Inclination

Peevish Discoveries, Pleased Spoiling, Profane Brunch

I know my re-readers have been waiting for this chapter. Love you dirty hoes.

You demand that Harry rents E.T. for you on the way home but the moment you're faced with his bed, you're pulling your shirt off and hopping into his sheets, promising him you'll practice on your crutches later before curling up against his comforter and falling to sleep almost instantly.

Harry removes your cast and replaces it with ice and an elastic bandage before rubbing your back and leaning close, "Ace?" He shakes you awake and you groan and swat him away but he's persistent, "just tell me one thing. Are you scheduled to be at work tomorrow?" You nod and he brushes your hair from your face, "mm'gonna call the restaurant as your physician and tell them you'll need to take two weeks off. Okay?"

You nod again and roll away from him, partially conscious through your conversation and immediately asleep again once he stops talking. He kisses the back of your neck and grabs his cordless phone, shutting the door behind him as he contacts your workplace to discuss the need for you to be off of your feet for half of a month.

When you wake again it's dark outside and in Harry's room, your ankle throbs in pain and a warm, melted ice pack rests against your swollen ankle. You sit up and rub your eyes, your mind a groggy haze from your painkiller hangover, "Harry?" You clear your throat and call again, louder this time, after a beat of silence, "Harry!"

You need to use the toilet and the house is so quiet and dim that you're wondering if he's ran to the store or fallen asleep on the couch. You sit up and slide from his bed, wincing when your foot meets the floor and hopping your way to the wall to help guide you out of his room and through his house, calling his name as you go.

If he saw you up and moving around without crutches he would surely reprimand you, but you can't remember the last time you've used the bathroom, looked at yourself in a mirror or eaten anything. Every step feels like you're walking on hot coals as you're forced to place the ball of your foot down every so often to move forward.

You wince and hiss when the pain becomes too much, pulling yourself up on the kitchen counter with your weakened arms and whining as you remove your bandage and now heated ice pack. Your ankle is horrendously swollen, the bruising a deep and stomach-churning soot and slate with splotches of eggplant. Tears burn in your eyes once again when you remember that you're scheduled to clock in tomorrow and are expected to work into overtime this week.

You hear the click of Harry's front door open and you groan when you realize you've been caught; you glance around the kitchen as if there would be an excuse that you could pluck out of thin air, your heart rate picking up when you see the flick of lights illuminating Harry's path. He turns the corner and steps into the kitchen, clicking the dimmer on the wall and dropping a bag of Chinese takeout on the counter before his eyes land on you.

You cover your face with your palms and stay silent as you await the onslaught of doctor scolding you're about to receive. His tone is biting, one in which you've only heard a handful of times in your relationship when he's been outrageously angry and only once or twice has it been directed at you.

"Ace!" His voice is a hiss as he walks towards you and tries to pry your hands from your face, "you're out of bed and you've removed your bandage! I was gone for maybe thirty minutes tops and you're already sabotaging your own health. If you can't rest your foot, you will absolutely need surgery and your range of motion will be severely limited. Forever. What are you doing that couldn't wait?"

You allow him to pull your hands away as you look into his face; normally he's beyond kind and empathetic, but sometimes his emotions get the best of him, especially when it comes to loved ones, and he has to remind himself to take deep breaths and overcome his resonance.