Archive of Our Own ^beta

“How do you do it?” Ryunosuke Naruhodou asks as he looks up at her from across the bed. His face is stricken with worry.

Iris Wilson, the doctor, looks back at him. 

“Because I have to,” she responds, all no nonsense and patient focused. 

The patient in question is lying fitfully between them on his bed. Limbs askew and ashy hair plastered to his feverish forehead. She knew it would be a long night when he insisted on going to the docks. Still, he was single minded and there was no changing his mind once he had made it. She’ll give it to him, his facade almost fooled her. He didn’t fade until after they all retreated to their respective bedchambers, exhausted physically and emotionally. Maybe she had heard the quiet but pained moans from the other room, or maybe it was her intuition as a doctor that roused her from her short lived sleep. Regardless of where the truth lay, cracking open his door revealed the shivering man. He looked up at her then, with tear streaks down his face and wild, unfocused eyes, fixing her with a silent plea for help.

She had sighed and retrieved her medical kit and regretfully woke Runo up from his own sleep. 

Now they hovered, fretted over him. He’s like a wounded animal, always; hiding his pain until it's gotten to the point of being nearly too late. Admittedly, he’s an easier patient when he’s brought himself to the brink. The thought upsets the ten-year old but it gives the doctor a sense of purpose. She compartmentalizes the guilt because she knows she can bring him back. He’s entrusted her with this purpose and she takes it seriously. 

The inflammation around his aggravated sutures gave away a man who had pushed himself too far. The wandering mind always won until the body forced it to stand down in a never ending battle for control. She pressed a fresh carbolic acid soaked dressing gently to the angry wound, cursing the surgeon who had traumatized the tissue beyond what was necessary and hoping he hadn’t nicked the bowel during his needless exploratory surgery. 

Hurley whines from his liminal state of wakefulness. Not asleep enough to avoid the pain but neither awake enough to be fully aware of it either. Runo dabs his forehead with a cold, damp cloth. 

“He’s still hot,” he says grimly. 

“He will be for a while yet,” she confirms, watching the tension in his face carefully as she holds the dressing to the wound. His eyes flutter beneath his lids, pale eyelashes contrasting against paler skin, but he does not wake. Good, the herbal assortment she had given him for both pain management and rest was doing its job. She eyed the laudanum in her kit. Only as a last resort. The only thing more miserable than a bored Hurley was a Hurley in the throes of withdrawal. 

“Has this happened before?” Runo asks grimly. 

“Yes, but he always pulls through,” the doctor states while the girl secretly hopes, “If we can’t get it to break by morning though we’ve got bigger problems.” 

A silence stretches between them. She looks up expectantly at Runo, knowing he has more he wants to say. 

“Iris, you’re ten years old,” he suggests diplomatically. 

She narrows her gaze momentarily but presents him with her most neutral face. “I didn’t expect you to underestimate me based on my age, Runo.”

“No, I would never!” he recoils in horror, “It’s just… This isn’t…”

“Isn’t normal?” it comes out more coolly than she intended. 

He swallows. “I’m sorry, please forgive me. I shouldn’t have overstepped.” 

He turns his attention back to Hurley and she doesn’t miss the way he gently grasps his hand. He wants Hurley to be better too. He cares about him just as he cares about her. 

She sighs, squashing down the despondence she’s been keeping at bay since she found out Hurley was wounded. She thought he was dead, at first, so she curses herself for not feeling more grateful. But, she had lied. This was the worst condition he had ever returned to her in and she doesn't have time to debate what's fair or not. 

Her eyes betray her desire to keep her inner turmoil hidden and she scans Hurley’s face once more. He's still fitful, twitchy. No different than when he is awake, really. Sometimes she envies him for the way he emotionally pivots, seemingly untethered by whatever large feeling dictated the previous moment. Guilt immediately bubbles up as the thought forms. It isn’t a fair or kind comparison. His greatest gift to her was recognizing the same tendencies within her and giving her an outlet. She wonders what he would have been like if he had a guardian who understood him. Or, inversely, if she had a guardian who didn’t understand her. He has spoken to her of a normal upbringing with normal parents, but she knows his mind is anything but. She’s haunted by the same fear of idleness that plagues him but he’s given her the tools to chase away the ghosts of normalcy. 

They love each other in their own abnormal way. And a world without Herlock Sholmes would be a far dimmer place. And so, she does not complain when he returns in a sorry state. She can fix him. 

She always does. 

“You didn’t overstep. I understand how it appears,” she fixes him with a small, tired smile, “But I know he’s sorry, deep down. He doesn’t want me to worry about him but he didn't make me become a doctor just to care for him. All he did was encourage a natural interest. And, when he comes back like this, it makes me feel less helpless because I can actually do something. He’s given me a wonderful gift, you know.” 

Runo blinks uneasily but nods. “I… understand.”

Nothing further is said and she is grateful because she can focus on the task at hand. After she’s satisfied with his dressing and the dosage of the concoction she’s administered to him they take turns watching him through the night. Alternating between watching for signs of decline and wiping the sweat from his brow with a cold compress.

It’s both anxiety riddled and boring. 

Finally, while starting her next shift, she sends Runo to bed around four in the morning, telling him to take the rest of the morning to try and get some sleep should they need to move him to hospital care once more. 

She's alone with Hurley once more and, after a quick check up, she sinks down into the armchair they've pulled beside his bed and grabs a medical text. 

An hour passes and she's just about ready to face the decision of if he needs further medical intervention when a quiet voice cuts through the darkness.

“I…r…is,” rasps faintly from the bed. 

Her head snaps up to see Hurley shifting under the mountain of blankets. He's rousing and seems lucid as he catches her watchful eye. His gaze has improved but his eyes still hold a glassy appearance. His normally unruly waves are pressed flat against his head in lank strands. She inches forward and places her hand against his forehead, then his cheek, and sighs in relief. 

The fever had finally broken. 

They weren’t out of the woods yet but it was an optimistic sign that the infection was external only. 

He raises his hand to grasp the one pressed to his face and gently takes it in his. Her small hand rests within his graceful, yet clammy, grasp, and she feels the doctor melting away to reveal the child. The scared ten year old who just wanted her only guardian to be okay. 

She swallows thickly and bites her lip to prevent it from trembling. To his credit he looks miserable as he beholds her, lower lip pouting as if doesn't know what to do or say. 

“Let me check your incision,” she instructs softly. 

He nods and weakly raises the bottom of his button up shirt to reveal the dressing. She removes the dressing slowly and finds that the antiseptic treatment has improved his condition. The wound, while still irritated, is not nearly as angry as the start of the night. Still she quickly cleans and redresses it, this time with her own blend of herbal remedies. 

He does not complain about the pain and this too is a relief. 

“Good, good,” she says breathlessly as a wall of exhaustion suddenly hits her. She discards the used dressing and collapses into the chair once more.

“Iris.” 

His voice is firm but so hoarse that she quickly fetches him water and adds a ginger root tincture before handing it to him. 

He gratefully accepts it and lifts it to his lips.

“Do not gulp it,” she warns, “If you choke I assure you that you will not enjoy coughing and I will not be happy if you pop a stitch.” 

He grunts his disapproval but obeys all the same. Doing anything slowly has always been painful for him. When he’s finished she takes the glass from him and places it on his bedside. He pants slightly from the exertion and lets his head fall back against the pillow. 

She wants to admonish him but she can’t bring herself to use the teasing lilt she usually takes with him when he’s done something to displease her. Similarly he can’t seem to bring himself to exercise his usual bravado. The silence stretches between them, awkward and gloomy. 

She decides that she can trust him to not aggravate matters further and gets up to head to her room. She pauses to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Sleep well, Hurley. Call if you need anything.”

“Iris, wait.” 

A surprisingly strong grip is wrapped around her wrist. She turns to find his sorrowful eyes boring into hers. 

“I’m-” 

“Hush, Hurley,” she cuts him off decisively. 

She doesn’t need to hear it, she decides in that moment. His eyes tell her their own story. Sorry for frightening you. For not being enough. For being too much. She knows if he puts it to words then she’ll also have to vocalize how close she came to losing him. 

He swallows and looks away shamefully. 

Tears prickle at her eyes and she lifts his hand to her cheek now. He shifts carefully on the bed, making space for her and she gratefully curls in like she did when she was young. Younger than she is now. He cradles her with the arm on his good side and gently rubs her back as she sobs softly into his shoulder. 

"Don't leave me," she begs, voice childlike as she presses the heel of her hand into her eye and rubs it, "Please don't leave me too."

"My dear girl," his voice rumbles around her, a soothing presence, "I'm not going anywhere." 

She doesn't remember falling asleep and it is sometime around midday when she finds that someone must've lifted the quilt around them. Her heart swells with gratitude for Runo and his place in their family.

Hurley snores softly beside her, his arm still protectively curled around her. She should check on his wound again but he's sleeping so peacefully for once that she figures it's a better medicine for him than any salve she could apply. Satisfied and still tired she settles back into the crook of her arm. 

He was always enough. They were always enough.