(no subject)

[sweetsalome]

Just because school is off for Christmas break doesn't mean all of her other activities are.  There is still swim practice and ballet, everything in between.  Yeah, they have some days off, especially ballet, since their performance there is some down time before the next big thing comes along and they need to start working on that.  Salome still leaves the house early in the morning, this time for her run with the dog, or attempted run, the puppy doesn't have that whole 'lets run in a straight line with the mistress, yay! isn't this fun?' thing down yet.  So when she starts off on the run, she does only half of what she plans and then ends up carrying the ball of fur back.

It's alright, he's getting better.

After the run, there is swimming and time out of the house doing random errands and seeing random friends.  By the time that she gets back Salome is exhausted and falls asleep sprawled out on the rug with the puppy, cell phone in hand, pretty much a standard practice with any teenager born.

Usually she is more on point, but she is exhausted and didn't even think about where her father and Delilah might be.  Sometimes, it's like ships passing in the night with them.

Comments

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

"It's okay, sweetheart. We both kind of exploded." He chuckles grimly, his hand moving up and down the curve of her soft shoulder. "I think we both said a lot of things we regret, and we'll talk about it later, when we can both speak calmly and think rationally, and when you're not in pain."

When she says she'll go to the wedding, he smiles tiredly. "Of course I want you to come. You don't have to if you don't want to, but it would mean a lot to us. We might push it back a day after this, though," he says, laughing. "I'm going to sleep through most of tomorrow afternoon, I already feel it."

His lips purse against the top of her head as she weeps, and he murmurs, "I know you did, sweetheart, and I'm sorry. I didn't realize--your father is an intelligent man," he says, his voice low as he speaks to her, "but his brain functions in ways that make him dense, sometimes. So I didn't know--and if I had known how you felt, how it had upset you, I wouldn't have asked her. I didn't mean to hurt you, Salome, I simply wasn't thinking at the time, wasn't thinking when I told you about it."

Aw, now, she's not a horrible daughter. She's just a teenager. She's still his little girl, and all he wants is to take care of her. To make her feel safe and loved and happy. Even when they've had a nasty fight, if she's hurt, he'll stop at no end to make sure she recovers.

She's an excellent little bear. He could hold her all day long and never get tired of it, even if it's just in the ER waiting room and she's sobbing all over him.

By the time they're called, the nosebleed couple has long-since been taken back, but the others are still lingering. He supports his poor little mess of a girl all the way back to the room, the nurse who takes them giving Salome some very sympathetic looks.

Richard, with a bleak, tired version of his usual trollface, grins down at Salome and playfully tells her, "Well, they got us in quick enough. We might not have to amputate after all."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

The whole thing just kind of makes her cry harder. He is being so sweet and it breaks her heart that she was so crazy to him, and it breaks her heart that she doesn't have all of him to herself. She of course doesn't realize that she doesn't actually want him all to herself, but love is blind and she is absolutely crazy about her old man. She wants him, or she wants someone like him for her own, and at the moment the quest to find this person seems absolutely epic and impossible. Who else would duke it out with her and then take her to the ER when she goes bat shit crazy, and then, on top of that lets her cry and snot all over his shirt?

So she is only seventeen and hasn't seen a large chunk of the world.

Spoiler alert: It's filled with self serving douche bags and emotionally stunted assholes. Not to ruin anything for anyone.

Not that Salome realizes this, hell, she is still hopeful and excited about going out and finding herself, or something like that, but as a seventeen year old long range planning isn't exactly one of the finely working portions of the brain. Everything for Salome is NOW NOW NOW and NOW NOW NOW the love of her life is getting married to another woman who she sometimes wants to gas to death. It's not Delilah's fault, she is actually probably getting the short end of the stick here. Salome will have to get them a wedding present. Roofies?

She must look like a shit storm when they walk into that little room and slap a wrist band on her wrist full of identification. Facts like her name, age, birthdate, and all the other good shit. She'll get generally checked out too just in case something else is wrong. Not a full on exam but blood pressure, heart rate, stuff like that. Which is great because she is all sniffling and doesn't want to ask for an aspirin because it will cost fort-five dollars.

"I bet you'd call me stumpy," she sniffles and throws the tissue away that she has absolutely destroyed by now. "Or some awful other puns. Then I would have to smother you in your sleep." She doesn't want to joke about burning down the house, that's her ace in the hole.

"I should get her flowers." None for you, fucker. For Delilah.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Richard laughs and pats her back gently, saying, "Stumpsies. Stumpsiekins. Stumplestiltskin." He cracks himself up, and a few seconds of genuine laughter are welcome after how stressful the past blinding hour has been. With a sigh, he glances in the nearest reflective surface to fix his hair. "Yeah, I'd probably be dead and in the ground within a week, dead with a hook in my eye."

Oh, he laughs again, so tired, and slumps down into a chair, watching while the nurse does what she needs to do. It sort of reminds him of the time Susan dropped him off near the ER. It was generous of her to do that much, really, and he knew he could take care of himself just fine--but even though she was the one who put a bullet in his leg because he'd tried to kill her, when she dropped by to pick him up once he was discharged, it was a relief to see her. She left him for a while, after that, and when she returned after a period of no contact, it was with the wee baby Salome.

How strange, the turns life takes. Such bizarre circumstances, reality folding in on itself until it no longer seems real.

When the nurse finally leaves them in peace, he removes his face from his hand and glances up at Salome with a tired smile. "I'm sure that would really mean a lot to her. See, maybe this is a blessing in disguise." He waves between the two of them, saying, "It'll give Delilah a whole day to plan things out."

Poor Delilah. Most women get the big wedding when they want it. But she's not going to complain--it's enough that he would do her the honor of marrying her. She doesn't need a big ceremony, although oh, it would be nice. But no doubt, she's throwing one in her peaceful dreams tonight, completely oblivious to all the world's troubles, a multitude of weights lifted from her delicate shoulders.

She feels so happy, and so loved, so excited and accepted. Home alone in the dark, she's smiling in her sleep.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She is trying not to laugh, really she is trying very hard not to laugh but Stumplestiltskin is too much, it just is, there is no way she can hold back and so she doesn't she laughs with him. Maybe the word stump is just funny in and of itself and add that to some already pretty funny words and it is just too much. She probably wouldn't kill him if he called her that, at least as long as he didn't do it in front of her friends. Oh laughing hurts, it shakes her hand too much and so she has to stop.

"Yes, a blessing," if it means that she doesn't actually have to do any extracurricular actives for awhile, that will be sort of nice. Too bad she couldn't have done it when she was on winter break, then she could have had some real time off. Fuck, school is going to be hard with this hand. "I am such a fucking idiot," why didn't she punch him again? He doesn't have to go to school, she probably wouldn't have broken anything on his face, her hand included. She is regretting the decision to go for the wall. She just couldn't have him pissed at her for striking him in anger.

Her shoulders sag and she moves her hand over her face, her good hand, over her good face, for now anyway.

She doesn't have very long to wallow in self deprecation, the doctor pushes the curtain aside. Tall, tan, young(ish) and handsome. "I'm doctor Mcgraw, I'll be looking after you this evening." He gives a slight smile to the two of them and then helps Salome off with the drape of her coat. "What exactly did you do to yourself tonight?" He is carefully lifting her arm and examining the swelling and her reaction to the pain.

"I got upset and broke a wall, I mean, I hit the wall, I didn't break it." It's hard to concentrate, no ice, no furry, it hurts like a mugglefucker.

"Mmmmm," he looks at the red and tear stained face of Salome and then over at Richard. "I'll order some x-rays, I want to make sure you didn't break anything."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Oh, her laughter is so good to hear, accompanying his own. The perfect back-up, it makes him feel alive to listen to the sound.

For the record, he would totally call her that in front of her friends.

Leaning over to pat her good arm, Richard shakes his head. "You're not stupid, baby, we all make bad decisions in the heat of the moment. Just look at your old man if you need more proof of that." He smiles gently and kisses her teary cheek, then returns to his seat as the good doctor makes his appearance. It reminds him that he should probably get Salome an appointment with Julius, soon. She's to the age where she needs a good primary care, and even if he is a spineless simp, Julius is a good doctor.

Richard gives the doctor his most honest expression of bone-deep exhaustion as the jackass glances his way, the accusation unspoken and insulting. "Sadly, seventeen is not too old for a tantrum," he says, his words followed up by a tired smile.

Luckily, Salome has good insurance through her mother, and Richard has plenty of cash, so even with the x-rays the visit shouldn't be too bad. Leaning forward with his elbows balanced upon his knees, he arches a brow. "Do you think it's possible? My Christ." He glances over at Salome. "Maybe I should have gotten you boxing lessons for Christmas. With a right hook like that you'd be a champ in no time."

Doc Golden Boy can think whatever he wants. He's the fucking help, there to fix his daughter and step off. It's not about to stop him from teasing his daughter.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"Even grown adults aren't immune to the tantrum," he could write a book on the shit he has seen in the ER. Seriously, people don't grow smarter as they grow older it seems, sometimes they just turn into bigger children.

Doctor Mcgraw is just wondering why Richard let his daughter punch a wall to begin with. He was probably also looking for back up conformation on Salome's story. Richard speaks volumes when he leans forward into the conversation rather then away. Not that the doctor is a specialist on lying or anything but if Richard was trying to avoid something or avoid the girl out of guilt or what have you, he probably would have kept back, to himself.

"Good thing I didn't hit you, then you would have been the one in here with a broken face." She has to use her other hand to sort of make a fist and wave it at her father with mock aggression. Yeah, it takes a lot of effort even to do that, God she is just exhausted and she has to think that he is exhausted as well.

"We have a portable x-ray machine, so you'll just need to go right down the hall." The doctor steps over to the computer in the room and logs on, entering in the order and then looks over at Salome. "On a scale from one to ten how bad is your pain. Ten being the absolute worst thing you've ever experienced and one being mild discomfort." The scale always made Salome wonder, is pain subjective? Is her ten worse then someone else's ten? Also: not that she has a lot of practice with this but she has watched enough TV to know that doctors probably thing people are scamming them for drugs. She doesn't want the doctor thinking she is doing that. Yeah, it makes a whole lot of sense.

"Uh," she looks at her hand and tries to make it tell her how much pain she is in. "A seven, or, uh, a six?" With the headache it's totally about a seven. The doctor nods and adds something to the order as well, something to make her not hurt any more.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

'Let' her punch a wall? Really? Oh, yes, Doctor, so sorry that he wasn't expecting her to ball up her fist and send it hooking straight into the wall! How dare he not be psychic!

Richard has a serious hatred of doctors, for fairly discernible reasons.

He chuckles at the fist she waves, saying, "That would have been fine, then. We wouldn't even have needed to make a trip to the ER! I'm sure I could sleep off a few simple bone fragments lodged in my eye."

Oh yes, he is so exhausted. You have no fucking idea what the word exhausted means until you've murdered a child, dismembered two corpses, fucked your girlfriend, turned her into your fiancee, then gotten into a fight with your teenage daughter which landed you both in the ER in the middle of the fucking night. He is going to sleep a good, long time.

Damn right pain is subjective. Especially when you have chronic pain; the ache of his leg has faded into constant background noise, meaning the pain that was once a pretty strong consistant 'five' has become so status quo it's basically a three. (Of course, when he's scamming drugs from doctors, it tends to be in the six or seven range. Just high enough to be unpleasant, not high enough to make them think he's hamming it up for drugs.)

"Poor thing," he tells her consolingly. "But just think of how well you'll sleep once we get you home." Home and warm and safe. He'll stay awake as long as it takes to see her safely asleep.

Then he'll go black out for twelve to thirteen hours, himself. Ah, just thinking about it makes him feel good. By this point his eyes have probably glazed over, because the room is looking fuzzy and he's not really seeing any of it. He feels completely nonexistent, zoning out in the little uncomfortable emergency room chair, but he manages to stay semi-conscious out of concern for Salome.

"On the bright side, if it's broken, at least you know I'll illustrate your cast."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"You'd be fine," Salome insists, "just rub some dirt on it." That is how you properly treat bone fragments in the eye, true story. If anyone can sleep off bone fragments in the eye it's her father, that's for goddamn sure.

"I want to sleep," and she will sleep so well on what the doctor gives her, the shot will make her feel good and loose and take her mind off the pain of the arm and then he'll give her a nice prescription because she'll need to manage her pain. And Delilah or her father might have to wash her hair for her, at least for awhile. Yeah, they'll be sleeping good and long for a couple of nights, at least Salome will.

As much as she loves her father's artwork she isn't sure if breaking her hand is worth it. At least not when she has shit to do and not when she broke it in such an embarrassing way. The doctor takes his leave and not long after she gets a visit from the nurse who will give her all that magic medicine and will take her to the x-ray room right down the hallway. The nurse looks tired (maybe not as tired as Richard, but close) but pretty and soft spoken.

"We'll get you fixed up right away," she is making some big promises to Salome. "You won't even have to go far," she helps her with the rest of her coat.

"Why don't you stay here, sir? We'll only be a few minutes, just a couple of pictures and I'll bring your daughter back all safe and sound."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

"Then when it fell out I could have an eyepatch. Badass." He chuckles, arms crossing over his chest. The poor girl, luckily Daddy will be more than happy to help take care of her. He'll jump at the opportunity, really--just the way he secretly loves when she's sick and needs him to take care of her, he'll love tending to her every need, now.

He keeps a watchful eye on the scene before him, watching approvingly as the nurse tends to his daughter and gives her a shot to help her pain. Poor baby. If he doesn't bring her into his bed with Delilah, he'll at the very least end up falling asleep in hers. Probably with all of his clothes still on, shoes possibly included.

Christ, he hates staying behind when she has to be taken elsewhere during doctor's visits, and that flickers through his face. But he's drained, and his body hurts, so he nods tiredly. "Go ahead, I don't think I'll get very far."

The circles under his eyes have circles, which in turn have shadows that contrast against his pale face. He stretches and leans back in his chair, too tired to even bother snooping around in hopes of stumbling upon drugs while left to his own devices in the ER.

Now that's fucking tired.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

That is really fucking tired.

"You should lay down on the bed, daddy," it's an ER room, so it's walls are curtains and there is a bed in the center of the room. One of those things on wheels that can move up and down with a touch of a button. It's not really very comfortable but he must be exhausted and it will give him a chance to lay down and stretch his legs out. He needs to get a little sleep, it would be silly to get all patched up just to have him fall asleep at the wheel and send them into a tree. Though it would solve this whole marriage thing pretty nicely.

She is being led out of the room anyway by the nurse and taken down the hallway to the room where they take the x-rays. All decked out in a fancy lead vest the nurse positions her arm and hand carefully and then adjusts the camera with the help of the x-ray technician. They tell her to stand still, not to move a muscle and then go behind a plexiglass wall in order to take the picture. A few more, just at different angles and Salome is pretty sure that she might not be able to move when they are done. Her muscles feel like jelly and her head is slowly starting to take on that swimming quality that drives away all unpleasant thoughts.

When the x-rays are done, she gets wheeled back into the room she was in before. They better figure out what is wrong with her hand soon, all she wants to do is go home and go to sleep.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

"My chair is fine, sweetheart. I'll be all right, I'm not going to black out or anything." There's still a little bit of chemical upper hanging around in his bloodstream, and it helps, though most of the drugs' powers went to use in the attic and he finds himself with very little leftover. What is there, though, keeps him just barely functioning.

Though he, too, would like them to hurry their asses up, because the sooner they're home and in bed, the sooner he's got his arms wrapped around her and she falls asleep in his arms and they've got this entire ridiculous night behind them, the better. He keeps thinking about how nice it will be to just hold her to his heart while they fall asleep.

That's love, he thinks. Just wanting desperately to hold her, breathe her in. Fucking, talking, existing are all secondary things; he's hyperfocused on how good it will feel to have all that soft, warm flesh in his arms, the mattress beneath them, the blankets around them.

When she returns to the room, he sits up and scoots his chair nearer to her seat, placing his hand upon her good one and leaning over to kiss the temple of her forehead. "We should swipe those x-rays and make a lampshade or stained glass window sort of thing out of them. Excellent Halloween decorations."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She makes something of a face at that, it is sort of hard to do because she is stoned and it's hard to do all that muscle control when you're high. "It's like an exhibit in poor judgment. Are you going to be a mad doctor or something for Halloween next year?" Her head falls forward on to his shoulder and her eyelids flutter closed as she sighs out long and slow.

"This isn't as much fun as when we play doctor at home," it's a quiet little whisper and she is close to his ear so no one can hear them. That's the other problem she sees when it comes to things like this - being stoned in semi-public, she can't just say whatever she wants. Which is sad because she likes talking and when she is high words just sometimes drop out of her mouth and she can't help it.

Oh man, all she wants to do is curl up against his chest and sleep this one off. She keeps telling herself to be calm, that there is hardly anyone out there and the doctor will be with her shortly. She isn't wrong, it just takes some time getting things developed and then correctly read.

"I love you, I do, even when I'm crazy. Well probably not then but afterwards I still do."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Richard chuckles, shaking his head. "No, but now that you mention it that would be a rather excellent costume. Perhaps I could get a wheelchair and go as Doctor Strangelove, as long as we're talking crazy doctors and-or scientists. 'Mein Führer! I can walk!' Anyway, do I need to be a doctor for Halloween to have a badass lampshade made with x-ray's of my daughter's hand?" He laughs gently, though it stills when her head falls against his shoulder because the touch after all this feels so nice. It's so much better to have her head against him, and he wraps his arm around her, turning to kiss and kiss and kiss the top of her head before looking forward again to listen to her whisper.

It makes his skin crawl with a shudder of sudden desire, and his lips twitch as he tries to moderate his expression. He tilts his head, mouth brushing her hair as he breathes, "Well, princess, just wait until tomorrow. You can be the patient and Daddy can play doctor and we can make up for all this unpleasantness."

His grin widens a little, hand moving into her hair to stroke and pet and tangle while he stares into space. "Tsk, now. I love you even when I'm at my peak crazy. My love for you is woven so tightly into every fiber of my being that even if you pushed me so far I snapped, all of my anger would be shadowed by just as much passion as normal." See, for instance, tonight. "But I'm glad to know you're back to loving me, baby."

He glances at the clock, the ultra-clean medicine-sick scent of the ER no longer something he notices. Then, eyes closing, Richard leans his head back against the wall and sighs.

"You can date if you want to. But absolutely no funny business, if I ever get the feeling you're fooling around with these boys you will completely regret it. And I also don't want to hear about or see or know about your boyfriends, because if I do I will not be happy, and for that matter neither will he after I'm through with him. But if one of them ever hurts you, you come straight to me, tell me everything and I will tear him apart limb by limb."

Even barely consciously aware of his words as he is, they're still like pulling teeth. It hurts, physically hurts to say any of that, and suddenly his skin feels tight and his stomach raw as a result of stress and over-exhaustion, and he just wants to go home and sleep and deny that his Salome is getting older. He looks completely, impossibly unhappy about it, but her happiness is what's important to him here, and if she really does resent being locked in as she is--perhaps just a little slack would be good for her, even if the idea makes him immediately edgy. What if she finds some little beast and starts spending more time with him? What if she starts fucking him? What if she stops fucking Daddy? Impossible, he knows, but still, it's a terrifying thought.

But he doesn't vocalize anything, instead simply leaning his cheek against the top of her head and closing his eyes. The warmth of her makes waiting in the ER so very bearable.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"Well it shouldn't surprise me that you picked him to be," she teases him softly. They have so much fun talking about such a silly holiday. "You should make Delilah your helper and I could be the mad experiment you made." It would work, not that Doctor Strange-Love was about creating a monster. Maybe a Frankenstein twist to it or something. They don't often do theme costumes but when they do you better believe it that they are fucking epic.

Her good hand moves around him, rubbing his back as she scoots forward in her wheel chair to get closer to him. "Is that what we are going too play tomorrow?" Maybe a little hanky-panky to chase away the demons. Not like she is going to say no, but she'll have to do it one handed. Sighing quietly she nuzzles at him lightly as she listens to him.

"I always worry that you'll hate me, that you'll get fed up with me, or be disappointed in me. It scares me, I don't even know what I would do if that happened." A shaky breath as she tries not to think such horrible thoughts, if she keeps crying they are going to have to start fluids. Which might make her feel a little better, being dehydrated sucks. Whatever she can guzzle a couple glasses of water when they get home, whenever that is.

He gives her that permission and she actually manages to look surprised despite whatever they gave her for the pain. It's a bittersweet allowance to be sure and she doesn't know what to do with it. "Thank you," she tells him quietly. "I know that it can't be easy for you to say that. I won't leave you, you know that right? I'll always be yours and love you." Her kiss to his cheek is a little sloppy. Of course now that he said this she won't be able to buy herself a date.

When the doctor steps in again she reluctantly moves back to blink at him. He hangs up the x-rays behind the light screen to illuminate the images. "Salome managed to break two fingers in her wall assault. Not bad breaks but you can see them in the index and middle finger here," he motions to them on the x-ray.

"We'll give her a soft cast to secure the fingers and four weeks she should come back to see how she is healing, at that time we might put on a hard cast."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

One-handed, no-handed, he doesn't care. A technicolor cast won't stop him from wanting her. He grins as she scoots forward, her hand on his back so good it makes him sigh. Oh, God, to touch her, to talk about such things in the middle of a public ER! Suddenly all harm is totally forgotten and craving blisters through him. Craving to hold her, craving to sleep with her and fuck her tomorrow, craving to take care of her, craving to comfort her. "I think perhaps we'd ought to," he murmurs with a devious grin. "After all, I've got to make certain my poor little patient is doing well."

It makes his jaw ache. He hates being in public, as soon as the get to the car parked in the dark of the parking lot he's going to give her the kind of kiss that makes a girl black out.

"I'll never hate you, never get fed up with you, never be disappointed. Salome, darling, you are the little ray of sunshine who has molded half of my life up to this point and filled me with such--indescribable feeling. Don't ever be scared, my darling, you must trust me when I swear to you I will always, always, always be here for you no matter what I must do in the process."

The gratitude doesn't make it any better, he's still sick over it, especially because after a few seconds of contemplation he sighs heavily. "Actually I should probably meet the little sons of bitches before I let you run around with them." His teeth grind in his jaw, upper lip curled into a sneer directed to the middledistance. "Oh, God dammit. Christ. But it's fine, it's fine, it has to be done." He sighs sharply and stairs up at the ceiling, then at the clock, grudgingly accepting the smooch on the cheek.

As soon as the doctor makes his reappearance Richard again assumes a posture of slightly more propriety, then stands, arms crossed as he moves over to look at the x-ray. With a tired snort of laughter, Richard rubs the corner of his right eye with his ring finger before dragging his entire hand down his face and peering down at Salome with his hand upon his own cheek. "Yes, I think this is a definite lesson learned, sweetheart, don't you? How about I get you some boxing gloves, or some oven mitts for the next time you have a tantrum? I can keep them on-hand for emergencies and put them on you when you get into one of your moods."

Really, what is he going to do with her? She definitely needs to punch him next time. There's some weird pride in there to know she punches that hard, it makes him feel somewhat more secure about letting her go on dates.

But holy shit you bet your ass he's going to buy her a stun gun.

"All right," Richard folds his arms over his chest and glances at the doctor. "About how long might she have to be in the hard cast, then? Oh, poor thing," he glances back to her with a furrowed brow. "No swim practice for awhile. But maybe a little break would be good for you, your mother has you signed up for too many activities. Anyway," his tired attention shifts back to the doctor and he asks, "About what can we expect her to be dealing with in way of pain? I imagine the first couple of days won't exactly be a cake walk, but about when can we expect her to start feeling it less?"

These inquiries are important. ER doctors are stingy when it comes to the size of their scripts, so if she's going to be in pain for awhile, then he'll have to force Julius to make some time to see her in a few days. And then what she doesn't need, Daddy can take off her hands.

Everybody's a winner!

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She is pretty sure that if they were in public for two long that the both of them could explode. They want each other too much and both of them tend too have a hairpin trigger, it's too much for them to handle, they need an outlet and that's just not always possible in public.

Her hand is turning all kinds of black and blue and if there wasn't swelling then there would be some noticeable oddly shaped fingers. "Frak," because you shouldn't swear in front of doctors. She makes a face at her father when he mentions tantrums. "You should just put me in a padded room or maybe a padded ball pit," that would actually be really fucking cool. They should get a ball bit, it would be so much fun! They are really expensive too.

The doctor doesn't say anything about their theories on anger management, he is busy putting another order into the computer, this time for the swelling in her hand and a wrap for it as well. Those soft casts are actually pretty damn hard.

"If the breaks seem to be healing fine we'll continue with the soft cast and that will last about six weeks total. If she has to be switched to the hard cast we'll be looking about eight weeks total." And Salome groans madly, that is going to kill her. And she is thinking all sorts of things that she shouldn't say out loud and most of them don't slip through but she sort of slurs something like:

"It's going to be a bear to masturbate."

Indeed. Indeed.

Doctor Mcgraw coughs lightly to cover up a laugh or because there is something in his throat. "I'll give her a prescription for the next week and a half. The pain should tapper off by then if she is still in pain call in and I'll see about expanding it." The order for the prescription goes in as well and the doctor logs off.

"We'll get something for the swelling and then wrap her up so you can take her home."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

"A ball pit would be pretty great, actually." He laughs. They could convert the whole basement into one, he could install a slide. Christ, he must be tired, he's thinking like a ten year old. His attention returns back to the doctor, though, and grimaces faintly as the doctor gives them the time frame.

He glances over to Salome, about to say something consoling, and then that comes out of her mouth and he chokes, coughing, as well, hand in front of his mouth as he struggles to hide his laughter. "Boy, we need to get you to bed," he says, patting her shoulder.

Lucky for Salome, her doting Daddy will be more than eager to help her with such a dreadful problem.

"All right, we'll keep an eye on it, then. Thanks for your time, Doctor." He nods to the man, then settles back in his chair, relieved it's almost time to go home. Oh, sweet bed, so close he can taste it. He has to move some stuff to the basement freezer, of course, but once that's done and he's cleaned himself up one more time, he'll be able to wake Delilah up, let her know the situation and the new plan, then crawl into bed with Salome and sleep until the girl wakes him up.

Then he'll dope her up again and fuck the absolute hell out of her. The make-up/comfort/injury-sex triple-play. Even tired as he is he still feels the urge to gnaw her delicious face off. By the time he wakes up tomorrow he's going to be crawling out of his fucking skin for her.

Ah, he does sometimes rather enjoy a good, furious argument, so long as it's at least somewhat constructive. Once the dust settles he always feels so much closer to her. As if all the anger simply bleeds into love, when the adrenaline rush of rage fades it leaves behind it only desire.

Conflict only ever makes him all the surer of how deeply he loves her.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

A ball pit would not make the basement any less creepy. Two priests and the blood of Jesus might make a dent in it but really it probably wouldn't even break the evil that lurks down there, they might need to call in more religions.

And hell yeah they need to get her to bed, and by bed she might actually mean sleep but more likely she is thinking about fucking her father's brains out. She doesn't need two hands on top and she certainly doesn't need any hands for him to finger her to sleep every night. Just one of those little night time rituals, except instead of a bedtime story it's an orgasm, or two. She shifts sloppily in her little wheelchair, it feels good, this little seat on wheels, everyone should have one of them.

The doctor leaves and Salome puts her hand in her father's and sort of closes her eyes to give them a rest, they sort of ache, that sting and burn that makes a person feel ten times more tired then they really are. It doesn't take long before a wild nurse appears! The same nurse as before that led her into X-rays but this time it's with an IV. Why not get some good fluids going while she administers the medication for the swelling and probably another shot of something before they start wrapping her arm up.

It won't take long but she will have to let go of her father's hand, and she'll probably feel a little less hurty behind the eyes with the fluids and soon the medication will make her hand swell down to a relatively normal size. "You want one too, dad? She'll hook you up, my nurse friend."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Yeah, he's really not going to mind that at all. After all, he needs to make sure his wicked little girl is worn out enough to get to sleep at night. And in addition to that, sexual frustration is a terrible thing.

Why, he'll only be doing his fatherly duty. Perhaps he can tell her a story at the same time. Two birds, one stone.

Richard chuckles and pats his daughter's hand, saying, "No, no, I don't think I have time to do more paperwork tonight. Good suggestion, though." He winks at the nurse and then stands, stretching, cracking every joint in his body. He walks around the little room, past the curtain, trying to get his blood flowing so he can wake up a little.

"Besides, I think if I was shot up with anything right now, I'd just drop dead asleep on the floor." He laughs softly and crosses his arms, rocking backwards onto his heels while he watches the nurse set to work wrapping her arm up. He pats Salome's head, then crosses back over to the x-rays, examining the breaks with a little tsk, tsk on the tip of his tongue.

Ah, there will be a conversation about this eventually. Tomorrow, later, after they've finished making up, there will be gentle words about anger. Perhaps he'll teach her how to box when her hand recovers, that seems like a good outlet for someone who's not a psychopath.

Hand moving to the handle of the wheelchair, Richard smirks down at her and says, "I find it interesting that a couple of broken fingers have made you into a cripple."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"Put it on my tab," some people drink and get all nice and warm and friendly. Salome apparently gets a little taste of the opiate kingdom and becomes an enjoyable person to be around. They have to get this all the time, crazy people who come in and get a little taste and then start saying crazy shit. Salome cannot be the first person in the world to do it. At least she isn't out of control. The nurse is smiling at least, but that's because Salome isn't moving and it's easy work to make sure she has the fluids and the medication before they start splinting her hand up, immobilizing it so the fingers can heal correctly, and straight, because she can't become a world famous surgeon with fucked up fingers.

Leaning back in her chair she lifts her eyebrows and then her eyes at him. "This chair was made for my butt, it fits perfectly and we've decided on a civil union to express to the world how we feel about one another." She feels he has the need to know this.

"We hope you respect our life choices." It would be pretty nice to just sort of wheel herself around for the rest of her life but her legs might get angry at that and she doesn't want that to happen, that'd be bad. "My sweet, sweet set of wheels. You Jelly?"

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Ah, he remembers how much fun being in a cast was when he was young. Seven or eight, broke his arm because he was fooling around someplace he shouldn't have been. Then the one on his leg after the gunshot, that was even better. Lucky Salome has him to take care of her, otherwise it'd be a serious pain.

"So you see? Something good has come out of it. I'm afraid the two of you will have to get a divorce, though, Mister Chair has to stay at the hospital. I'm sure he'll write, though."

Richard laughs tiredly and checks the clock again, shifting most of his weight onto the handle. "Yes, princess, I am extremely jelly." Every conscious thought that passes through his mind, though, is some variation of the phrase 'please be almost done' on repeat. He's tired, and wants her badly, wants the chance to kiss her and run his hands over her body and make her feel better after their fight.

With a patient smirk, Richard stage-whispers to the nurse, "I'm afraid somebody doesn't have a lot of experience when it comes to receiving drug cocktails at two in the morning. Though in all fairness, she's usually about this silly. It's a chronic condition."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"Awh, a passion like ours will never die, wheelchair," and then in a stage whisper: "don't worry I'll come back for you." No she won't though she might, who knows, maybe one night she will get drunk with a couple of college friends and steal a wheelchair from a hospital, this hospital and THIS wheelchair, it will be fate. That's how she'll know that they were meant to be together. Forever. Her butt just feels so good in this chair. Maybe it's the drugs, probably the drugs but it might also be the chair as well. The romantic in her says it's the chair.

The nurse chuckles and looks up from what she is doing. "I can see that, thankfully she is the good kind of silly. Though if you want me to I can get you something so you can clear up her condition." Salome is not amused she gives them a look from her wheelchair.

"My silly is adorable, to take it away from Salome would be criminal." A dainty sniff of disapproval. "We are not amused." Third person and the royal we, clearly she is not holding her opiates well. Though she does feel a little sick from it, maybe it's what they gave her to make the swelling go down, she didn't get like this on dilaudid but she doesn't dare say anything like that to anyone.

"You're almost done, your highness, we'll get you ruling over your subjects with only a slightly iron fist soon."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Richard laughs and pats her head, saying, "Perhaps when you rescue it you can paint flames on the wheels to make it go faster." He smirks at the nurse, then. "No, no, let her be silly. After tonight we could both use it. We'll get home and get her to bed, I'm sure her case of the giggles will have taken care of itself by tomorrow morning."

With a smirk, he says, "Well we can get you a crown, your majesty. Pick one up on the way home. That and a scepter." Shit, he'd might as well for all the waiting on her he intends to do.

His poor sick baby. Well, he'll certainly cater to her every whim. When the nurse says they're almost done, he gives a soft sigh of relief and plucks up his jacket. He tugs it on and zips it up, straightens his hair and then yawns. "There's not much more paperwork to do, is there, Miss?"

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"No, it will be all taken care of by the insurance company, don't worry about it." She gives Richard a smile and finishes up with Salome. It isn't like there was a whole lot to do after getting her arm all wrapped up and get her band-aided up from the little holes they put in her to give her all the good medicines and fluids. The nurse exits for a minute and returns with a bunch of papers stapled together and a prescription on top, she actually brings a bottle for Salome as well.

"I know it's late, so here are two days worth of meds," she offers the package and the bottle to Richard. "There is a list of things to look out for and some numbers. If the pain doesn't lessen or the swelling comes back give us a call or come in and we'll take care of it. Same goes with uncontrollable nausea or fever." It is pretty much all laid out in the papers that were provided, a list of what was wrong and the plan of action for treatment. What to look for, what is normal.

"You can keep your wheel chair for a little while longer, no one ever leaves the hospital not on wheels." Ehhhh that was a little dark but she has a stressful job so who can blame her? Salome nods and puts her freshly wrapped hand in her lap, it doesn't feel so bad . . . now.

"Thank you," Salome nods and so does the nurse stepping back to let them pass. "You're welcome, be well."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

"Praise Jesus," he sighs, returning the nurse's smile in genuine spades. It's been ages since he's last been to the ER, Christ only knows the leaps technology has made in the past years. Process change so fast he never knows what to do whenever he ends up someplace like this. He watches approvingly as she sticks the band-aids on and then goes to fetch the papers, giving a smile of gratitude as she mentions the medicine.

"Ah, thank you, that'll be a huge help. I was just wondering when we'd be able to get to the pharmacy." And by pharmacy he means his medicine cabinet. Even if she hadn't sent the meds home they would be fine, but this is a helpful bonus. He flips through the documentation, nodding as he takes in everything she has to tell him. "All right, I'll keep an eye on her, then. I'm sure she'll pull it through."

Richard chokes back laughter on the line about wheels, and he laughs, waving gratefully to the nurse as he wheels his daughter out. "Have a good rest of your shift, miss, thanks for your help." Hands on the chair, he pushes her out, rolling her down the hall; for a few seconds he pauses, waiting for the way to be empty of anyone responsible, and then he picks up the pace, running down the hall while he pushes her, laughing all the way.

When they reach a more populated area, he slows down, then pushes her out through the automatic doors. Once they're outside, he rolls the chair out to the parking lot, unlocking the car and then turning to attend to his daughter. He hauls her out of the chair and helps her carefully, gently into the passenger's seat of the car, but freezes has he catches his face so close to hers. He freezes, examining her features, and then his mouth snaps hers up in a desperate, starving kiss. He's been waiting so long for it, it aches him, and he groans immediately, his hands finding her face to hold her while his tongue probes into the depths of her mouth, claiming, re-exploring, his lips desperate to claim hers.

"I'm sorry we fought, baby," he breathes as he pulls away, closing the passenger door and returning the wheelchair to the front area of the hospital. When he finally makes it back into the driver's side of the car, it's with a sigh of relief.

Oh, God, the feel of the keys in the ignition is just too good to be true.