Pairing: Kerry/Kim
Rating: PG
Words: 2,736
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters have been borrowed without permission but without any intent or purpose of commercial gain.
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I open my eyes and all I can see is a plaid flannel nightshirt that evenly moves against my forehead. It feels like I'm in a slow moving boat; up and down, up and down. The flannel and the warmth emanating from the plaid feels good, cosy even. I rub my forehead against it, taking its sweet scent into my nostrils. I sigh, contented.
As quietly as I can, I separate myself from the moving boat, stepping into the mattress’ stable safety and turn my face to glance at hers. She looks like a kid; tiny, pale freckles and all. She must have been the cutest baby around. I sigh and can’t help myself but to smile. I sigh again. Her hair all ruffled up over the pillow, left hand fingers resting in a relaxed inward curve, mouth slightly open. She’s snoring, as usual.
I adore this woman.
I take a deep, long breath and close my eyes while my arms stretch out in an impossibly long movement. Immediately after, I get up the bed and head to the bathroom.
All is quiet. At this very moment, life is a tamed animal.
Except for Kerry’s flu.
I go downstairs as I know the big baby in Kerry will get up soon and start demanding coffee, bagels and fruit. It’s really not her doing the demanding, it’s the aches, pains and fever that have taken over. It just started a couple of days ago but I knew it would develop into something nasty, as it has. So, in preparation for the beast that awaits me, I check our supplies in the fridge. Normally, I have no idea whether we have fruit or whether bread is some inexhaustible natural resource my wife… uh hum… future wife, just extracts from the breadbox whenever she pleases. In any case, I have to check because it is my turn to play the honourable “Mrs. Weaver” (Oh My God…! Aaaaahhhhh… Okay, get a grip… that actually sounded kind of nice… hmm…) and do some cooking… even if it is just breakfast, I grin.
“Nope… There’s no way I can pull this off” -I think as I finish my round of checks. “Got to go to the market…”
I actually do enjoy going to the supermarket, even if I can’t recognize a squash from a regular potato. I take the cart and roam, lost between the endless isles of produce, cans, bags and what have you. I just throw everything that might catch my eye into the cart. At this, Kerry normally rolls her eyes and follows me, picking up items from the cart and returning them to their original place. Poor girl! She must end up exhausted every time we do the grocery shopping together.
But today, alas, I’m alone and the supermarket isles are empty just waiting for me to reclaim them to life.
Suddenly I’m reminded of Macchiavello. I grin.
Shovelling several bags of groceries I walk to the house. As soon as I open the back door I hear the noise that draws in all my senses. It’s my Kerry. She’s awake.
“Hi baby, you’re up?” -I yell from the stairs as I climb them slowly.
No reply. Figures. I walk into the bedroom and sneak my head through the cracked door.
There she is, sitting on the bed. Sheets are rolled over, comforter on the floor. She looks gorgeous to me at this very moment but the pink shade in her cheeks and the glassy tint on both eyes, remind me she’s sick. Very sick.
“How are you feeling today, Ker?” -I ask quietly as I approach the bed.
She yawns and rubs her right eye with the sleeve of her flannel nightshirt.
“Not so good”.
It must be really bad if this mighty being has actually acknowledged how she really feels. I sigh. ‘This is going to be a difficult morning’ -I think, as I walk to the closet and grab Kerry’s medical bag. I seat on the edge of the bed as she lets her body crash on the pillows. Shutting her eyes close, she moans softly.
“What is it, babe?” -I ask.
"My head…" -She answers.
I pull the stethoscope and the thermometer out. I wave this latter artifact with my right arm, check it and then without permission, shove it into Kerry’s mouth. She lets me do, trusting my medical abilities. Or so I think. Minutes later, she opens one eye to visually approve the efficiency of my actions. That makes me nervous as I am suddenly reminded of my rotations as an intern. I shake my head; close my eyes and lean closer to hear her heart. I grab her right wrist and with my index and middle fingers, check her pulse. As I’m counting the beats, she interrupts me, “I love it when we play doctor…” -She says, grinning.
I turn and my eyes lock into her green beacons. I can’t help it. She disarms me. I fight valiantly not to smile but I feel betrayed by my own body as my eyes sparkle and my mouth curls. Upwards.
I adore this woman. I do.
Checking her temperature I do realize she’s slightly feverish, hence the pink cheeks. I make her open her mouth for me and using the tongue suppressor, I check her tonsils. Just as I had suspected I see the tiny white bumps in there. Tonsillitis. Again.
“You, my love, have tonsillitis”.
“Again?” -She whines.
“Again” -I reply.
“Okay…” -I venture, taking command of the situation before I lose my bossy edge- “This is the game plan for the day. Bed, food, meds, bed, okay? This is the last time we go through this as you know the exact reason why you’re sick again, don’t you?”
She nods, looking quite miserable.
“All right then. I’m going downstairs to fix you breakfast and fetch your meds. Just stay here”.
I lean over and kiss her warm forehead. Immediately after my kiss, she moans again and holds her head with her hands.
I wish there was anything else I could do for her. But there isn’t.
Well, she sleeps now. Thanks be to God Almighty Above in the Heavenly Skies. She has been behaving in a rather difficult fashion; at times utterly obnoxious, at others, amazingly unresponsive.
“Doctors make the worst patients... Ha!” -I mutter, quietly.
Unfortunately, the time for getting ready to go to County is here. I really wish there was a way around this shift so I could stay here and watch her sleep, even if that means that I also have to put up with her shit later, when she wakes up. But I can’t. Not today. Today I have to have my first meeting with the new attending and there’s no way to avoid it.
“Man… this is what it’s known as perpetual bad timing…”
‘Black chinos… check! White shirt… check! Hmmm... shoes…’ -I think. My mind races as I watch the radio clock and realize I have less than an hour to get to County. I sigh. I have been stalling all day in the hopes some unexpected miracle happens and by Divine Intervention, I don’t end up having to go. But nooooo... I guess God is way too busy with other affairs to hear and respond to my silent plea.
Before I go, I seat in her comfortable leather armchair and quietly stare at her peaceful face.
It seems that centuries have passed flashing by between the first day I ever saw her and today. Just a year, almost. However, the amount of circumstances that we have… how shall I say this… faced? Nah… encountered? Worst. Navigated? Yeah… navigated… in the months since we first met, is short of amazing.
I guess what amazes me and simultaneously frightens me, is how was I ever able to get under that thick conch of hers. What did I do? What was the element that led to my victory in a road where others have failed? Why me? Let me analyze this for a moment as this fact of my life, hunts me.
Let me go back. What did I do?
I guess I was kind. That doesn't answer anything, does it? A lot of people are kind to her, most of the time. Let’s see… I wasn’t afraid of her. Well, that could be a little bit of the story but then again, I had no reason to fear her, I knew nothing about her before I actually met her.
Think Legaspi, think.
I didn’t see what others saw in her… or rather... I was able to see something others failed to see. Well, this is much better.
What did I see in her?
First and foremost, I saw her beautiful green eyes. They’re nothing special, objectively speaking I mean, one kicks a bucket and four thousand green eyes like hers jump to greet you. It is what I saw in those green eyes that captivated me. It was the compassion, the stoicism, the kindness, the repressed emotion of so many forgotten years. It was like she was there for me to discover her, to claim her, to paint her, to compose her, to imagine her. I trusted her. I trusted and believed in the secret messages those eyes were sending my way. Where others saw ambition, rage, stubbornness, inflexibility, I saw the end of my journey. I saw my home. My salvation.
And the most ironic element of all this is that she is not fully aware of the power her existence has over mine.
As I think about this, I stare at my engagement ring. How amazing is this? Can anyone tell me, please?
It is still hard to believe my own memories of Kerry kneeling and asking me to be her wife. I have never felt so honored, so proud, so wanted in my whole life.
An engagement ring from the only woman I have ever really loved in my entire life.
An engagement ring. I sigh… again.
It is an exquisite piece of jewelry. It has ten stones; six rubies and four diamonds. Small, gorgeous. The style is called “baguette” (Yes, like the French bread) and it is one of the most delicate cuts for any gem. I asked Kerry why had she chosen that particular ring. After looking at me like I had asked where did she believe Atlantis lay buried, she solemnly answered, “Because it reminded me of us”.
‘Cryptic answer Missy’.
“Care to elaborate?” -I asked.
“You and I separate, are the rubies. Together we both become diamonds” -She answered.
‘Now, is that a great answer or what?’
So now, I’m engaged. Engaged to her. To Kerry Weaver, MD… hmm… so my Mom should be happy… I’m marrying a doctor…
I have pledged to be hers. I am hers. I will be hers. Always.
The thought scares me, terrifies me and ultimately, thrills me. When did I stop being Kim Legaspi and become Mrs. Kimberly Legaspi-Weaver? Does this mean I have to stop being who I am and become something else? Better yet, someone else?
Easy… easy… breathe Kim, breathe. Yeah… see? Being hers does not mean you have to become someone else, it just means you are no longer by yourself. Isn’t that what you wanted?
Yes.
I sigh deeply and every time I do, it is like a warning signal that my internal organs are entities that I can no longer separate from my psyche. They actually ache for her; they twist and growl and scream if I’m not close enough to her... almost like those invisible fence systems people use for preventing dogs running away from home.
Oh, Lord, so now I am…
A dog.
I sigh.
I adore this woman. I really do.
I open my eyes.
I stretch a bit and discover this “thing” taped onto my pajamas.
‘What the hell?’
I take it and look at it.
A note from Kim…
“Morning love,
I tried to stay but could not swing it this time. I’ll be on duty until 6. Please call me when you wake up, ok? I need to know how are you feeling.
I left some soup in the microwave -She cooked? I asked surprised- and Weaver, before you think anything, no, I didn’t cook… Campbell’s are good for you. I also left some coffee ready and bagels, ok?
I’ll try to see if I can come home earlier but I‘m not sure.
Love you lots.
K.”
I chuckle silently and sigh.
Wearily I get out of the bed feeling a bit better than earlier. My throat still feels like I have a bunch of needles in there every time I swallow but overall, I feel better. The aches and pains are still with me but they seem to have let me have a respire for a little while, at least.
Before getting in the bathroom I stop at a picture of us, placed in the wall. I love that picture because… well, it is us. Its simplicity reflects our life, my life. It was taken by Jason, Kim’s brother, last Christmas. I remember the moment. We were sitting on the floor after opening our presents. Kim got up and decided to seat behind me so there I was, sitting between her legs with the back of my head resting on her chest. Her head was besides mine as she was whispering something in my ear while I had my arms stretched in front of me, trying to hold Daniel, Jason’s 9 months old son, into my arms.
I don’t remember exactly what she said to me at that moment but I do remember the definite and sharp chill I felt. I was overwhelmed by happiness.
That feeling has flooded my life ever since. I sigh.
After taking a bath, I head down the stairs. The house is nice and cool and its emptiness and silence allows me the time to think and dwell in the quiet strength it possesses. I rather enjoy being in my house alone… now, that is. I enjoyed it before, before Kim, but not quite like I do today. Nowadays, my house is the background of everything that is unfolding in my life, this new life I am the first one to discover.
I head to the kitchen but once I arrive at the landing of the stairs, I stop. My eyes gaze lazily over the living room and dining room focusing on the remains of this new life of mine; her sneakers, the neglected reading glasses, a forgotten sweatshirt.
I sigh and grin.
I deeply wonder at the fact that I am not bothered by this sort of thing, in fact, I relish these moments. When did this happen? I was used to hate having anything out of place, my home had to be clean and tidy at all times. How come I am not upset, not even mildly, by these outrageous violations? How is it that I willingly bend over, pick up her sweater and push it to my face to smell it, to smell her?
I don’t know.
And I don’t care.
I continue now to the kitchen but something leaves me feeling uneasy. It is such a minute stimulus that my senses almost fail to register it. I turn around and locate the source of this sudden discomfort. There, wedged between a couple of magazines I catch a glimpse of that letter. That fateful letter.
It is a copy of Kim’s resignation letter from when she left County.
From when she left me.
I am paralyzed by a pain so sharp that violently pierces my stomach ripping up my very soul.
It is fear, it is anguish… frustration, desolation.
It represents everything I felt when I lost my life; when I lost Kim.
I gasp.
Silently, I pick up the offending piece of paper and tear it to pieces slowly for this well thought form of torture that I consciously apply upon it, it’s the only way I can expiate my inner demons.
Once it is destroyed, devoid of any power, I’ll breathe again.
Done. My life is back.
But a nagging feeling rises and perches on my shoulders…
What if it happened again...? What would happen if she’d ever left this place?
And what would happen if she’d ever stopped loving me?
I just simply could no longer be.
I sigh.
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