This is a response to a contest in Makokam's Precocious Crush, chapter 143. (FFN story 6604037.) As both Precocious Crush and this story appear on a Fan Fiction site, you may assume that they are, you know, fan fiction, and thus based on books, movies, or comics not owned by the authors. You may also assume that, because makokam has a different nom de plume than I do, that he is not me and therefore I have no rights to PC, either. And guess what! You'd be correct in both assumptions.
I was on my back. In bed. Almost naked. With my legs up and apart.
Dave was here with me.
And so was Marcus. And so were Cameron and Tashaya, but Marcus was the problem. If it were just Dave and the girls I would've told those bitches to fuck off and leave me with my man.
So here I was in a hospital bed, wearing just this stupid gown, not even any underwear. My one leg had to be elevated because it had just been operated on and needed to drain or something. Don't ask me what; I break legs, I don't fix them. I'd asked them to elevate the other leg because my hips were feeling all twisted with just the one up.
So here I am, ready, willing, and in perfect position and even dressed to give little flashes to put my would-be boyfriend in the mood… and Marcus is cock blocking me. No, cunt blocking. I love the man, really I do, but he's cramping my style.
My stupid knee hadn't given me any trouble, not a wobble, not a twinge, for months. I was starting to think it was all healed up and not going to bother me ever again.
Ha! Time for Murphy's Law to bitch slap me like a bitch.
Working out? No problem. Patrolling? No problem. Putting the smack down on cunts and other criminals? No problem.
Cheerleading practice? With Psycho Bitch Queens One and Two worried about some kind of cheer-off and pushing everybody to practice until they were shaky? Big problem.
It could have been worse. I, the super tough, super awesome Hit Girl, could have died at the bottom of the heap of tired, sweaty cheerleaders. If that had happened, I would have figured out a way to come back and haunt those bitches for humiliating me like that. Instead, they just ripped some of the ligaments around the knee that was already bad.
And because the stupid bitch queens pushed so hard, they've pretty well taken themselves out of the competition. They've got substitutes, but none as good as me and none good enough to win. There has to be some homily about this, but right now I'm feeling too floaty to think of it.
When I wake up again I'm less floaty but almost floating in another way. "Dave! Wake up! I need help!" Dammit, I wanted him to lift up my gown, but not to help me pee. Luckily, he woke up fast enough to figure out what was going on, call a nurse, and step outside for a minute. Dave was considerate and thoughtful and smarter than he let on. I really couldn't ask for anything more. Not until my leg hurt a little bit less, anyway.
You know? Fuck the leg. I could deal with the pain if it would get Dave and me bumping uglies.
(Not that his is ugly. He's too much of a gentleman to peek in the shower after a workout. I'm not.)
When we were alone again – And what's up with that? Why were they letting a boy in his late teens stay alone with a sleeping, preteen cutie pie? Shouldn't there be a chaperone or a camera or something? And now that I thought about it I really didn't like being almost out in the open, almost naked on my back with my legs up, and half stoned when I wasn't asleep. I'd have to ask Dave to smuggle me a gun or at least a knife. Anyway when we were alone again, Dave handed me a teddy bear from his backpack.
A heavy teddy bear. I cuddled it and smiled at Dave through the morphine or whatever the nurse had just given me.
"I figured you'd want to have something with you," he said after glancing toward the open door. "They wouldn't let me bring you your Bear-47 or AK-bear or whatever you call him because he's too big. I had to make this guy for you."
Do I have the best boyfriend in the world or what? Except for him not realizing he's my boyfriend. Except for that. I floated off on happy thoughts.
When I woke up again, Dave and Marcus were both there. Marcus's uniform was rumpled and he looked exhausted. "They've kicked off a new wave. Chris's people, I mean. It's worse because Hit Girl and Kick-Ass haven't been seen in three days. We've all been working overtime to take the edge off. Don't get a big head, Mindy, but they're more scared of you than of us."
It's nice to be appreciated.
"Dave, why aren't you going out? You could help out there."
"My place is right here. If the Motherfucker even suspects who you are and where you are, well, you're asleep most of the time. I've been keeping an eye on you."
It's nice to be appreciated. It's better to be loved.
"Marcus, go home and get some sleep. You're about dead there. Or you can just crash in my bed. I can sleep in Dave's lap."
"In that bare-assed hospital gown? I don't think so, Young Lady. But, yeah, I've got to get home. I go on shift again in eight hours. Thanks, Dave. Keep on keeping an eye on her."
When we were alone again I asked Dave to close the door. "You're about dead, too. Have you been here the whole time? What day is it, anyway?"
"It's Sunday. This is your third day. I heard the doctor tell Marcus you can probably go home tomorrow morning. And, yeah, I've been here almost the whole time. Marcus spelled me for a while yesterday before his shift so I got a shower and something to eat. I'm okay."
"You're still tired. That chair can't be comfortable. Come here. This bed is big enough for two."
Dave backed off so fast he red shifted. "You must be messed up from the drugs. Let me call the nurse."
Dammit! Yeah, that cunt in floral print scrubs – and whatever happened to white uniforms? How are we supposed to know who's a nurse? – came in and knocked me out again.
When I woke up, Dave was asleep. I lay on my back, almost naked, watching him and thinking about him. One of my thoughts was that I should be going stir-crazy by now because I don't do "idle". But, no, I was fine just lying here, watching my boyfriend. Maybe it's the drugs talking, or maybe it's because I was recovering from injury and surgery, not put on bed rest like Marcus had threatened because I've been working too hard. Anyway, I was fine right here. I thought I could stay right like this, watching Dave, for a long time.
His nap and my thoughts were interrupted when a nurse came in to get me ready for physical therapy.
"Can you go with me, Dave? Maybe catch me if I fall?" I was sure I could use this bare-assed hospital gown to flash him my firm little tushie. I was quite pleased with the way my ass curved, unlike my stubbornly uncooperative front side.
No such luck. The nurse gave me a robe to cover my bare ass. It's just as well. The free show is only supposed to be for Dave.
By the time the physical therapist was done thinking he was showing me how to use crutches – I've had a broken leg before, thank you very much – the doc and Marcus were in my room. Outa here!
But what was this snow crap? The bed in my room was too far from the window for me to realize what it was doing out here. Marcus brought his car up but a bunch of douchebags were double- and triple-parked so that he couldn't get close.
"Dave, I don't know if I can get across this." I wasn't playing the helpless maiden. Really!
"Yeah. Hang on." And he scooped me up, crutches and duffel bag and his pack and all, to carry me the hundred yards to the car.
Oh. My. God. He's carrying me bridal style. I can die happy now. No, wait. Give me my wedding night. Then I can die happy.
A/N: Tweaked the chapter to fix a couple of annoying typos and to re-add the last line, which got dropped somehow.