Page 35 of Twister

I sat there long enough to watch a never-ending stream of patients bustle through the doors.

Some were badly injured, enough that they were treated the same way as Marshall, rushed by triage nurses and doctors to the emergency rooms. Others were in a similar state as me, walking wounded who could wait until a doctor was free long enough to see us.

Then there were those who were uninjured family members and friends who had driven those who couldn’t transport themselves.

Eventually, I’d convinced one of the nurses to let me back to sit with Marshall even though I hadn’t been seen yet.

I hadn’t wanted him to wake up alone.

Admittedly, it had taken a little white lie and some fast-talking to force their hands. I hoped Marshall wouldn’t be too angry with me when he woke up.

And he would wake up.

I just didn’t know when .

“Mr. Porter?”

Reluctantly, I dragged my eyes away from Marshall’s motionless face to find a stern older female doctor in a crisp white coat standing in the doorway, her forehead lined with worry and a clipboard in her hand.

“Which one?” I asked, exhausted, before I returned my gaze back to my currently fake husband. With every passing minute that Marshall lay there unresponsive, the more convinced I was that he would become my very real husband in the very near future.

I heard a rustle of paperwork before she responded, “I’m looking for one Daniel Porter.”

A small sigh left my lips. She’d better not try to relocate me. The last person that had tried had been lucky to leave the room without a black eye. I wasn’t leaving Marshall, no matter what they said. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’ve been sent to assess you.”

“Mm?” Was that a twitch I felt from Marshall’s fingers or just wishful thinking?

More rustling of paper, and the distinct noise of soft footsteps getting closer. “I’m sorry for the delay in seeing a doctor. We’ve been slammed.”

“Mm.” Just wishful thinking. He hadn’t done it again.

With a rattle, she dropped her clipboard to the tray table that I’d moved out of the way so I could sit closer to Marshall. “It says here that you were brought in a few hours ago after losing consciousness as a result of being caught up in the tornado. What else can you tell me?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her pull up the other chair in the room and move it to the edge of Marshall’s bed before slumping into it. She reached forward to gently brush Marshall’s forehead before pulling back and pressing her fingers into her temple and rubbing gently.

The movement seemed too personable for a hospital doctor, so I turned my head enough to study her.

She looked as tired as I felt.

A rush of shameful sympathy ran through me. With what I’d seen in emergency, it only made sense that all the doctors and nurses on duty would be exhausted. And here I was, being rude and obnoxious by basically ignoring her.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “It’s been a long day.”

She pushed her chair back before dropping her hands into her lap as the corners of her lips lifted gently up a tiny amount.

“I could imagine.” She leaned forward slightly, enough for her elbows to rest on her knees.

“I’m sorry too. I should have introduced myself.

I’m Dr. Christine Jack. Did you want to tell me about it? ”

Returning my attention to Marshall, I released an amused puff of air. “Not really, but that doesn’t help you assess me, does it?”

“No,” she responded quietly. “I guess it doesn’t.”

Wishing for the millionth time that Marshall was awake, I sighed and closed my eyes before I took a long breath in to settle my thoughts enough so I could answer her.

“Marshall and I got caught in the twister. It hit our house just as we reached our underground storm shelter, but we weren’t quick enough.

The winds caught us and threw us both down the stairs.

I hit my head halfway down and blacked out.

I don’t know how long I was out for, but my daughter could tell you when she gets here.

From what she’s told me, Marshall landed wrong when we got to the bottom of the stairs and hit the ground hard enough that the back of his head started bleeding. He's been unconscious ever since.”

She didn’t respond for a moment, presumably absorbing what I told her. “Would you like me to look at your husband’s chart?”

My eyes flew open, immediately seeking hers out. “Could you? The others… I think they’ve been too busy to tell me much.” Or too homophobic. Those who lived in Rockdale were good to LGBTQIA+ people, but that didn’t mean surrounding towns and residents were.

That tiny smile played at her lips again when she nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t know what to do if something like this happened to my wife.”

A long sigh of relief escaped me as I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders.

She understood. At least part of my worries.

Hell, maybe that was why she was talking to me in the first place.

She could’ve been voluntold to assess me because no one else would see me.

If so, I was glad they’d put their prejudices aside to at least help Marshall as much as they had.

She stood to retrieve Marshall’s records from the carrier at the base of his bed, flicking through the pages as she slowly returned to her seat, brushing her fingers up Marshall’s bare arm as she moved.

Her eyes flew over the pages, lips pursing every now and then, and she nodded when she finished reading.

“He’ll be fine. He received a severe concussion when he hit his head, which caused the unconsciousness.

We’ll know more when he wakes up, but his vitals are strong and steady, and his pupils are reacting appropriately to light stimulus.

His body needs time to repair itself, which is why he hasn’t woken up yet, but it’s only a matter of time before he does.

” She placed the records on the tray table next to mine, then nodded at the heart rate monitor firmly secured to his finger.

“That will track his vitals and let the nurses know if anything changes. He’s going to be fine. I promise.”

“What about his head wound?” The memory of seeing the pool of blood behind his ear plagued me.

“Excuse the phrasing, but head wounds bleed like a motherfucker.” She smirked at the shocked look I gave her.

“The injury was small enough that it only needed cleaning when he arrived to make sure it wasn’t worse than it appeared and some glue to reseal the wound to help the clotting process along.

The doctor who saw him in emergency was far more concerned with his concussion.

” She gave me a pointed look. “Something I’m concerned about for you after what you just told me. ”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the lingering discomfort at the movement.

The throbbing headache I’d felt when I woke up had dulled enough that it was nothing more than background noise now.

The light-induced eye pain was no longer as irritating as it had been, although that might have been because we were in a windowless room, lit only by artificial light.

As long as I didn’t move my eyes quickly or in a jerky way, I could live with any enduring ache.

I was far more worried about Marshall.

Regardless, I let her run through her assessment without complaint once she confirmed I could keep hold of Marshall’s hand.

I answered all her questions, flinched and frowned appropriately when she shone light into each one of my eyes, and let her poke and prod my head a bit, focusing on a particular spot when I winced.

“Looks like you have a mild concussion,” she concluded, writing her findings on her clipboard.

“I figured as much,” I said, basically ignoring her again when I felt another twitch from Marshall’s hand. “Marshall? Baby?”

He didn’t respond, even when I lightly cupped his jaw and grazed a thumb against his cheek.

Hearing my disappointed sigh, Dr. Christine laid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “Keep talking to him. He can hear you, even if he can’t respond right now.”

“His fingers keep twitching. Isn’t that a sign he’s waking up?”

“It can be. It can also be a result of nerve reflex. Like when your feet sometimes jerk when you’re asleep. It’s normal.”

“Oh.”

She gave my shoulder another gentle squeeze. “Your husband is young, Daniel, and strong. He’ll be fine.”

Without taking my eyes off Marshall, I bit my bottom lip to stop my tears from welling and gave a stilted nod.

Thankfully, she took the hint. “Okay.” Her hand left my shoulder before I saw a business card get placed on the bedside table. “Here are the contact details for my family practice. I’m not a resident here at the hospital. I was called in to help with the nonemergency victims of the tornado.”

Chancing a glance away from Marshall, I raised an eyebrow at her. I guessed it made sense but added fuel to my suspicion that the residents here weren’t as friendly as they wanted to appear to the public.

The corners of her lips flicked up again before her regular neutral look of general concern fell back into place.

“I’ll be here for the rest of the day, so call me if anyone here gives you any trouble—any trouble at all ,” she said pointedly.

Yeah, she knew the doctors here were a problem, even if she couldn’t come right out and admit it.

“I’ll hightail it back here. I expect Marshall will be discharged pretty quickly after he wakes up, which should be anytime in the next twenty-four hours, because they’ll want the bed.

Any longer than that, you call me, okay? ”

“Okay.” I gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you. For everything.”

She nodded. “You’re very welcome.”

And with that, she was gone. Off to see the next patient on her list.

Idly, I wondered if they, like me and Marshall, would identify as queer too.