written for prompt: the cops have brought me in for bloodwork for a DWI and oh no my ER nurse is really hot and I'm a fuckup
(cross-posted from my main blog before i created this one. sometimes i write a little dry humor when i'm sick of writing angst or romance)
written for @xenascribbles because it wanted a little humor in its day, and this is the best i can come up with
I just would like to point out that there's no real sane reason to keep a hospital this frigid when it's already 15 degrees outside. I know it's something about keeping germs at a minimum, but rationalizing isn't exactly my forte when I'm busy trying to come off as not-drunk when I’m oh-so-very drunk.
The deputy who has me in cuffs is barely older than I and not convinced. We stood outside for nearly an hour waiting on the warrant to obtain my bloodwork; I'm just happy it's saved me from the holding tank a little bit longer. At least here I can try to catnap some of this booze out of my system.
I still can't figure out how they knew to pull me over. I wasn't speeding, and my constant drunken mantra of "Mustard. Mayo. Stay in the middle" ensured the fact that I was not swerving or drifting in and out of lanes. Hell, I drive better drunk than I do sober.
All I can figure is that they were tailing me as I pulled out of the bar's parking lot. Profiling bastards! This is my first DWI offense and definite overkill on their part. Besides an absolute fuckton of Patron, there is nothing else swimming in my bloodstream.
Speaking of swimming, I must lay my head against the gurney to keep the room from going all topsy-turvy. I wonder if doctors and nurses operate on some kind of backwards fantasy time where two hours really feels like ten minutes to them because besides the triage nurse at the front desk, we haven't seen a living soul since being showed to the room. No skin off my back: the cop gets to get out of the cold, and I'm not sitting pretty behind bars yet. Also, I’m pretty sure it’s against some policy to haul in someone the opposite gender of you. He’s a six foot two giant beanpole of a man, and I’m just a little five foot barely two inches off the ground lesbian woman. What the hell kinda intimidation am I gonna pull on him?
I'm barely drifting off when a feminine voice announces the presence of my nurse. I crack open my eyes with much effort. And whoaaa nelly, this is my nurse. I don't want to diminish her beauty by telling you I was peering through some mighty hefty beer goggles, but Christ, was she radiant.
One side of her short, blonde hair was tucked behind an ear, freckles dusted over a cute button nose, and a bright smile to kill for. Talent truly wasted in the dungeon that is this emergency room, that's for sure. She wraps a blood pressure cuff around my upper arm, and surprisingly her hands are not ice-cold despite the cliché that all medical worker's hands stay sterile and freezing.
"Frann---Frances," I slur from her name badge. "I only know of old men and bulldogs named Frances." The thought leaves my mouth before I can stop it and leaves me nearly biting my tongue in two. Fuck. Why am I the way that I am? Thankfully, she smirks in response and cuts her eyes in my direction. Brown eyes. Beautiful.
"It's a family name. After my grandmother."
"Is your grandmother as pretty as you?"
"Jesus." The deputy beside me mutters the oath under his breath as if he also can't fathom the inner workings of my debauched mind. Trust me, my dude, I can’t either.
Thankfully, she takes this in stride and chuckles. “I think she probably was back in her day.” The blood pressure cuff inflates tightly on my arm for a few moments before giving her back a reading she seems satisfied with.
“So, what brings you in tonight?” She knows, and she knows that I know she knows, but I imagine it must be some hospital protocol to ask the patient why they’re there when we clearly told the triage nurse at the front desk the same thing.
“Deputy High-and-Tight here wants some of my blood,” I slur and jab a thumb over my shoulder to the uniform. “Cop by day. Vampire by night. His delicate policeman sensibilities keep him from feeding directly on his victims. So, he drags them in to the ER to get it “legally””. I heavily air-quote the legally portion. Fucking cops.
My narrative does not phase him one bit. “Go on. Tell her how you got here.”
I roll my head on my shoulders and smirk like the little piss-ant that I am. The rolling of the head bit also makes the room spin a little. “Hey, I might be the drunk one, but I’m pretty sure we got HERE in YOUR car. I could be wrong. Could have been a magic carpet ride.”
My mind instantly goes back to other carpet rides I’ve experienced, and I swing my head back towards the pretty lady in the room. She’s still smiling. That’s good. She’s either laughing with me or laughing at me. Either way, if I have her attention I’m golden.
“I think I blew a point ohhh…what was it again, dude…point oh twelvish. That sounds about right. So on the scale of legality, I was nearly able to drive.” I try to stick up for myself on this one. I really was almost at the legal limit. If I had just spent the few extra minutes fishing out my keys from where they dropped under the seat, I might not be in this predicament.
Speaking of dicks, my friend speaks up again. “Nearly able and able are not the same thing. You were drifting into the median.”
“Bullllllshit, dude. I’m a great driver.” I say this emphatically to my nurse, who nods all very serious-like. I hadn’t noticed before, but she was prepping a sterile butterfly needle and specimen tube and already coming at my arm with an alcohol swab.
“Woah, woah, woah. Can you at least take me out to dinner first?!” I try to hold my arm still to the best of my ability, but it keeps drunkenly fish-tailing itself off my leg to flop beside me on the gurney. She finally laughs out loud at this and holds it deftly with her forearm while her hand stabilizes the spot she’s about to poke at.
“Sure. I’m not a fan of Italian or Chinese buffet food. I like burgers, hibachi, and Mexican, though.”
Wait…what? Did that actually work? I was so not expecting that shit to work.
“As long as you don’t get this plastered during our dinner, yeah, it worked.”
Ho-lee crap. I said that out loud. For the first time during this encounter, I feel a flush of embarrassment ride up my neck. Shit. She said yes. What do I do now? I look to Deputy Bust-my-Balls for moral support, and even he looks super surprised that my plan worked. However, he offers no other encouragement on my front.
“Well, sweet. Here, write your number on my arm since I’m pretty sure my phone is in his pocket. Next week sound good? I’ll probably be downtown for a few days, but don’t let that be an opportunity for you to back out, okay? I’ll be a free woman before you know it.” I rush to get all this out coherently before I lose my train of thought.
She finishes getting the vial of blood she needed, and deftly scribbles out her name and cell on the inside of my arm. I stare dumbly at it as if it were going to grow a pair of legs and walk off.
“It was nice to meet you. Stay out of trouble!” she states, standing up. Before her cute little tush leaves the room, she jerks her head at the cop. “Don’t give him such a hard time, okay? He’s just doing his job.”
I glare at him once she’s left and laugh to see that he’s also blushing. Feeling real proud of myself, I kick my legs up on the gurney and get comfortable. “You work all weekend, Moustache?”
“Un-fucking-fortunately.” He sighs heavily. If I were him and had to deal with me, I’d sigh too.
“Nah, it’s going to be a good weekend.”
