Work Text:
All Neela can think as she sits beside Coop's bed is that he looks small. Fragile. The blankets are pulled up to his shoulders, and he's curled on his side beneath them fast asleep. It's 2pm on a Thursday. He should be awake, hurrying round like usual wearing scrubs instead of a hospital gown, a stethoscope instead of ECG leads. That's exactly what he would have been doing three weeks ago.
Unfortunately, though, he’s sick now- really sick. Neela thinks it probably has something to do with how much he's been working, but whatever the case, three weeks ago he caught the flu. For a regular person, that might have kept them down for a couple of days? A week max?
Given that Coop has asthma, though…
She walks alongside the gurney as it’s rolled into the ER, brushing back the hair from her boyfriend’s forehead as he wheezes, skin a deathly pale.
Dr Kovaç, the attending on shift, sneaks a stethoscope underneath his shirt, eyes widening only a few seconds later.
“Get him down to one of the respiratory wards ASAP.”
Coop's brow furrows in his sleep, and Neela strokes his hair just like she did when he was admitted.
“It's okay, sweetheart.” she murmurs. “You’re alright.”
It's no wonder he's having a hard time getting settled- he's been prescribed so many medications for the chronic chest infection he's got that he's drifting in and out of consciousness most of the time. This combined with the fever he's running means he’s probably having some nasty nightmares, with the waking world not offering him anything close to lucidity either.
Her eyes drift to the IV pole, to the steady drip-drip-drip of painkillers and nausea meds and antibiotics. His arms are bruised now from the cannulas they kept inserting. Thankfully, one of the doctors suggested a PICC line after about a week, so now he's only got that and a single site on the back of his right hand. It makes delivering the meds easier- especially since they have to change the cocktail they're giving him often.
See, in the last few weeks, Coop’s had four allergic reactions (the list of meds they can safely give him is getting steadily smaller), three of which were fairly minor, involving only some GI issues, while the other pretty quickly turned into anaphylaxis.
He's had countless asthma attacks- usually one a day, if they're lucky- and the number of infections in his system, inverse to the medications they can use to treat them, are only increasing.
It started off with the flu, but God is it so much worse now.
As Neela continues to watch him sleep, her own brow furrowed with sympathy, there's a gentle knock at the door. She turns to find Abby standing there.
“Hey. Mind if I check some vitals?”
Neela smiles weakly. “Be my guest.”
The nurse and soon-to-be doctor walks over to the monitor, checking the numbers on screen and scribbling a few notes onto her clipboard. It's something Neela's been doing a lot, too- observing the numbers. His heart rate (always way too high because of the infection), his blood oxygen (always too low, also because of the infection), and his resp rate (slow thanks to the fact that he's always sleeping).
“How's he been?”
“Asleep, mostly. Like usual.”
“Any asthma flare-ups that you know of?”
Neela sighs, still raking her hands through Coop's hair. It feels so odd to be speaking about him like he isn't there when he is. It's even odder that he doesn't wake up at all.
“According to Pratt, he had one last night while I wasn't here. Apparently it resolved pretty quickly with the nebulizer, though.”
Abby gives her a reassuring smile. “That's good. Any vomiting?”
“Not in the past day, no. The, uh… the NG tube seems to be helping with that.”
God. The dreaded NG tube.
When the other doctors first suggested it a week ago, back when Coop was puking after almost every meal, the idea had made her shiver. Somehow, the tube formed the difference between somebody with an illness and a real, genuine sick person. The tube meant he wasn't just here for a short stay. It meant he was bad enough to stick around for a while longer.
She couldn't bear to watch him suffer unnecessarily, though, and when she saw that even he was resigned to the idea after all the nausea that came with eating, she could hardly refuse him. As much as it hurt her, she sat next to the bed, one hand holding his, the other holding a glass of water to his lips as they snaked the tube through his nostril.
“That's it. Good job, Coop. Just keep taking small sips, sweetheart, they'll be done soon.”
When they taped the tube to his cheek, he'd lain back against the pillows, letting his eyes fall closed. Maybe he knew she was going to cry, that she needed him not to be looking at her for the tears to fall. Maybe he was just exhausted.
“Has he had any discomfort with it at all?” Abby asks, moving closer to check that everything's secured properly. It is. Neela's been stroking his cheek so frequently that she could find the edges of the tape blind.
“I don't think so.” Neela replies, which is code for ‘he hasn't been awake long enough to complain about it’.
She knows that if he were more aware of everything, though, he'd be incredibly overstimulated. There are so many wires touching his skin, so many tubes beneath his skin, an oxygen cannula tickling his nostrils, an NG tube chokingly inserted all the way into his stomach, tape on his cheeks, on his hand, on his arms.
The fact that he isn't complaining about it doesn't feel like a victory at all. She'd rather he were screaming about it, because at least that would mean he was there.
“Alright.” Abby says softly, next directing her attention to a sleeping Coop. “I’m just going to check all your IV sites, okay, hon?”
He doesn't reply, because of course he doesn't, but Abby slowly pulls back the blankets anyway, revealing him still curled in that fetal position beneath them, shivering slightly with fever. With pain, perhaps.
She carefully takes his wrist in her hands, turning it over and examining the cannula site, as well as the bruises that litter the rest of his arm from the previous attempts.
“They really poked him, didn't they?” She murmurs sympathetically. “Poor guy's all roughed up.”
“They did. He took it well, though. Let himself get prodded apologetically by the med students.” Neela smiles sadly, feeling the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “He didn't mind if they hurt him. He told them it was alright, because they needed to learn.”
As Abby pulls the blankets back up over Coop’s shoulders, she spends a little extra time making sure he's properly tucked in. She's always been fond of him. He's the kind of person who's so effortlessly gentle that the only enemies he makes are his opposites- the ones who deal in violence and aggression instead.
“I’m going to check your temperature now, alright, sweetheart? I promise it won't take long. I've just got to swipe this across your forehead.”
The reading only takes a few seconds to come up, and when she sees it, Abby sighs.
“102.5. It's not as bad as it could be- or what it was- but it's certainly not good either.”
Neela rubs a hand down her face, frustrated. “I just don't know what else to do. They've given him ice packs, they've dosed him with every fever reducer they've got, but it just won't go down.”
Abby gives her shoulder a small squeeze. “It’s hard to see, I know, but it's fairly normal with a chronic infection. If it rises any higher I'd be concerned, but for now it's just his body trying to fight back. All we can do is try to keep him comfortable for now, and you're doing a great job of that.”
“Really?” Neela scoffs. “Because right now I feel like the worst girlfriend in the world. My boyfriend's been so sick for weeks, and he isn't getting any better, yet I’m just sitting here and watching it happen. You know, when they put the NG tube in, I waited til he fell asleep then left the room to cry. That's the kind of girlfriend I am. I can't even watch him go through the worst time of his life without making it all about me.”
Abby waits for her to finish, then rubs her arm, speaking gently.
“You're upset because he's sick. That's understandable. You're far too harsh on yourself, Neela- all he needs right now is for you to sit here and tell him it's okay, which is what you're doing. He's calm. He's as comfortable as he can be, because you're right here with him. Don't forget that.”
With this, she turns back to Coop, softly shaking him on the shoulder as Neela absorbs her words.
“Coop? I’m so sorry to wake you, sweetheart, I've just got to make sure everything's alright.”
It takes a few seconds, but eventually Coop shifts, brow furrowing before his eyes open. When he yawns, the tubing across his cheeks lifts too. Neela wants to wrap him up in blankets and never let go.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Abby greets, voice gentle. “I just need you to follow my finger, alright?”
Coop obeys, tired, hazy eyes drifting from left to right as he follows the path that Abby traces for him. After she's done, she gives him a small smile.
“That's great, thank you. Feeling anything different?”
“Mm-mm.”
“Alright. I’ll leave you two alone now, then- I'll see you in a while, Coop.”
He swallows, evidently still a little fuzzy, and murmurs a hoarse ‘thank you’. Neela finds it so endearing that no matter how sick he gets, he'll always find a way to thank the staff who treat him. Even when he's having an asthma attack and can't talk, he signs to them.
Abby leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind her, and Neela shuffles a little closer to her boyfriend, hand drifting along his cheek as he blinks languidly.
“How’re you really feeling?” she asks.
Coop shudders, leaning into her touch. “S-sick.”
It's expected, but it breaks Neela's heart all the same. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wish there was something more that I could do.”
“You do… more than ‘nough. Y’re here with me. ‘S all I need.”
She leans over to press a kiss to his too-warm forehead, eyes glittering with tears yet again.
“I’m not going anywhere.” she assures him. “I promise, Coop. I'm right here. I love you, sweetheart. I just need you to get better soon.”
He tries to smile, but winces in discomfort instead. Perhaps the tubing is getting more irritating the longer he's awake.
“I’ll… I’ll try.”
Neela mentally steels herself. “Did you want to go back to sleep?”
She doesn't want him to. Of course she doesn't want him to, because it means sitting at his bedside again, waiting for the next time he emerges from this haze. But it's not about what she wants.
Coop swallows again, and this time he frowns with a deep kind of sadness. Like hers, his eyes seem to be welling with tears.
“I’m sorry.” he says with a small nod, voice tiny.
For now, Neela banishes her own emotions. She takes his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly, and presses her forehead against his.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Coop. Absolutely nothing. I promise I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
With this permission, he curls up yet again, shivering, eyes falling closed almost of their own volition. She watches his breaths even out, the tension in his expression dissipating in unconsciousness.
Only when she knows for sure that he's asleep does she let her tears fall.
“Get better soon, Coop. Please.”