In the Arms of an Angel, Chapter 3
Freshly scrubbed and wearing a green University Hospital uniform, Harry found himself sitting in the waiting room for the emergency ward about an hour later. The doctor had insisted on taking a look at his leg, even though Harry tried to convince him that there was nothing that could be done for it. The doctor had made him walk up and down the corridor before proclaiming that Harry would need physical therapy to correct his muscle orientation. When Harry asked what he meant, the doctor explained that when his injury began to heal, his leg had begun to turn inward when he walked. Basically, the more it hurt, the less likely Harry would be to put pressure on his right leg. The more that Harry favored his right leg, the worse the problem would get over time. If left untreated, his muscles would atrophy and he might need to use a walking stick. Harry was given the name of a physical therapist in the St. Louis area, but he crumpled up the note and shoved it in his back pocket when the doctor wasn’t looking.
He was more concerned about his new friends. Nathaniel was currently out of surgery, and it seemed that Stephen had finally been able to reach some friends of his, who were on their way to the hospital. Unfortunately, Zane had returned and was currently giving Stephen a hard time. Harry could tell that whatever they were talking about was something that they did not wish a stranger to hear, if Zane’s poisonous glances were anything to go by. Had Harry not gotten up when he did to drink from the water cooler, he would not have overheard snippets of the nurses’ conversation. One woman, a strict matronly sort, chastised the other, more petite nurse about drawing blood from her patient. “But, what if he’s got, you know, it?” she intoned dramatically.
The other nurse with them, a tall, blonde woman, snorted, “Oh, please, Terri; don’t tell me you believe that nonsense. I thought all health care workers had gotten the memo. You know that the only way to transmit the virus is through contact with bodily fluids…”
Terri mumbled sarcastically, “Like blood? I saw him when he was brought in. He was covered in blood, that shifter’s blood. He wouldn’t let anyone examine him, but anyone can tell that he’s hiding his injuries.” In a nasty tone, she implied, “…or else he walks funny for a different reason. He certainly looks the type.”
Scandalized, the petite nurse giggled, “They were awfully chummy when they came in. Do you suppose the three of them…?”
Harry blocked out the rest of what she was saying as the realization hit him that they were discussing him. He did not understand what they meant by shifters, but he supposed that it was some sort of American slang, sort of like poofters or fairies. In any case, he was appalled to discover that the nurses were insinuating that Nathaniel had infected him with a scandalous disease. He had heard enough on the subject of HIV from his uncle, who believed that it was God’s way of punishing homosexuality and who proudly proclaimed that if he had a Nancy boy for a son, he would beat it out of him. Harry wondered briefly how Vernon would react to discovering his son’s secret, but then decided that it would be a good idea to stop standing around in hallways eavesdropping.
He rushed back to find Zane throttling Stephen for calling someone named Anita. Then he shoved him through a grated window, and tried to enter Nathaniel’s room. When Harry began tugging on his arm, the man knocked him aside casually, sending him flying into the opposite wall. With a sickening sound, his head connected with the wall. Before Harry lost consciousness, he saw a woman carrying a gun arrive, and then he knew no more…
When Harry awoke, he realized that he was tied down to a bed with an IV drip strapped to his arm. He fumbled with the buckles on the leather straps, but was unable to undo them. Cursing inwardly, he tried to concentrate. Without a wand, there was not much that he could do. He tried twice unsuccessfully to cast Alohamora, and was just about to attempt a third time, when the door opened. The blonde nurse from before swept into the room, and greeted him wearily, “I see that you’re up. You’ve got a nasty ass concussion but thankfully nothing appears broken. Doctor Wilson said that he already gave you the third degree about your leg, so we can skip that lecture.”
He mumbled, “How’s Nathaniel?” He tried to direct her attention to the straps at his wrists, but she seemed to be ignoring them.
As she puttered around, checking his vital signs, she assured him, “Both of your friends are doing well now that Anita Blake showed up. She managed to calm down your attacker and the police brought him in for questioning.”
“Why am I tied down?” he asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
She tossed her clipboard down onto the bed with a sigh. “Look, this wasn’t my idea at all, okay? After all the shit that just went down in here, you can’t blame the cops or docs for being cautious. Your friends are healing at an accelerated rate, and it’s causing the straights around here to get antsy. No one heals like Stephen Dietrich or Nathaniel Grayson who isn’t a supe.”
“Soup?” he asked, mystified.
She took pity on him. “The supernatural community of St. Louis. You know, vampires and werewolves and crazy shit like that. Personally, I think they overreacted. Hell, I know they did, but I do my job, I follow orders like a good girl. It doesn’t mean I have to like it, though. Especially when my friends are the ones involved.”
“Did you take blood from me while I was unconscious, too?” he asked coldly.
“Yes; but only because Nathaniel needed a transfusion. Stephen’s blood type did not match, but yours did. It seems to be helping, because his condition has improved. Stephen asked me to check on you after Ms. Blake left.” As she talked, she carefully loosened the wrist restraints so that Harry could remove them himself. She apologized, “The other nurses seemed convinced that if you are friends with them, then you might also be dangerous. Stephen told me that you were a Good Samaritan who just happened to get caught up in the drama tonight.”
Harry gently yanked out his IV and tried to stand. His balance was shaky at best, and he soon found the nurse’s arm supporting him back to the bed. “Don’t rush it. You’ve been out for nearly half the day. I know you want to check on them, but there are three guards posted on their door right now. They wouldn’t have even let me in to see Nathaniel if he wasn’t my friend.”
“I have to get out of here,” he replied. “I have friends waiting to hear from me. They might think the worst if I don’t contact them as soon as possible.”
She handed him a pencil and paper, and he wrote down the emergency number for the Lovegoods at the hotel. She told him that he could check himself out, adding, “Make sure that someone wakes you every hour for the next day or so. A concussion is nothing to play around with.” Then, just as he was about to leave, she stopped him. “Look, I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked, confused. She glanced quickly at the scar on his forehead, and Harry suddenly felt himself grow cold.
“For everything, Mr. Potter,” she said softly. “Mostly, I’m sorry that you had to get involved in this, especially after what you’ve done for us all. Nathaniel is my family, and I won’t forget this. You take care of yourself, and if you need help, call me.” She pushed a business card into his hand, with her name and a phone number where she could be reached.
She allowed Harry to dress in private. Then, she called him a taxi. “I’ll make sure that you get back to your hotel safely. I may not be an alpha, but I take care of my own.” Then, purring, she kissed his forehead and left the room. After slipping into his jeans, Harry looked down at the card she had given him, wondering about the nurse named Cherry.
He was more concerned about his new friends. Nathaniel was currently out of surgery, and it seemed that Stephen had finally been able to reach some friends of his, who were on their way to the hospital. Unfortunately, Zane had returned and was currently giving Stephen a hard time. Harry could tell that whatever they were talking about was something that they did not wish a stranger to hear, if Zane’s poisonous glances were anything to go by. Had Harry not gotten up when he did to drink from the water cooler, he would not have overheard snippets of the nurses’ conversation. One woman, a strict matronly sort, chastised the other, more petite nurse about drawing blood from her patient. “But, what if he’s got, you know, it?” she intoned dramatically.
The other nurse with them, a tall, blonde woman, snorted, “Oh, please, Terri; don’t tell me you believe that nonsense. I thought all health care workers had gotten the memo. You know that the only way to transmit the virus is through contact with bodily fluids…”
Terri mumbled sarcastically, “Like blood? I saw him when he was brought in. He was covered in blood, that shifter’s blood. He wouldn’t let anyone examine him, but anyone can tell that he’s hiding his injuries.” In a nasty tone, she implied, “…or else he walks funny for a different reason. He certainly looks the type.”
Scandalized, the petite nurse giggled, “They were awfully chummy when they came in. Do you suppose the three of them…?”
Harry blocked out the rest of what she was saying as the realization hit him that they were discussing him. He did not understand what they meant by shifters, but he supposed that it was some sort of American slang, sort of like poofters or fairies. In any case, he was appalled to discover that the nurses were insinuating that Nathaniel had infected him with a scandalous disease. He had heard enough on the subject of HIV from his uncle, who believed that it was God’s way of punishing homosexuality and who proudly proclaimed that if he had a Nancy boy for a son, he would beat it out of him. Harry wondered briefly how Vernon would react to discovering his son’s secret, but then decided that it would be a good idea to stop standing around in hallways eavesdropping.
He rushed back to find Zane throttling Stephen for calling someone named Anita. Then he shoved him through a grated window, and tried to enter Nathaniel’s room. When Harry began tugging on his arm, the man knocked him aside casually, sending him flying into the opposite wall. With a sickening sound, his head connected with the wall. Before Harry lost consciousness, he saw a woman carrying a gun arrive, and then he knew no more…
When Harry awoke, he realized that he was tied down to a bed with an IV drip strapped to his arm. He fumbled with the buckles on the leather straps, but was unable to undo them. Cursing inwardly, he tried to concentrate. Without a wand, there was not much that he could do. He tried twice unsuccessfully to cast Alohamora, and was just about to attempt a third time, when the door opened. The blonde nurse from before swept into the room, and greeted him wearily, “I see that you’re up. You’ve got a nasty ass concussion but thankfully nothing appears broken. Doctor Wilson said that he already gave you the third degree about your leg, so we can skip that lecture.”
He mumbled, “How’s Nathaniel?” He tried to direct her attention to the straps at his wrists, but she seemed to be ignoring them.
As she puttered around, checking his vital signs, she assured him, “Both of your friends are doing well now that Anita Blake showed up. She managed to calm down your attacker and the police brought him in for questioning.”
“Why am I tied down?” he asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
She tossed her clipboard down onto the bed with a sigh. “Look, this wasn’t my idea at all, okay? After all the shit that just went down in here, you can’t blame the cops or docs for being cautious. Your friends are healing at an accelerated rate, and it’s causing the straights around here to get antsy. No one heals like Stephen Dietrich or Nathaniel Grayson who isn’t a supe.”
“Soup?” he asked, mystified.
She took pity on him. “The supernatural community of St. Louis. You know, vampires and werewolves and crazy shit like that. Personally, I think they overreacted. Hell, I know they did, but I do my job, I follow orders like a good girl. It doesn’t mean I have to like it, though. Especially when my friends are the ones involved.”
“Did you take blood from me while I was unconscious, too?” he asked coldly.
“Yes; but only because Nathaniel needed a transfusion. Stephen’s blood type did not match, but yours did. It seems to be helping, because his condition has improved. Stephen asked me to check on you after Ms. Blake left.” As she talked, she carefully loosened the wrist restraints so that Harry could remove them himself. She apologized, “The other nurses seemed convinced that if you are friends with them, then you might also be dangerous. Stephen told me that you were a Good Samaritan who just happened to get caught up in the drama tonight.”
Harry gently yanked out his IV and tried to stand. His balance was shaky at best, and he soon found the nurse’s arm supporting him back to the bed. “Don’t rush it. You’ve been out for nearly half the day. I know you want to check on them, but there are three guards posted on their door right now. They wouldn’t have even let me in to see Nathaniel if he wasn’t my friend.”
“I have to get out of here,” he replied. “I have friends waiting to hear from me. They might think the worst if I don’t contact them as soon as possible.”
She handed him a pencil and paper, and he wrote down the emergency number for the Lovegoods at the hotel. She told him that he could check himself out, adding, “Make sure that someone wakes you every hour for the next day or so. A concussion is nothing to play around with.” Then, just as he was about to leave, she stopped him. “Look, I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked, confused. She glanced quickly at the scar on his forehead, and Harry suddenly felt himself grow cold.
“For everything, Mr. Potter,” she said softly. “Mostly, I’m sorry that you had to get involved in this, especially after what you’ve done for us all. Nathaniel is my family, and I won’t forget this. You take care of yourself, and if you need help, call me.” She pushed a business card into his hand, with her name and a phone number where she could be reached.
She allowed Harry to dress in private. Then, she called him a taxi. “I’ll make sure that you get back to your hotel safely. I may not be an alpha, but I take care of my own.” Then, purring, she kissed his forehead and left the room. After slipping into his jeans, Harry looked down at the card she had given him, wondering about the nurse named Cherry.