Work Text:
Vivian storms into the emergency room in a cold fury, driving a straight path to the reception desk.
“Elle Kensington-Woods,” she says flatly to the receptionist.
The receptionist doesn’t look away from her phone’s screen for even a second, somehow managing to tap away at it despite a set of ludicrously long, neon-colored fake nails. She raises one single finger up, tapping away at her phone with one hand while she disrespectfully halts Vivian with the other.
Vivian Kensington-Woods isn’t a woman who tolerates disrespect well, even on her best days. And today is not a good day. Viv reaches into her bag and pulls out one of her extraordinarily expensive business cards, sliding it across the reception desk with the words “Kensington-Woods and Kensington-Woods Partners at Law” in gold embossed lettering, shimmering bright against thick card stock.
“Room number for Elle Kensington-Woods. Right now. Or you get to explain to your boss’s boss’s boss’s boss why the number one law firm in the state of California is filing a lawsuit against them for negligence.”
The receptionist shoots a skeptical look at the card Viv slid across the counter, but she looks away from her phone and looks up Elle’s room number anyway. She sucks against her teeth and smacks her lips before she snippily says, “Room 3311.”
Viv grabs her card back off the counter, and steps away from reception without saying a word, the receptionist sarcastically shouting “You’re welcome,” as Viv walks to the elevators.
Stepping off the elevator, Viv follows the signs and arrows pointing her in the right direction, until she stops outside a room with ‘3311’ printed on a sign. She takes a calming, centering breath, a yoga breath Elle taught her to do, and enters the room.
Her face breaks out in horror as she sees Elle sobbing in the hospital bed and she rushes to her bedside.
“Elle!? What’s wrong, honey?!” she asks in a panic.
Elle’s wide eyes turn to her and she waves her phone screen at Viv as she cries, “Look how cute these baby pigs are.”
Not a single sensible thought passes through Vivian’s head as she tries to process what Elle just said.
“What?” she asks, in an almost angrily confused dazed.
Luckily for them both, the doctor walks in moments after Viv does.
The doctor offers out her hand, professional and curt, and introduces herself. “Dr. Burgess.”
Vivian takes her hand in a firm shake, “Vivian Kensington-Woods. Is my wife okay?”
Dr. Burgess offers a nod. “Mrs. Kensington-Woods will be fine. She broke her ankle in a fall. The ER nurse tells me there was some complaining about a broken high heel. We have her on morphine for the pain, so she maybe a little out of it, but her X-rays look good, so once we get her cast on and give the morphine a chance to wear off, you’re free to take her home.”
Vivian nods and lets the doctor excuse herself as she steps out of the room.
Looking back at Elle, who is still sobbing at her phone, Vivian takes a deep, calming breath.
“So you broke a heel?” Vivian asks and Elle’s head shoots up, face crumbling into an even more bereft look.
“Yes,” she cries, sniffling. “They were my favorite Manolos, too.”
A smile pulls at the corner of Viv’s lips, twitching as she tries hard to fight it down.
“That is so sad, you’re right, Elle,” she humors her, knowing Elle gets a little emotional when she’s been drinking and the morphine doesn’t seem like it’s hitting her any softer.
Elle’s lips tremble in a frown as tears stream down her face.
“But you know what?” she asks Elle.
Elle sniffles before playing along. “What?”
“That means we’ll just have to go shopping to get you another pair.”
A beautiful, beaming smile settles on her face, like sunshine breaking through the clouds.
Elle looks at her with as serious a gaze as a woman drugged out of her mind can manage, and says, “I love you. So much. And I’m going to buy you the nicest cardigan ever, sweetie. Because you’re just the best.”
Vivian laughs. “I love you, too, Elle.”