Dr. Newton Geiszler (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sciencesaggressively) wrote2013-11-08 06:36 am
sciencesaggressively) wrote2013-11-08 06:36 am
Entry tags:
living on the edge
Newt is pretty sure there's no truer happiness than being released from the hospital. It's been a few days now, about a week since the accident, and now he's in bed just staring up at the ceiling, bored out of his mind. Everyone keeps telling him to stay off his feet--something about it not being good to run around with a broken leg and lingering effects of a concussion--which, hi, five doctorates in biology here, he knows his way around the human body. He doesn't know why people feel the need to constantly remind him that he's basically an invalid right now, he hates it with a passion that he can't do anything.
He's had visitors, of course; Kate and Chuck have been in and out to check on him, help him where he needs it, and he appreciates all of it, he really does, isn't sure what'd he do without them. But he's used to getting shit done on his own, so having to rely on others to do simple tasks like pouring a damn bowl of cream is kind of infuriating.
So that's why he decides it's a good idea to roll out of bed, grab his crutches, and awkwardly make his way to the kitchen to find something to eat. Except there's a damn overhead lightbulb out, and he feels the inexplicable need to change it right now. He drags a chair over--harder than he'd have thought it to be, if he's honest--and carefully hoists himself up on it, using his crutch to balance himself. He bites his lip in concentration and he's maybe starting to get a little dizzy because okay, maybe this isn't his best idea and hopes nobody walks through the front door.
He's had visitors, of course; Kate and Chuck have been in and out to check on him, help him where he needs it, and he appreciates all of it, he really does, isn't sure what'd he do without them. But he's used to getting shit done on his own, so having to rely on others to do simple tasks like pouring a damn bowl of cream is kind of infuriating.
So that's why he decides it's a good idea to roll out of bed, grab his crutches, and awkwardly make his way to the kitchen to find something to eat. Except there's a damn overhead lightbulb out, and he feels the inexplicable need to change it right now. He drags a chair over--harder than he'd have thought it to be, if he's honest--and carefully hoists himself up on it, using his crutch to balance himself. He bites his lip in concentration and he's maybe starting to get a little dizzy because okay, maybe this isn't his best idea and hopes nobody walks through the front door.
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"So any idea how long the doctor said before you can have it taken off?" she asks and, okay, so she hasn't moved off him yet, but just sitting on him probably isn't the worst thing. Besides, even if she moves off, she has no idea where he tossed her shirt and being half naked is probably more of a problem for their situation than sitting on his lap it. Although that's probably not helping either and she glances around, looking for her clothes. Her bra isn't far, but she still can't see her shirt anywhere.
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He makes a face that can only be interpreted as oops and gives an near comical shrug. "See, I thought that was the kinda thing you'd know. Maybe Chuck does." He probably should have been paying attention when the doctor was talking, but he'd been too busy poking at his brand new cast at the time and in his opinion, that takes precedence. He notices the way she's looking around, probably for her clothes, and has a very brief internal battle with himself before pointing behind him. "Tossed your shirt behind the couch. Not that, y'know, I'm super desperate for you to put it on or anything," he tells her, planting a firm hold on her hips. Because he's not. At all.
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She laughs when he holds onto her hips and then arches an eyebrow. "I'm just trying to help you," she says, looking down at his lap pointedly. "We're supposed to be cooling off, which usually involves like, a little bit less nudity as far as I've been told." Not that she really wants to go anywhere or get dressed, but that was totally the point and she's trying to follow through with it, but he has his hands on her hips and it's just easier to stay where she is. Easier and more comfortable and way more likely to cause them both to be frustrated, but she's not entirely sad about any of that.
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He hangs his head because he knows she's trying to help him, he really does, and he's totally appreciative of it and all but there's a blurry line between calling it help and emotional distress. "I actually find nudity quite calming, thank you very much," he tells her, lifting his chin up all snooty like before loosening his grip on her and sliding his hands down to her legs. "But obviously, you can do what you need to do, I won't try to stop you. Mostly because I can't."
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"You find it calming, huh?" she asks with a smile, tilting her head a little before she wraps her arms around him again, sneaking them between him and the couch so she can rest her head against his shoulder. It's better than kissing him and letting her hands roam kind of wherever they want in terms of calming herself down, but she's still pressed tight against him and she can feel his skin against hers, how warm he is, and maybe he's right, maybe it is helping a little bit. It's totally unreasonable, but at the moment she sort of never wants him to take his hands off her again.