“Mhm. For the file that I assume you’re keeping, even though I haven’t ever seen it. You are keeping a file, right? You’re not just some fake doctor that makes ends meet by playing Frankenstein or something.”
I expected that to get a rise out of him, but instead, all he did was continue to stare down at me. “You want pictures cataloguing your injuries for your medical file.”
God, it was like pulling teeth with this man. “Look, my commanding officer is a bitch and a half. For good reasons, but still. He’ll need proof of everything that I’ll have to tell him that has kept me AWOL, otherwise I’ll be court-martialed.”
“You know Cap is going to take care of that, right?” Brutus piped up from behind Doc, still inside of the room.
I just shrugged and continued staring up at Doc. “They’re still going to need proof of what’s happened. I’d like to make sure we stay up to date on that proof.”
Doc’s brow furrowed and he studied me, and for a moment, I was worried that I forgot something. There was an intense curiosity behind his gaze before he turned his eyes over his shoulder.
“I’ll be back, guys,” he said before he reached for the door and closed it.
“Don’t leave me with pickle breath, come on,” Brutus grumbled.
Anna just giggled and clapped as Doc closed the bedroom door.
“All right,” I said breathlessly, happy to finally have something to do, “lead the way, Doc.”
He just nodded his head before he moved in front of me, and I clicked behind him with my cane. Of course, he didn’t speak. There were no ramblings. No quips about studies. No words in general. Never words with me. Always silence and manners and the kind of stoicism that made me want to choke on a noose. We made our way deeper into the second story of the home, only for him to grab a stainless-steel doorknob. He tossed the door open, and I vaguely remembered him mentioning something about a surgical room in the house somewhere.
This was definitely that room.
Wait, how did I know about a surgical room in his house?
Everything was a blur these days.
My brain was mush with these pain meds.
“Your place is massive,” I said as I clicked into the room. “I didn’t even realize this was up here, and I thought Marla and I walked pretty much this whole upper area.”
All he did was usher his hand out to an O.R. table. “Have a seat if you’d like, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Seriously,” I said as I went and struggled myself up onto the crisp, pristine table. “You can just call me ‘Lizzie.’ You don’t use formalities with anyone else. Don’t know why you’re using them with me.”
He didn’t skip a beat. “Your file.”
I wasn’t sure why I was disappointed in his reaction, but when I saw that file folder with my name on it, my mind clicked into another sort of gear. Perfect. I saw with my own two eyes the kind of notes he takes.
“Thanks,” I said as I took it from him.
I flipped it open and, sure enough, there were pages and scribblings and notations of things like medications and verbal documentation of injuries. There were pictures with the outline of a female form, and inside of the form were also meticulous drawings of the bruises and scrapes and cuts I originally came in with.
I had to admit, I was impressed with the notes.
Until I flipped through the pages and got to the?—
“Pictures,” I whispered softly.
Holy fucking hell, I completely forgot that we took pictures.
It was a punch to the gut realizing that. How in the world did I forget that we took those pictures? My fingertips ran along the bruises that were documented. I tilted my head as I studied the small patches of stitches I had scattered throughout my body. Seeing it all at once snapped part of my mind into place.
I was in rough shape.
“Miss Elizabeth?” Doc said softly.
I snapped the file folder closed and handed it back to him. “I’ll need a copy of that when this is all said and done.”
