Chapter 8: On Speaking Terms

Those eyelids had to weigh a ton each Cliff decided. He really tried to keep his eyes open listening as Kylie read from the paper but the laws of physics won out. He missed the sight he had enjoyed. That was his girl reading to him. The girl he had fallen in love with, who looked good enough to eat even in a ratty sweater over worn blue jeans. She looked like she had stepped out of one of the happy dreams he sometimes had, dreams where his world was still like it should be.

As his eyes closed and his brain began to shut down, those happy dreams and the image of Kylie mixed and it was difficult to keep them apart. Then, piercing through the fog in his brain, through the dulling effect of the pain killers, he felt her lips on his forehead and heard her whispered words.

"I'm so sorry, Cliff. I can't tell you how bad I feel. I'll do right by you now, I promise. One day we'll be back together and I'll be the best wife you can dream of."

Why was she feeling bad? And of course she would be the best wife once he was out of this stupid bed and this stupid hospital. The nasty reality never made inroads on his thinking. He felt good and comfortable. Kylie was at his side after all.

When he woke the next time he was alone in the room and a look at the clock on the wall told him it was afternoon. Something began to beep and a nurse appeared. With an impersonal smile she bent over him.

"Are you alright, Deputy? You slept for a while."

He wanted to speak but he noticed the mask. Oh, well. He tried his right hand but pain shot through his shoulder. Right, that's where he was injured. Damn. Left hand. Raise left hand, make sign. Damn cotton wool around his head!

"Are you feeling pain?"

He waved. No.

"Would you like something to drink? A tea?"

He managed a cautious nod.

"I'll be right back with you."

A minute or an hour later she was indeed back. The oxygen mask was replaced by a thin tube that ran under his nose adding canned oxygen to the air he was breathing. Then she let him drink from a straw. It was only ice water but it felt heavenly in his parched throat.

"Now that went well," the nurse announced. "I'll speak the Doctor. Maybe we can let you have some broth."

Indeed for supper, many hours later it seemed, he was allowed to drink some synthetic broth through a straw. He was even able to burp and it hurt like hell in his chest. After this scrumptious meal somebody jacked up the flow of the happy juice into his vein drip and in no time Cliff drifted back into the dreamland. He did not wake before the next morning, and then it was from a sharp pain.

"Ah, you're with us, Cliff," a happy voice boomed. "We just removed the pleural drainage. Your lungs are fully inflated again and the wound can heal now."

Cliff opened his eyes fully and became aware of his surroundings. While one nurse lifted his upper body up a second nurse wrapped an elastic bandage around it to secure a mull pad over his chest wound.

"In a little while we'll remove the catheter from your urethra. That may hurt just a bit but you'll feel much better afterwards. We'll help you up for a few steps, too. Can you speak?"

"Acrrmghh ... I cmrrgh ... I cran 'rrry."

"There you go! The infusion has to stay for another day or two I'm afraid, but we'll reduce the pain killers a bit. You tell the nurse when it gets too much, okay?"

"Okreah!"

"Splendid! I'll be back later to look after you but now you should enjoy your breakfast. There's a visitor outside and we shouldn't let her wait!"

The doctor and one of the nurses left then while the second nurse arranged the tray table of the night stand for Cliff before she also left. There was his breakfast. A tiny cup of orange juice. Cliff hated orange juice. A cup of dubious looking tea. Two slices of toast, a wrapped piece of butter, and two tiny portions of jam. How the hell was he supposed to butter the toast and eat it?

Enter the damsel to the rescue of the wounded hero. Kylie came in, a questioning smile on her lips.

"May I come in?" she asked, and Cliff nodded.

"Preess! Helme widde toas," Cliff was able to croak.

"Oh, of course. Drink some tea first. Here, let me help."

Kylie put the cup with the lukewarm tea to his lips and he drank thirstily.

"Dank you," he was able to say.

"I'll get you some more. Oh, it's orange juice. Never mind. I brought some fresh apple juice from Janet's grandfather."

Heaven! Janet's grandfather, Elias Running Elk, pressed his own apple juice from the fruit he produced in his orchard. Kylie emptied the orange juice into the sink and rinsed the plastic cup before she filled it with the turbid, freshly pressed juice. Cliff emptied the cup eagerly.

"Better," he sighed.

"Let me butter that toast for you," Kylie said brightly. She looked at the tiny jam portions and scrunched up her nose. "Consider yourself lucky. I brought pineapple jam for you and if you are a good boy I also have some coffee in my Thermos."

"Thanks."

His speech was close to normal again. Kylie buttered the toast slices and spread a thick layer of pineapple jam over them. Then she cut the slices in six parts each and began to feed Cliff. He let her. He was too sore to protest, too weak to eat by himself. Plus Kylie seemed to enjoy it.

"Jeezus, you already have him eating out of your hand again," a laughing voice came from the door. There was Janet, and she was grinning broadly.

"He still needs help," Kylie defended herself as Janet stepped closer grabbing Cliff's left hand.

"Hey, Partner, how you doing?"

Cliff had to chew and swallow first. "Nroo!" He signaled for more juice and drank another cup. "Not bad, all in all. They removed the drainage from my chest."

He was surprised himself. He could speak again. He drank some more juice.

"They'll pull the catheter from you know where later, and that kinda worries me."

"Ouch!" Janet responded with empathy. "That's got to hurt. Listen, you think you'll still be able to play on New Year's Eve? Peter is shitting bricks already. He's afraid he'll have to play lead."

"Depends. If I'm not back to duty then I'll need Cramer's permission."

"Like she'll say no. Leslie would skin her."

"I hear Leslie's good?" Kylie asked.

"Not your caliber, not yet, but she has a decent set of pipes in that skinny neck. I mean, she's raw, no technique, but she can wail. That's all the folks will want."

"If you want I can coach her a little," Kylie blurted seeing an opening. "Just wailing isn't good for the voice chords."

"I can talk to her, sure. So, Cliff, can we count you in?"

"'So long as nobody shoots at me until then, yes."

"Speaking of shooting, Cramer is clamping down on us. We're to wear our vests at all times while on duty, even when we do office work. Supervisors are to check us at the start of the shift. The insurance people are having coronaries because they didn't read our departmental regulations with a fine comb, and they threaten to cancel. Cramer posted the new rules this morning."

"Oh, shit! Tell the guys I'm sorry," Cliff said miserably.

"Are you serious? This rule should have been in place years ago. All you would have then would be a bruising. Dad is grumbling, of course, but most of the others are shocked enough to accept it."

After the breakfast Janet left and a nurse helper removed the tray. Then it was crunch time. Another nurse came in carrying a tray with gauze pads, a spray bottle, and latex gloves.

"Miss McAdam, right? Would you wait outside for a spell? We're needing a bit of privacy while I remove the catheter."

Obediently, Kylie left after pressing his hand. The nurse grinned down at Cliff.

"Relax. I've done it before, and the new catheters aren't half as bad as the old stuff. No matter what you've heard from well meaning friends, your – hrhm – appendage will remain firmly attached to you."

She whipped up the bed cover and the hospital shirt and he felt a hand on his soft dick. He felt when she a tucked at the catheter making a clucking noise.

"Okay, here's what we do. I want you to concentrate and breath deeply. I'll count to three and with each count you will inhale and exhale. At the fourth count I'll pull, so be prepared. All right, One!"

Cliff inhaled and immediately he felt like he was pissing a big maccaroni. It wasn't too painful, just the pulling and an odd feeling.

"Gotcha!" the nurse grinned. "It works every time."

"You're sneaky," Cliff complained while the nurse tucked at his dick.

"You feel that? Think you have control?"

"I guess," he answered.

"Okay, then Miss Superstar can take it from here," she grinned. "I'll be back later to help you walk a few steps."

She left and let Kylie back in who looking worried.

"Everything alright?" she asked.

"He should still be in perfect working order," the nurse quipped and laughed brightly before she went to find the next victim for her brand of humor.

"She's hilarious, isn't she?" Kylie asked settling in the chair at his side.

"It's a defense mechanism like cop humor," Cliff answered. "You can't let all the stuff get close to you."

"You're right I guess. Hey, I brought the newspaper in case you want to nap again," she deadpanned trying to change the subject.

"More heroic tales of us?" Cliff asked.

"Nope, but I'm on the cover of each and every tabloid. Thank God none of them made the connection to you. It's just, 'Kylie McAdam performs open heart surgery on bullet-riddled body of heroic police officer'. Too bad they pulled the plug on Emergency Room. I could probably snag a role there."

"Let your agent try Grey's Anatomy. They may need a replacement blonde."

"That was below the belt, you know that? I may be a drama queen at times but not that bad."

"No, not that bad. At least you stepped up to the plate when it counted. I, umh, I don't know if I've thanked you already. I was kinda out of it the last days. Really, thank you. I guess I owe you big time."