Tired. Sleep was sitting on Allegra’s eyelids, threatening to close them shut. She pulled her hair out of its bun, trying to find anything small to distract her from an impending snooze. Ten hours had passed in a snail’s pace, the minute hand of her watch almost mocking her as it swung around. Time was cruel, when you needed it to move it took a back seat and watched your agony with a smile on its face. The opposite was much of the same. When the world should’ve slowed down, it kept its whirlwind pace blowing past, tendrils reaching out as if to say “try and catch me”. Allegra let out a small sigh. She needed something to pick up her energy levels. There was the coffee machine in the break room that could provide some sort of relief. As it was, a majority of the ER rooms were unoccupied. Bend was having a brief break from accidents it seemed. Allegra stood up and stretched her arms out. Hopefully, nothing catastrophic would happen in her brief absence. And if it did… well, perhaps a sprint would wake her up as well.
Allegra’s worst experience in the Emergency Room hadn’t been with one her patients. No, it was a personal time that had all but broke her heart. She could remember running through sterile halls, past lab coats and gurneys to get to room ten. It hadn’t been more than an hour when her mother had received the call. In the dead of night- 1:32am- exactly, a ring had woken up the De Luca household. There had been an accident involving her older brother, Apollo. He hadn’t been responsive at the scene. And now, he was Thorek Hospital where staff was attending to a serious brain injury. Panic fueled every fiber of her being, and the family’s old sedan flew past stop signs like a chariot out of hell. By the time they arrived, Apollo was deep asleep in a coma, supported by every machine Allegra could think of. It had been years since that fateful day, and nothing had changed. In Chicago, even the best doctors were baffled by the De Luca case.
A mug of steaming hot coffee was carefully carried across the floor, when she heard her name paged over the system. Finally, she had something to do besides wait. She set the glass down and rolled up the sleeves of her white coat. Looking down on her clipboard, she could’ve sworn that she recognized the name. Finley Hayes. Curiosity would have its answer as soon as she made her way through the ER’s double doors.
As she called out his name, her previous inkling was right. The mechanic who’d saved her junker of a car from dying. The weather in Bend had been bitterly cold, rain falling on and off when she’d pulled to the side of the road. She hadn’t been in Oregon for more than a day when the car fell apart- all her things meticulously packed in the back of a toyota camry were threatening to burst at the seams. Allegra sat on the hood of the car trying to wave down any car that came down the road. It had been nearly thirty minutes, with Allegra drenched, when someone stopped to help. She couldn’t thank her lucky stars enough that it had been a local mechanic who then got her to the shop he worked at.
“No, no- I remember, you saved me from walking miles in the rain… ” She nodded, a small smile hitching at her lips. Her eyes drifted to the injury, eyebrows raised. It seemed she finally got to repay the favor. “Here let’s get you to a room…” As they navigated to an open space, she couldn’t stop a grin from pulling at her lips. The rambling was endearing, she’d give him that. “I’ll tell you what, let’s start over with what happened and we’ll go from there, okay?” Allegra nodded, pulling aside one of the room curtains. “Feel free to take a seat on the bed.” She said before placing her clipboard on the table. “Usually I’d say its nice to see a friendly face but that sounds a little odd in the Emergency Room… so, how did you hit your head?”
There is a smile and a slight nod at the recognition. Most people in town with a vehicle of some sort crossed paths with the mechanic. A repair, a service or... On occasion... A rescue. However, some of those people seem to forget that there’s an actual person there, doing the work and making sure they don’t end up in a ditch with faulty break lines. He becomes part of the scenery. Just another face that’s - there - for their convenience when needed. So yes... recognition is nice. Being an actual human being rather than just the vague shape at the other end of a jack.
Such a curious turn of phrase.
“Y’know, I never minded the rain. Where I come from it’s almost a permanent feature. Plus, anyone who leaves a lady stranded on the road is kind of an arsehole.”
He dutifully follows her to the treatment room, standing out like some kind of dark smudge, a stain among all of the clinical white and shining medical grade steel. Finn has never really been a person to live that aseptic life. Cleanliness was a habit that he stuck to dutifully, but there seemed a rare few minutes between washing his hands and having them dirtied with the next job. Even the bed on which she offers him a seat is pristine where he - is not. So there’s something of a slightly tentative ‘perch’ on the edge.
‘ so, how did you hit your head ‘
Isn’t that the tale to tell though? And if he felt like a plonker before, it’s going to be significantly worse now. Of course, he could lie. Could make up something that sounded heroic. Perhaps even mildly tragic. Or a combination of the two. As it is, the history of this particular injury was rather more... Embarrassingly comical than any of the above.
So yes... He could lie. But in the end... He doesn’t. If nothing else, perhaps the lovely physician may just find the whole thing amusing. And if his - minor misfortune - can bring a smile to someones face, then it might make up for the mild throbbing in his forehead.
“I was making an omelette.”
Because - yes, Finn that’s super helpful... Head injuries are obviously associated with the dangerous pass time of... cooking omelettes. Perhaps more of an explanation is needed.
“I mean, i was cooking and managed to run face first into a kitchen cabinet door that I ... forgot I’d left open.”
That is... Possibly not a great deal clearer. Aside from the clear and present danger of cooking his tomato and spinach egg supper, there were also kitchen athletics to take into account. And... it’s still not the entire truth. Not that the specific detail matters to the treatment of his bloody cut. But there’s a breath and he braces himself for any kind of backlash while managing to look.
“I was... Sword-fighting. With the spatula.”
Thrust, parry, slice, block, lunge... The spatula was, however, significantly smaller and lighter than the weighty armaments he seemed to hold in his dreams. Which is probably why Finleys attempt at a kitchen recreation had gone... Slightly wrong. A flash of a move, a spin and turn and --- ‘crack’. Not quite the heroic moves of his dream persona. Then again, Arthur probably never had to deal with a galley kitchen in a teeny apartment. Storming hordes of sword and axe wielding death... Yes. Omelettes and open cupboard doors... No.
But that’s is. That’s the tale and... Here he is, adding ‘sheepish’ to ‘plonker’ as far as emotional range went.
“Duct tape wouldn’t stick so... I ended up here. You uh... Deal with many spatula related injuries?”
