Sing For Me

Chapter Fourteen: Close Calls

As the door swings open, I see a short, stout figure standing framed by the harsh glare of the fluorescent corridor lights.

She folds her arms over her chest. "You know, you have my entire damned hospital in an uproar," she huffs.

A commotion in the hallway grabs her attention for a moment, and she mutters something under her breath as she quickly steps into the small, windowless room and closes the door behind her. "There are reporters everywhere! And you know, one of them grabbed some scrubs from the laundry. Someone mistook them for a nursing resident and he just about broke a man's penis attempting to insert a catheter without proper lubrication. We'll be lucky if the patient chooses not to sue us for damages -- though if he does, the hospital lawyers will be pointing the finger directly at your management team, I hope you realize."

I frown.

This was ridiculous.

This had to be a dream...

I bit down on my bottom lip and felt a sharp sting.

Wait. Was this really happening right now? A woman -- likely the hospital Chief of Staff, if watching every season of Grey's Anatomy had served me correctly -- was going apeshit on one-fifth of the international megastar group Babel, like he was nothing but a naughty kindergartener... and all moments after I was about to freaking kiss him?

Although I can feel my eyes practically bugging out of my head and I'm fairly certain I have somehow stepped into an alternate reality, there is still only one thing on top of my mind.

I clear my throat as the Chief of Staff continues to fix Tim with a death glare that would make the Grim Reaper beg for his momma.

"And... Abbey?"

The woman gives a dismissive wave. "Oh, you're friends just fine. High as a damn kite, but she'll be right as rain as soon as she's slept it off."

The woman humphs herself down onto the bottom bunk opposite us. "What I want to know is how I can get you all out of my damned hospital before one of those reporters inadvertently kills someone."

The woman and I both turn to look at Tim.

Tim looks at us bug-eyed. "Well I don't know what I'm supposed to do about all this."

The Chief raises an eyebrow at him, the picture of unimpressed. "Well you have about five minutes to figure it out before I throw you out into the waiting room like a lamb to the slaughter."

Tim sighs and scratches his chin. I can see the very start of a five o'clock shadow gracing the line of his sharp jaw.

My hand twitches. For a moment, I ache to touch it -- to feel its whiskery roughness myself.

Then, I snap myself out of it.

Megan-freaking-Robertson, this is a Babel singer we're talking about. Keep your hands to your damned self.

I scrunch my hands into fists. Of all the times to decide that Babel might not be quite as horrendous as I thought they were... No.

I shake my head vigorously. Now was most definitely not the right time to be initiated into the Babel fandom.

Tim pulls his phone from his pocket. He looks to the Chief. "You guys have a back entrance of some kind? Maybe a maintenance entrance?"

"Yeah, of course we do," she replies, somewhat defensively.

"Okay, great," Tim says, speed dialing a number on his phone.

He holds the phone to his ear and then winces, pulling it away as I hear the shriek of Red on the other end. From the look on the Chief's face, even she is taken aback by the vitriolic attack coming from the other end of the phone. "Timothy Martin, when you get back here I'm going to rip you a new one--"