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English
Series:
Part 24 of Maisie's Sicktember 2024
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Published:
2024-09-24
Words:
461
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1/1
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6
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waiting room

Summary:

Sicktember Day 24- Tales from the waiting room

The waiting room is loud, and Jack is too quiet.

Notes:

Tomorrow's entry might be delayed, have had a huge meltdown and writing is nigh on impossible rn, sorry

Work Text:

The waiting room is loud, and Jack is too quiet, his head pillowed in Lynette's lap with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Her fingers run through his hair over and over again in a desperate attempt to soothe him. 

“I’m sure the doctor will see you soon.” She murmurs, keeping her voice low because he's already overstimulated enough. “Then we can get you some medicine and you'll be back home in bed in no time.”

Jack doesn't reply with anything more than a vague, weak hum. He's been nauseous for hours now, a result of this crippling dizziness that brought them to the ER in the first place, and if she's honest, Lynette doesn't quite know whether he'll be going home today. He can't keep anything down, and even getting him here was a Herculean task because of how unsteady he is. 

Around them, noise abounds. A child is running around screaming, followed by a parent hissing commands that aren't obeyed. Somebody, presumably drunk, is shouting something at the receptionist, demanding to be seen. It appears everybody has an illness which includes coughing. 

This is, of course, not to mention the sounds emanating from within the hospital- the occasional crackle of the intercom, the beeping, the rattle of gurneys and the calls of doctors. 

It doesn't make a very pleasant environment, especially not for somebody feeling so completely shitty as Jack. 

He hadn't been too bad yesterday. His cold was finally clearing up, and, being a Sunday, it was a day off from the chaos of Whitlock. He and Lynette had spent it curled up on the couch, watching old movies but spending most of their time making out instead. 

Then, this morning. His groaned refusal to get out of bed was a little out of character, even if Mondays are never his favourite. Lynette had checked his temperature. Fever. Every time he moved, even a little, he grabbed onto her arm as if the world was falling out underneath him.

“F-fucking inner ear infection.” He'd whispered, face ashen and eyes closed, fingers digging into her skin to keep himself grounded. “Got- got them when I was a kid.”

And now, waiting rooms. Loudness. A very, very quiet Jack. 

“It's gonna be alright, hon.” Lynette soothes, still stroking his hair. Whenever her hand moves even close to his neck, it's like she can feel his pulse leaping there. “Just hang on. I've got you.”

She's praying that soon enough, a kindly looking doctor or nurse will emerge from those labyrinthine corridors and call them away from this mess. They'll bring Jack a wheelchair, and he'll go somewhere quieter, where they can give him something at last to make him feel better. 

Until then, though, all there is to do is wait. 

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