Verity (jokeshopgirl) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-11-25 16:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, oliver wood, verity |
Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?
Who: Oliver Wood and Verity
When: Sunday, November 25
Where: Hospital
What: A home cooked meal
Rating: Low
Status: Complete!
Verity had a lot to think about since her phone conversation with Oliver on Thursday. She’d heard from Lizzy that Oliver had been out to lunch with another girl just the day before he told Verity that he wanted to kiss her. Now she was starting to worry that her fears and suspicions were true--that Oliver was just playing her, just trying to flatter her so he could... what? Set up getting into her pants later? Cast her among his slew of girlfriends?
No. Verity didn’t really think that way. But she had a lot of fears, a lot of worries. She was starting to like Oliver a lot--perhaps too much, too quickly--and she didn’t want to lose... whatever it was they had. Or they were building.
It was Lizzy’s day off, so Verity begged her to make her some dinner to take to Oliver. The two of them were in the kitchen together, making chicken, potatoes and vegetables. Verity made a batch of cookies with Michael and Annabelle, too, before wrapping everything up, still warm, and heading to the hospital, straight to Oliver’s room. She knocked on the door with her shoe, gently, as her hands were full with the portable food containers.
Oliver called out, 'Come in,' his tone neutral and devoid of its usual cheer. It was difficult to be cheerful when one's world was made up of pain.
Though successful, Thursday's surgery had left Oliver with a five inch incision site over his left shoulder blade. Holes had been drilled in the tips of his bones, the joint of his shoulder. Unable to move much, wacked out on drugs and seeping bone marrow, Oliver wasn't exactly in the mood for a dinner date. As excited as he was to see Verity.
'Hiya.'
“Hey.” Verity said after pushing the door open and stepping through. She moved over to the bedside table and set the food things down, then slipped into the chair next to his bed. She took hold of his good hand and squeezed it briefly. “How are you?”
'Nae good,' he answered honestly. There were years of his life where lies and half truths had been an instinctual response to questions. Now, Oliver strove for honesty in every situation; he had a lot in life to make up for.
Lacing his fingers with Verity's, Oliver offered her a weak smile; he felt so tired. 'How are you? How was work?'
“Fun.” Verity answered, honestly. Working with Fred and George Weasley was always interesting, always amusing. And when the shop was packed wall to wall with eager shoppers, Fred and George were at the top of their game. “But now I’m a little more concerned about you.”
Her heart was beating a little louder and a little faster at the feel of his fingers laced through hers. She brought her other hand around and rested it on his forearm, giving that a gentle squeeze, too. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”
‘Well that food there smells pretty wonderful,’ Oliver replied. He let go of Verity’s hand only to try and prop himself up further in bed. Moving was a struggle, but Oliver refused to ask for help. There were some things he just needed to do for himself. Like sit, or eat. Which was why as weak as he was, Oliver had demanded they disconnect him from every last machine the moment they’d moved him out of surgical recovery and back into his own room.
Of course, Verity was paying a lot of attention to everything that Oliver did. When he let go of her hand, she took it personally. All it did was lend credibility to her theories. She didn’t want to believe them, but she couldn’t help herself. She sat up a bit and brought her hands back to her own lap. She frowned a little at what he looked like while he was moving, how much pain he must be in.
“I hope it’ll taste pretty wonderful, too.” She said, then turned around to open up the packages. It would only take a moment to pull the individually wrapped meals out of the tin foil. “I have to admit, I had some help. Okay, a lot of help.”
Finally into a sitting position, Oliver managed to wrangle his food tray into place. ‘That’s alright. I can pretend I dinnae hear that last part.’
Verity gave a little chuckle. “Well the cookies I did most of the work. But the kids helped.” She set his food in front of him, and leaned back a little in her chair with her own. “They’re really great. I love being able to play with them for a little while, then give them back when I’m done.”
Chuckling in the bad of his throat, 'That's some return policy,' he said. Oliver loved children, but he wasnt sure if he wanted to father his own.
'This looks really great, by the way,' he added. The chicken looked moist, the mash thick and buttery, the vegetables crisp. It was unfortunate that with all the medication, Oliver had a bit of a dodgy tummy. Still, he was also hungry; eating would be good for him.
Picking up his fork, Oliver took an easy bite of mash; it was full of salt and that made him smile. 'It is good.'
Verity nodded. She loved her niece and nephew, and thought maybe one day she’d want to be a mother. Honestly, after what she’d been put through by her ex-boyfriend, she wasn’t sure she would be ready to think about that sort of thing for a long, long time.
“I have to admit,” Verity said, crossing one leg over the other and settling her plate in her lap, “I had help. Okay, I had a lot of help,” she admitted, breaking into a smile. “But I wanted to give you a good meal, not just a home-cooked one.”
'Well, thank you.'
Oliver ate a few more bites before setting his fork down and closing his eyes. The exhaustion was wearing on him to a point where he could no longer pretend that everything was fine. It was a struggle just to keep his eyes open.
Verity looked over at him when she put his fork down, and finished chewing her own bite. She set her plate aside and lifted herself from her chair. With gentle hands she moved his tray table aside, so she could sit on his bed, next to his knees, facing him. “Are you all right?” She asked, quietly. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”
For once, Oliver didn't protest the gentle pampering. He was too tired, too weak, in too much pain. And that combination dampened his spirit.
With his left had, Oliver turned his palm up, peeking out from under his eyelids with a sleepy smile. He wanted to hold her hand, to make her laugh again, kiss those lips he'd been dreaming of. That all took so much more energy than he had though. All Oliver could muster was a quiet, 'Would you stay? For a bit?'
“I’ll stay.” Verity said. She saw his hand turn over, and hers slipped into it. Even though she knew in her head that he was drugged, that he was in pain, that he was recovering from major, invasive, painful surgery, and that she shouldn’t take it personally. A part of her, though, couldn’t help it. She squeezed his hand. “Go to sleep. I’ll stay until you’re sleeping.”
Completely unaware of Verity's mindset, Oliver laced his fingers with hers and smiled wider as he closed his eyes with one last look at her beautiful face. This wasn't perfect, but it was damn well close. With Verity's soft hand in his, Oliver finally succumbed to exhaustion. He would see her in his dreams.