locked in a heated argument with the perennially weary receptionist. A young woman with bright blonde pigtails is leaning over the counter, pointing a manicured finger threateningly at your colleague. From your position in the corridor, you’re close enough to hear their conversation.
“Listen lady, we ain’t seen our friend in months. It’s freakin’ Christmas Eve. Just let us in.”
“I told you already, visiting hours are over. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
The blonde’s companion, a rugged man dressed in a long, dark trench coat places a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Come on Harls, told you this was a bad idea.”
The blonde shrugs out of his grip, anger radiating from her compact body. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere til we’ve seen him, Boomer. He’s all alone in there. It just ain’t right.” She points the same finger to the door to your ward.
Intrigue getting the better of you, you cautiously approach the desk. “Everything ok here Cynthia?” You flash everyone a polite and non-threatening smile, instantly feel the heat of all three gazes upon you.
“Oh I didn’t see you there, dear.” Cynthia shoots you a grateful look. “I’ve been trying to tell them. They can’t go onto the ward at this time of night. All the patients are sleeping.”
“And I’ve been tryin’ to tell you, this is important!” The blonde insists, stamping her booted foot as if to prove the point.
“Harley, let’s go.” The man sighs and you detect an Australian accent. “We’ve already been here long enough. I fuckin’ hate hospitals.”
“Who are you here to see?” you enquire, centring your attention on the visitors. You’ve not seen them around here before; you’re pretty sure you’d remember them.
“Flag”, the woman – Harley - replies. “Big, blonde, good jaw-line.”
“Frowns a lot”, the man – Boomer – adds.
Even without the mention of his name it strikes you that you’d know exactly who they’re referring to. “Are you talking about Rick?”
Harley bounces on the balls of her feet. “Yes! This lady gets it.”
“You’re friends of his?” You can’t hide the surprise in your voice, not only that Rick would have late night visitors, but that they would be so…. Eccentric?
“The very best”, Harley replies.
“More like co-workers”, Boomer grunts.
With the gift bag still clutched in your hand you make a swift decision. One you may come to regret, but only time will tell. “I’m sure we can make an exception on Christmas Eve, Cynthia. I’ll take it from here.”
The receptionist scowls and grumbles under her breath but is ultimately unable to stop you as you beckon the strangers to follow after you.
“He’s not had a single visitor since he arrived.” You’re not sure why you say it, you’re not trying to make them feel guilty. It just seems important.
“We’ve been… out of the country”, Boomer tells you with a shrug as you lead them onto the ward.
“How’s he doin’?” Harley asks, concern lacing her words. “He gonna be ok?”
You nod softly. “He’s doing really well. He’s a fighter.”
“Sounds like Flag”, Boomer mutters.
“His bed is the one on the end. Just, try to keep it down ok”, you whisper. “The other patients are sleeping.”
Harley nods, before letting out a quiet but shrill squeal and hurrying down the line of beds to where Rick is situated.
You and Boomer follow slowly behind.
“Harley? Harkness?” Rick’s voice is hoarse with surprise as he sits up and takes in the sight of his visitors. “What the hell are you two doin’ here?”
“Visiting you, silly.” Harley pats him on the arm before wiggling her butt onto the foot of his bed.
“Wasn’t my idea”, Boomer informs him, dropping into the chair and producing a tin of beer from his coat.
You open your mouth to protest but suddenly think better of it. Whoever these people are, they clearly think a lot of Rick to have forced their way in to see him on Christmas Eve, and Rick deserves to have some privacy with his first visitors in months. His eyes flick over to you, but you simply smile before turning away.
Harley and Boomer stay for almost an hour, until the latter insists it’s time to leave, because he “fucking hates hospitals”. With promises that they’ll be back to see Rick soon, they make their way out of the ward, but not before Harley tackles you into a crushing embrace.
“Thank you for lettin’ us in, sweetie. Promise you’ll take good care of him while we’re gone?”
“Of course”, you huff out a laugh as she squeezes your ribs.
When you return to Rick, he looks exhausted.
“Friends of yours?” you smirk, reclaiming your spot at the side of his bed.
“You could say that.” He rolls his eyes. “Gotta say, I’m surprised. Was that seriously what you went to get me? How did you even know where to find them?”
You shake your head quickly. “Oh no. I just found them in reception, harassing the staff.”
Rick’s eyes shutter in embarrassment. “Aw shit. Hope they didn’t give you too hard a time. They’re… an acquired taste.”
“I’ve had worse.” Having worked the emergency room on New Year’s Eve, you doubt anything could come close.
“Well, thank you.” Rick reaches out for your hand and squeezes. “Know you didn’t have to let them in. But I guess it was good to see them.”
“They seemed… interesting”, you venture. You’re still not entirely sure whether they’re friends or colleagues, but it’s not your place to pry.
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”
“I feel like your actual gift might be an anti-climax now.” You admit, handing him the bag. “Merry Christmas, Rick.”
Rick accepts the gift gratefully, unable to keep the curious smile from tugging at his face. Your expression is so adorably nervous, he can’t even begin to imagine what’s inside. But no matter what the contents, the fact that you’ve even brought him a gift at all hits harder than he would have thought possible.
It’s been years, decades even, since he received a Christmas gift. He wishes he could find the right words to let you know how much this means. He slips out the small tin and cracks open the lid to find layer upon layer of homemade cookies, white chocolate and cranberry by the looks of it. His favourite, baked with your very own hands. Were you really listening all those weeks ago when he told you what a sweet tooth he had?
“I’m sorry they’re not much to look at. I’m not that great of a baker-”
“They’re perfect, darlin’.” He cuts you off through the lump in his throat. “Thank you. And merry Christmas.”