fandom_clinic | FTEC - Saturday Evening Shift [3/3]

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FTEC - Saturday Evening Shift [3/3]

The nurse had been a little concerned when 5pm came and went and Wilson didn't show up but since the clinic was quiet and she had his pager number, she didn't fret overly. A quiet night without a doctor to bother her was a blessing.

Too bad that in about an hour ~~FHT~~ the quiet night was going to be shattered and the clinic was going to find itself, very busy indeed.

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Wilson was more than a little disheveled himself and missing his damn belt but he still came in close on Ander's heels.

"Here, set him on the bed and sit down yourself." He said in a tight voice, moving quickly to wash his hands in the exam room sink.

Anders nodded and carefully set Bridge down on the bed, then took a seat in the chair. "Ow," he mumbled faintly.

Running his arm across his forehead, he gave Anders a quick, thorough look and then headed to Bridge.

"Did you see what happened to him?"

"Concussion, I'm guessing." Anders scowled and pulled up the hem of his shirt to dab away the blood on his lip. "Tongue grabbed him, yanked him off his feet, he hit his head on a rock."

There's a muffled groan from Bridge and he opens his eyes briefly before wincing and shutting them again.

"Stop that, it's not sterile." Wilson said without looking up from where he had snagged a penlight and was reaching to do the annoying eye flicker.

"Bridge?" He paused when he saw signs of consciousness from the young man. "Bridge, it's Dr. Wilson...can you hear me?"

"Yeah," Bridge says softly, not wanting to open his eyes again.

"Thank frak," Anders said, guiltily letting go of his shirt. "Hey, man. I called Xander. He's on his way down."

"Y'call Z too?" Bridge asks plaintively. "She'll be mad I left without her 'gain. S'posed to be teammates."

Anders laughed. "Lemme get this lip fixed first, huh? Hurts to talk. Then promise I'll call her."

"Sit." Wilson said, not unkindly but firmly to Anders before turning his attention back to Bridge.

"How are you feeling, Bridge?" He asked and unfortunately the annoying penlight made an apperance as he checked Bridge's pupils.

"My head hurts and things're..." Bridge waves a hand vaguely, not sure how to explain.

Wilson didn't seen anything that looked to be beyond a normal concussion and the fact that Bridge was awake and lucid was a very good sign.

"Is your vision, affected?" Seemed like a good possible assumption of what that vague hand gesture meant.

"I see energy," Bridge explains. "When I hit my head sometimes it gets... a little hard to control."

"Ah." Wilson said, then he nodded.

"Is there any danger, to you or anyone around you?" He asked, gently because he didn't want to make it sound like he felt Bridge would hurt anyone but he needed to know if he had to take special steps to make sure Bridge was properly looked after and everyone was safe.

"Nope," Bridge says, and he can't help but frown slightly at the idea that he'd be a danger to anyone.

"Okay." Wilson said in a softly apologetic tone.

"Lets get you cleaned up and comfortable. I'm going to admit you for tonight, just so you're under observation for the concussion. All right?"

"All right," Bridge echoes in agreement.

Nodding, Wilson called in the nurse to assist with getting Bridge settled in for a night's stay.

While the nurse finished up, Wilson turned his attentions to Anders, who escaped the clinic's grasp with only a few stitches in his lip as a momento.

Bridge is lying in the bed, not actually asleep but his eyes are closed.

You'd think Xander actually had a car, judging by the time it took him to walk from MCA to the clinic. He also wasn't all that concerned with explaining who he was to the nurse, though he stopped long enough to sign in when it seemed like he wasn't going to get back there if he didn't.

Then he actually saw Bridge. And, y'know, remained completely oblivious to the fact that Bridge had already regained consciousness. Eye wide, he walked over and put his hand on Bridge's shoulder. "Bridge? Hey. Hey, wake up."

"M'up," Bridge says, opening his eyes obligingly at the sound of that particular voice. "You're sparkling," he observes.

People in Toledo probably heard the breath Xander took then. The one in Spain.

"You hit your head." It'd been a long time since he'd been told he was sparkly, but he hadn't forgotten.

"Uh huh," Bridge says agreeably. "Stupid tongue thing draggin' me around. There was a rock. Well, there were a *lot* of rocks but then there was a *big* rock, and then I was here." He looks up at Xander and smiles. "And now you're here."

It takes the flood of complete and utter patented Bridge non-nonsense to make Xander believe, really believe, that he's awake and alive and okay.

"Yeah, I'm here." And then his hand is on his mouth for a second, and then he's leaning over the bed and wrapping his arms around Bridge, and muttering, "Don't do that," into his shoulder.

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