Chapter Text
“So… she’s gonna be okay?”
“Your daughter is out of surgery. It went well, no complications that we can see. You made the right call bringing her to the hospital when you did, Mr. Lawrence.”
“Thank god. Thank fuck. Uh. Thank you, doctor. Can I see her?”
“She’s resting now. Post-op care will take a few days. Then you will have some options.”
“Options? I thought you said she was gonna be okay?”
“We’re optimistic that Angel can make a full recovery, with proper care. Medication, physical therapy, certain medical procedures… No, no, don’t worry about writing it down now, I’ll give you a full write-up. You’ve obviously had a stressful night.”
“I’m fine. What else will she need?”
“A stable home environment is always good, of course. Proper nutrition. Clean air… well, that one’s tricky in this part of Tantalus, but home air filters help. You will need to bring her in for regular checkups: ideally, once every two weeks, but once a month is okay. If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Lawrence, is there another parent in the picture?”
“I do.”
“Pardon?”
“Mind you asking.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that the care your daughter will need over the next six to ten months, well… it’s almost a full-time commitment. Are you working right now?”
“I can do it from home.”
“That helps. But it will still be a lot, so if you've got any family that can lend you a hand…”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I would strongly recommend our long-term ward. The fees are what they are, I’m afraid, but it’s a lot more affordable than hiring a full-time nurse for home care.”
“Right.”
“I understand it’s a big decision, Mr. Lawrence. You can take your time over the next few days.”
“Can I see her? I’m not gonna wake her up. I just wanna—”
“Let me get you some water, Mr. Lawrence.”
“I’m fine, I don’t need any— Look, doctor, just… Just let me see my daughter. Please.”
It’s a big decision, Angel’s surgeon said. Jack looks down at the pamphlet in his hands, bristling with sharp, unpleasant words like ‘ischemic’, ‘acute’, ‘peripheral’, ‘exacerbated’, ‘idiopathic’, and so on. He turns it over. The back cover is all about care and recovery, complete with a stock image of kids Angel’s age practically frolicking in a green space that must’ve been shot off-planet or with a green screen. The words in this part of the brochure—‘rehabilitation’, ‘nutrition’, ‘therapy’, ‘support’—sound a lot nicer. And expensive.
He throws the pamphlet on top of the empty pizza box on the coffee-stained coffee table and casts a dejected look around the bigger of the two rooms of the shitty rental. Kitchen, den, home office and, when Jack can be bothered to unfold the couch, his bedroom. Three doors. One leads outside, another, to the bathroom, the third, to Angel’s room. Which has a new coat of paint and a functioning air filter on the window, but also, would never fit the hospital bed she’ll be needing for the next three months, minimum.
Okay, but if they put her bed here in the big room, instead, and turned her bedroom into his office, and he’d fix up the window here like he’s been meaning to, and—
From the outside, through the window in question, there comes a teeth-grating crunch of metal, followed by a crash of glass, followed by a cacophony of at least three different assholes screaming at each other at the top of cigarette-hoarse lungs.
Jack wrenches himself to his feet and flings the window open.
“Shut the fuck up!”
Two of the assholes ignore him. The third points a gun in his general direction and snarls something: words illegible, sentiment clear. Jack's hands are itching to grab his own gun; he’s got a clear line from his window, and could put all three out of their misery. But at least one of those shitbags will have friends that’ll come bashing down his door a few hours later.
He slams the window closed, or as closed as it gets, slumps back onto the couch, then fishes his comm out of his pocket.
“Hey, Wilhelm? You still got your bike?”
“Hell yeah, I do. What, Angel finally wore you down and you’re letting her go for a ride with me?”
“Keep dreaming, bud. But if you’re still got the bike, you’ve also still got the garage, right? Mind holding on to a couple of boxes for me?”
“How hot? Need my fence’s number?”
“Nah, it’s just some of my and Angel’s stuff. We’re, uh, downsizing.”
“Downsizing?” Wilhelm’s laugh is so loud, Jack winces and moves the comm away from his ear. “What, you’re moving into a desk drawer, or something?”
“Or something. I’ll be over later today.”
Jack hangs up, then goes and stares at the inside of the fridge for a while. The argument outside is getting louder, loud enough that he can’t decide if he’s hungry or thirsty. He closes the fridge door and looks around the room again.
Big decision? Not really.
One week after the surgery, Angel is already looking lightyears better than the night Jack came home to find her collapsed on top of her homework, and then sat on the roof of their building with her in his arms for twenty fucking minutes, kicking himself for calling the stupid ambulance shuttle instead of just hoofing it ten blocks to the hospital past the permanent six-to-nine traffic jam.
Now that she’s looking healthier, Jack can’t believe he’d let her get as sick as she had without noticing. The color that’s coming back to her cheeks now—how long had it been gone? She’d been spending more time inside, but he’d assumed that was just ‘cause there was no good outside nearby. She’d been eating less, but he’d assumed she was going through another picky phase. She’d been tired a lot, but she was working so hard in school, it only made sense.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Hey, Dad?”
“Hm?” Jack looks up from his laptop, where he’d been staring at the same piece of code for the past twenty minutes. Angel is sitting up in her bed, the lunch tray in front of her picked clean. She points at the side table next to him.
“Can I have your pudding cup?”
“Uh, no way.” Jack grabs the plastic container and hides it behind his laptop screen. “I’m saving it.”
“Fight you for it?” she grins. Jack cocks an eyebrow.
“And how are you planning to do that?” He gestures at the setup of assorted medical equipment around her bed. “Gonna lasso me with that IV, princess?”
“Sure. Then knock you out with one of my new crutches. They’re titanium. But it’ll be even easier to just kick your ass at Badass Battle Blocks.”
“You’re on. Winner gets the pudding.”
Still distracted by his earlier thoughts, Jack loses the first game so dramatically that Angel accuses him of letting her win and demands another match. In the end, she takes her victory, best four out of seven. She’s still scarfing down her pudding when a nurse arrives.
“Finish food, it’s physio time!”
“Yes, Nurse Nina.”
Angel licks her spoon clean and pulls herself up to sit on the edge of her bed, a picture of obedience that still throws Jack in for a loop every time. Then again, this just means his daughter’s got good instincts. For Jack himself, growing up on Tantalus meant having to get into his fair share of fights; surviving till age thirty-eight and counting meant having to learn fast when to stand and when to run. And Nina, from the toes of her rubber-soles shoes to the tips of the hair pins sticking out of her tightly-coiled side buns, would be close to the top of Jack’s ‘run like hell’ list any day of the week.
“And you, dad.” She points a finger at him, while Angel’s shuffling from her bed into a wheelchair. “Don’t sit here all day. Daughter will be fine. Go do something useful.”
“Yes, Nurse Nina.”
With both of them gone, Jack closes his laptop and looks at the time. Angel’s gonna be in physical therapy for the next hour, then probably nap until dinner. He can spend that time in the cafeteria and actually get some work done, then hang out with her again till bedtime without raising any suspicions. Then, hmm…
He steps out into the hallway and grabs a passing orderly.
“Hey, any idea who’s on call today?”
“Uh, lemme think…” The woman, a skinny blonde with a plaster across her nose, scrunches up her face in thought. “I think it’s Jed… No, wait, it was supposed to be Jed, but then he called and said he couldn’t make it. Something about a… laser dog? It was a really bad connection.”
Ah, shit. Jed would’ve been perfect. He doesn’t talk much, and always lets Jack grab a bunk in the on-call room. If he’s not in, then Jack will have to contend with either Chatty Gun Nut, or… Oh god, please let it be Chatty Gun Nut.
“So who’s filling in?”
“The… whatshisface from Doctors Across Lightyears. You know…” She snaps her fingers a few times. “Cute guy, stupid name…”
“Ugh. Fuck me.” Looks like Jack’s in for another night of bouncing between different waiting rooms’ couches.
“You do look like you could use it, but I’m only into ladies, sorry.”
Jack snorts. At least this one’s funny.
“Springs, right? Thanks for the intel, and for letting me down easy. Can I ask you one more thing?”
“Shoot.”
“What does a guy need to do around here to get five minutes alone in the staff shower?”
“Hmm…” Springs scratches her head. “Give me a hand resuscitating—”
“Whoa, whoa, I’m not actually a medic, remember?”
“—our X-ray machine?”
“Ah, okay. Lead the way.”
After two months, Jack’s got hospital living down to a T.
He’s got his own key to the staff showers. All it took was fixing up various outdated medical thingamajigs for Springs and other orderlies. He’s got practically unlimited access to staff room coffee. All that took was lending Nina and other nurses a hand with the simpler jobs, from ferrying kids between various therapy rooms to restocking drawers with basic supplies. (Although Jack suspects that what really drove it home was that time he got Davis Pickle from 3C to shut the fuck up for more than thirty seconds at a time.)
He’s even been getting more than an occasional free meal, courtesy of the other kids’ parents, who don’t seem to mind that he hangs around for days at a time: not least because the three snotfaces in Angel's room keep insisting they like ‘Mr. Lawrence’. He’s ‘cool’, apparently. It’s almost certainly a ploy to make sure Miss Lawrence keeps helping them with their homework, but hey, he and Angel have always made a good team.
He’s been getting sleep most nights, too: sometimes in the on-call room, sometimes in the nurses’ break room, sometimes in the increasingly bizarre selection of nooks and crannies as pointed out by Springs. Jack’s pretty sure by now that she’s running some kinda game or betting pool on whether or not he’ll be willing to sleep in some weird-ass spot. (She looked very disappointed when he drew the line at morgue drawers.)
And he’s even been getting work done! Even after the medical bills and whatever food Jack’s had to buy himself, there is still enough money left to set aside. Enough that they should be able to afford a nicer place by the time Angel is allowed to leave the hospital.
Which wouldn’t be too many months away, because, and most importantly, his baby girl has been smashing every recovery milestone like an absolute freaking champion. Jack never doubted her. Not for a second.
It’s all been going so well. It would’ve been damn near perfect, if only Jack didn’t have to deal with… him.
Rhys ‘I Got a Giant Stick Up My Ass’ Strongfork, M.D. (A.H., B.S., D.B.) A snooty motherfucker from Doctors Across Lightyears (a Dahl-sponsored circlejerk that lets assholes with fancy degrees play hero for a year or two on some planet deemed worthy of their charity before swanning off back to their turbomansions to sip cocktails and feel rea-a-al good about themselves).
“You’re not supposed to be here outside of visiting hours, Mr. Lawrence.”
“We normally discourage our pediatric patients from violent video games, Mr. Lawrence.”
“You’re not an employee of this hospital, Mr. Lawrence, please don’t interfere with the nursing staff’s tasks.”
In that last one, he would’ve had half a leg to stand on, had Jack interfered with something that needed, y’know, medical expertise—but for fuck’s sake, he’d just finished emptying a kid’s bedpan! What was he supposed to do: sit there with Angel, and the three others, too, and smell that literal shit till the nurse got there? Uh, no, thank you, doctor. And you’re welcome, ‘cause this wasn’t an interference, but a public freaking service!
Which was what Jack told him. And Dr. Strongfork’s response was?
“Nevertheless.”
Nevertheless. Never-the-freaking-less. Had there been anything left in the bedpan, Jack would’ve thrown it all over the guy’s ironed and starched white coat, there and then.
That bag of dicks is on call today again. Third time this week. And today is difficult enough already. ‘Cause yes, Angel’s recovery is going well, and faster than expected, and thank everything for that—but her new physio routine is hard enough that she’s in tears by the end of it, every time. She’s not giving up, of course. But she’s been in a lot of pain these past few days. And, being his daughter, this means that for the past few days, she’s been an irascible, exasperating asshole.
“I want my meds,” she whines, for the fifteenth time this hour, and yes, Jack’s been counting. “I want my me-e-eds, Dad.”
“Just another hour, sweetheart,” Jack mutters. He rubs his temples. He wants his meds, too, ‘cause his head is killing him, but he’s not prepared to deal with another tantrum where he gets to explain why his migraine pills wouldn’t help Angel even if she were allowed them.
“I. Want. My. Meds!” An empty paper cup, which contained the previous dose, hits the back of Jack’s laptop and bounces off. “Now!”
“Well, you can’t have them!” Jack slams down the computer’s lid. “Angel, we’ve been over this! You can’t have more than Nurse Nina gives you.”
“Fuck Nurse Nina. What does she know, anyway?”
“Language! And c’mon, Angel, you’re not five years old! You yourself know what can happen when people overdose on medicines! Do you wanna die?”
“Maybe!” She pulls a blanket over her head. “Shh whd mhk yyr luhf izhrh.”
“What?” Jack walks over to her bed and lifts the blanket. “I can’t hear you under there.”
She glares up at him. There’s a wet shine in her pale blue eyes, but her jaw is squared. “I said, it sure would make your life easier.”
Jack takes a slow breath through clenched teeth. “Angel. Stop talking nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense!” She wrestles the blanket from him and slams it down into her lap. “I know you don’t have the money to keep me here! I know you gave up our apartment!”
Fuck. Shit.
Jack swallows. His mouth is dry.
“Baby, it’s okay. You hated that place, remember? And I’m spending most of my time here, anyway. I figured, why keep paying rent on that dump, when we could just save that money, and move somewhere nicer?”
“Uh-huh.” She narrows her eyes. “And where have you been sleeping?”
“Wilhelm’s.”
“Liar.”
Jack grits his teeth. For a few seconds, he and his daughter just glare at each other, silently.
(The angrier she is, the more she looks like her mom. Always has.)
“This conversation is over,” Jack says, turns on his heel and walks out of the room.
(He’s never won a glaring match against Honey, either.)
He stomps down the corridor, taking the most direct route to the exit. Maybe he will go to Wilhelm’s. Have a beer, listen to the man talk about his bike, fall asleep to lousy TV.
Yeah, that sounds like a good evening, actually.
Jack’s finger is already on the elevator’s call button when a voice sounds behind him.
“Mr. Lawrence?”
Oh, no. Not today, you smarmy bastard. Whatever beef Strongfork’s got with him this time, he’s not walking away from this conversation in one piece.
Jack clenches his fists and turns around.
“WHAT? What is it, doctor? What kind of transgression have I committed? Wash a mug I wasn’t licensed to? Let a twelve-year-old watch a PG-13 video? Go on, tell me how I’ve offended your delicate Demophon sensibilities today.”
“I’m from Eden-5, actually.” Strongfork presses his lips together. “And there’s really no need for you to take that tone with me.”
“Oh, there sure as hell is. You know what there really ISN’T any need for, though?” Jack jabs a finger into his chest. “You.”
“Uh… excuse me?”
“You heard me, moneybags. You and every other asshole in your whole bullshit program, who come waltzing in and act like big damn heroes. You think that ‘cause you got the letters after your name in a fancy school, you’re a better doctor than Sasha or Jed? You don’t know shit about the people you think you’re helping, you don’t know shit about Tantalus, you don’t know shit about real life, you fucking tourist! I’m so sick of motherfuckers like you, who think they’re better than everyone else, just ‘cause they lucked out and got born into a pile of money! You think you get to call all the shots, tell people what to do, and where to go, and where to live, and who to marry! You think the whole freaking galaxy revolves around you, and you can treat people like shit to their face, and they’ll still come crawling back to you when they’re in a tight spot, huh? Well, guess what: not this guy! I don’t need you, Angel doesn’t need you, and I don’t care how much money you’ve got, you don’t get to tell me how to take care of my family!”
“I, uh…” Strongfork takes a step backwards, staring at Jack like he’s just grown an extra head. He blinks a few times. “Mr. Lawrence—”
“I fucking hate that name. Just call me Jack, think your professionalism can handle it?”
“Jack. I understand you’ve been under a lot of stress. This is very common among our patients’ parents. Seeing your child in a hospital bed every day—”
“You got kids of your own?”
“No, but—”
“Then, like I said…” Jack closes the distance between them and stares into the guy’s eyes: one brown, one turned gold by some fancy cybernetic crap. “You. Don’t know. Shit.”
“Okay.” Strongfork nods and takes a step back again. “Would you care to tell me about it?”
“What?”
“You’re right. I’m not from Tantalus, and I’m not a parent. I can’t begin to understand what you’re going through. But I care about my patients. And their loved ones. I want to do the best job I can, and sometimes, that means telling people what to do for their health, but other times, that means listening.”
“They teach you that in your fancy school?”
“They did. And would you believe it, I was second in my year in the ‘listening’ part of the curriculum. Almost never fell asleep in class.”
Strongfork smiles a tiny little smile, and Jack hates how disarming it is, how comforting the hand he lays on Jack’s arm. But nowhere as much as he hates the fact that a part of him thinks it might not be the worst idea to talk to this guy for a bit.
“Come on, Jack.” Strongfork steps closer and places an arm around Jack’s shoulders. “Let’s go back to my office, get you some tea—”
“Fuck off.” Jack shakes his arm off. Then shoves the guy back to make sure he doesn’t try this again. “And keep your hands to yourself, you creep.”
“Okay.” Strongfork pinches the bridge of his nose. “Have a nice evening, Mr. Lawrence.”
He stalks off down the corridor. Jack, feeling he’s rightfully entitled to his own storm-off, takes the stairs down.
Outside, it’s dark and pissing down rain. There are a couple of taxis parked outside the hospital, but the fare from here to Wilhelm’s is a frigging joke and a half. Jack double-checks that his laptop is secure in the backpack’s locked and waterproof compartment, gets his gun from the lockbox hidden behind the dumpster, and starts walking.
The bus stop is two blocks away. He’s on the other side of the street when he sees the right number pulling up.
“Hey!” Jack waves at the driver as he breaks into a sprint. “Hey, wait up!”
Out of darkness, out of nowhere, there’s a blaze of headlights and a deafening blare of a truck horn. Jack’s feet crystallize to the ground, knees suddenly too weak to lift them free. For a second only, till a more useful animal instinct kicks in, rallying every muscle in his body to fling him forward and out of harm’s way.
He lands on the ground right in front of the bus. Fortunately, the driver notices, and waits while Jack picks himself up and climbs on board.
“How… how much for a one-way to Turnpike?” Jack stammers. The driver waves a hand.
“Good god, man, it’s fine, just go take a seat.”
“Thanks.” He drags himself to the nearest seat. He’s the only one on board right now.
“You gotta watch yourself, man,” the driver calls from his booth. “You could’ve died!”
Jack stares in front of himself, adrenaline burning away into numbness.
Yeah. He could’ve died. And this time tomorrow, Wil and Nisha would be taking Angel to Eden-6, using the money stored in the safe deposit box Jack had rented for that exact scenario, along with the papers from the same box: birth certificate and medical records, certified by lawyers expensive enough that even a snobby dick like Montgomery Jakobs would have trouble doubting their authenticity.
He could’ve died today. And then Angel would finally meet her grandparents, live in a mansion, receive the best medical care in the galaxy, and never want for anything again.
You know you don’t actually have to die for that to happen, right?
No. He doesn’t have to. A couple of ECHO calls and a lot of groveling would suffice. The old man may be a giant pile of skag shit, and his opinion of Jack is… well, exactly the same, but he’s not gonna turn away his granddaughter. After all, he didn’t cut off Honey when she married Jack, not really. No-o-o, Montgomery made it clear that she would always be welcome at the Jakobs mansion. Her… choices (a pointed look in Jack’s direction), less so.
You’ll always be a Jakobs, the old man told her.
Like hell I will, she told him, and followed Jack back to Tantalus. And it was great. For almost eight years, it was great.
Then fucking Dahl and fucking Atlas had to have one of their regularly scheduled sub-orbital skirmishes, and with the whole freaking planet to choose from, they had to do so over a civilian fucking area. When Jack woke up that morning, he had a home, a job, and a family. The very same evening, he was climbing onto the back of a truck, one of the small handful of survivors fleeing the smoking ruins of the town, with a three-year old Angel clutched to his chest and face covered in so many bandages, he could barely see.
He could’ve gone to Montgomery right there and then. But if he’d done that, he would’ve been lucky to see his daughter once a month. Assuming he could afford a trip to Eden-6 that often.
He had just lost Honey. He wasn’t gonna lose Angel, too.
So he kept her. Found a bunch of jobs he could do from anywhere. Scraped up the money for an apartment at the edge of Niobe Heights: lousy with crime, but well in range of the capital’s air defense shield. Found more gigs. Enrolled Angel in the best school he could afford, and himself, in every tech certification course he could afford after her tuition.
He did his best. And it was… okay. For almost five years, it was okay.
Or so he thought. ‘Cause now, after five years of Jack doing his fucking best, Angel would literally be better off with him dead.
Jack glares at his reflection in the dark glass.
“Get your shit together, asshole,” he mutters. “You’re not dead yet. You don’t get to quit.”
Rhys has made it all the way back to his office by the time he realizes he’s still holding treatment authorization forms that need Jack Lawrence’s signature. He groans and reaches into his desk for an intra-department envelope. He doesn’t have it in him to chase the man through the building, and honestly, he’s had just about as much of Jack Lawrence as he can handle in one day. He can leave the papers for Sasha to get signed. She seems to have much better rapport with that douchebag, anyway.
And yes, yes, he shouldn’t think of a patient’s parent that way, because people are never at their best when their child is ill, etcetera… but also, patience and benefit of the doubt notwithstanding, some people really are douchebags. It’s just statistics.
He works through a pile of paperwork, and finishes in time to do a few visits before the ward’s bedtime. His first stop is Angel Lawrence. He really should’ve checked on her right after that weird run-in with her father. The state that man was in was enough to give a grown man a fright, let alone a nine-year-old.
She seems fine, though, sitting up in bed, fully immersed in her ECHO tablet. She looks up when Rhys approaches her bed.
“Evening, Dr. Strongfork.”
“Wow.” Rhys smiles, perching on the edge. “You must be the only patient on this ward who doesn’t call me Dr. Cupcake these days.”
She rolls her eyes, adorably. “My dad and his nicknames. He’s stupid.” A pause. “Do you know if he’s coming back today?”
“I’m not sure. I think I saw him leaving earlier.” Rhys glances at the girl’s chart. Everything seems okay, at least medically. “Do you want me to call him?”
“No.” She looks away and pokes at the tablet. “He’ll just freak out and think something’s wrong. He’s worried all the time, anyway.”
“Well, of course he’s worried about you. He’s your dad.”
“I, uh…” Angel still doesn’t look up. “I thought he’d be back by now. He must be really mad at me.”
“Oh?” God damnit. He knew he should’ve checked on her right away. “Why do you think he’s mad?”
“I said some really mean things to him. And, and he left”—she pokes the tablet aggressively—“and now he’s out there in that stupid rain”—poke—“and I just”—poke—“wanna know if he’s okay.”
“Angel…” Rhys reaches to pat her shoulder, then stops himself just in case aversion to friendly physical contact runs in the family. “I’m sure he’s okay. He’s probably at home. But if you’re really worried, let me just call him for you.”
“Didn’t you know?” Orrin Ridley pipes up over in the next bed. “Mr. Lawrence doesn’t have a home. He lives here, at the hospital.”
“ORRIN!” Angel shrieks, spinning to face the boy before turning a panicked face to Rhys again. “He’s joking! It’s a joke we’ve been making, ‘cause, uh, ‘cause Dad does his work on his laptop, so, it’s like, he works from home, but, uh, since he’s here with me a lot, he also works from here, so it’s like here’s almost his home now… So that’s the joke. ‘Cause he’s spending so much time here. I’m not explaining it very well.”
“Right. Right. That makes sense.” Rhys nods. Like hell it does, but he’s not going to press the point. The poor girl is practically shaking. “But we can just call him on his ECHO comm anyway, right?”
“No, no, it’s fine. You’re right. He’s okay. He’s at home. I’m tired.” She delivers a halfway believable yawn and slides down under the blanket. “Good night, Dr. Cupfork.”
Oh god, here’s hoping this one doesn’t stick.
“Good night, Angel. Orrin, Charlie, Mike.”
Out in the hallway, Rhys checks his notes. He’s got three more stops to make, but all routine, nothing that can’t wait till morning. He heads for the nurse’s station, instead.
“Hi, Nina.”
“Doctor.”
“What can you tell me about Angel’s dad, Jack Lawrence?”
Nina stands up from her desk and crosses her arms. “What you want to know? Why?”
“Well, he is a parent of one of my patients, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to know more about him.”
“Good man. Dead wife. Work hard. Love his girl. End of story.”
“Nina.” Rhys does his best to look placating in the face of her glare. “I promise you I’m not trying to get him in trouble. And I already know he’s been living at the hospital.”
“He has? First I hear of it.”
God, the woman has a galaxy-class poker face.
“Well, now you know, I guess. What do you think about it?”
“You want to know what Nina think? Nina think you give that man break. Man need break. Or else man will break for real, soon.”
“Yeah…” Rhys nods. Based on today, that latter kind of break might come even sooner than Nina’s estimate. “You make a good point, Nina. Thank you.”
“No problem. And you make no problem for Jack Lawrence, yes?”
“I… Yes. I make no problem for Jack Lawrence.”
In fact, Rhys thinks on the way back to his office, with a little bit of luck, he might be able to do just the opposite.
Wilhelm gives him a ride to the hospital, and doesn’t ask any questions. Jack stashes his gun in the usual place, and heads straight in. Visiting hours don’t start for another half-hour, but Strongfork’s shift has gotta be over by now.
Indeed, no-one gets in Jack’s way as he steps out of the elevator and strides down the familiar hallways. He stops outside of Angel’s room, puts a big smile on his face despite the throbbing in the back of his head, moves the box of donuts to one hand, and pushes the door open with the other.
“Morning, baby!”
Her bed is empty. Actually empty. Blankets, gone. Bedding, stripped. The medical monitors next to the bed are switched off. The IV stand is gone. Her crutches aren’t here. None of her stuff is on the nightstand.
No.
This isn’t happening.
This isn’t happening. He’s hallucinating ‘cause of some fucked-up pesticide on Wilhelm’s weed last night. He’s still asleep on Wilhelm’s couch, and this is a nightmare. He really did die last night, and this is hell.
Please let this be a hallucination. Let this be a nightmare. Let this be hell.
This. Isn’t. Ha—
“Dad!”
Angel’s voice is coming from somewhere behind him. Jack turns, slowly, fighting against the counter-spin of the rest of the world around him.
She’s at the end of the corridor, which suddenly looks so much longer than he remembers.
“Angel!” He tries to shout, but it comes out as a hoarse gasp. “Angel, baby, stay right there, don’t go anywhere!”
“Dad, get over here!” She waves and disappears through a doorway.
“NO!” Jack bounds down the corridor, even though he knows, he fucking knows that the door isn’t gonna be there when he reaches it, ‘cause remember, this is the hallucination-nightmare-hell world, which means that as soon as he gets to the door, it’ll be gone, or, barring that, will refuse to open, or, barring that, will open to another corridor with Angel at the end of it, or a void with nothing in it, or—
Or a decently-sized private suite with walls in a pleasant shade of teal, a small selection of comfy-looking furniture, and a single hospital bed. Angel sits perched on the edge.
“Baby.” Jack takes a shaky step into the room. He stares at various pieces of the interior in turn, daring them to disappear. The window, the curtains, the couch and the door to the en-suite bathroom all resist his challenge.
“Are you okay?” Angel asks. Jack turns to her again. She’s still here. She hasn’t vanished while he wasn’t looking. She’s here, she’s okay, she’s—
“Are those donuts?”
He looks down at the box in his hands. He forgot he was holding it. The cardboard has been warped and flattened in his grip.
“Yeah…” Jack peels the lid open. The insides are a mess of dough, jam and colored sugar. “I think they got squished. There was… traffic, and I was on the back of Wil’s bike, and— Sorry, sweetie.”
“I’m sure they’re—” Angel takes the box and takes a look inside. “Oh, wow, you weren’t kidding.”
“Uh… Lemme just…” Jack tries to look around the room without letting Angel out of his sight. “Let’s get you a spoon or something…”
“Pfft.” She digs her fingers into the donut mash, scoops out a handful and stuffs it into her mouth. “This works. Want some?”
Jack sits down on the bed next to Angel and puts an arm around her. Even through the blue hospital pyjamas, her arm feels so warm under his freezing fingers. Jack keeps hold of her while he helps himself to a scoop of the sugary mess from the box.
“Why weren’t you— why are you— what is this room, baby?”
“I thought you knew. Nurse Nina just showed up this morning and was like: move, little girl, you get upgrade.” Angel’s spot-on impression of Nina pulls a choked-up laugh from Jack’s chest. She frowns up at him immediately after. “Dad. Did you give them more money?”
“No.” Jack shakes his head.
“Dad.”
“No, seriously.” Jack plucks a miraculously surviving sugar topper from the donut mush. “My right hand to his candy unicorn.”
“Weird.” Angel sucks the jam off her fingers and shuffles back into the bed. “But it’s a nice room, isn’t it?”
“Sure is…” Jack nods. “Be right back.”
Nina is nowhere to be found, but one of the other nurses eventually gives up her location. Jack makes a beeline to the cafeteria, and then, Nina’s table.
“How’s that sandwich?” He tries to pull out a chair, but Nina hooks an ankle around it, anchoring it under the table.
“Better when not interrupted.”
“I’ll make it quick, then.” He leans across the table. “Why is Angel in a different room? Is there a medical reason?”
“No. Rich kid check out early. Room paid through end of month.”
“Check out as in leave, or as in—”
“As in, mom said this place smell funny, and food taste like shit. Take kid elsewhere.”
“So there’s nothing wrong with that room?”
She gets to her feet. “You think Nina put your child in danger? You watch your mouth, handsome.”
“Sorry…” Jack takes the opportunity to yank the chair from under the table and finally sit down. “Bit of a rough morning here.”
“Nina can see.” Her tone is still gruff, but at least she sits back down. “It’s fine. Insurance already pay for room. Your girl like it there. And you no hide from young doctor any more.”
“Wait, what does this have to do with— I assume you mean Strongfork?”
“He give you hard time about visiting hours? Private room mean all hours are visiting hours. You can stay late, sleep on couch.”
“And you’re sure it’s already been paid for? ‘Cause if there are any extra charges…”
(Then you can’t cover it. Just say it, man. You don’t have the money. Tell her. Hell, it’s not like she doesn’t know you’re broke. If there are any extra charges, I can’t cover them. Say it. Say it. )
“—then you can just put them on this month’s bill, no problem.”
…He can always rob a bank, right?
“It’s fine. No extra charge. Nina sure.”