Arcade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he silently appealed to whatever higher power felt like taking pity on him. "You're not dying."
"I'm dying."
He pulled back the sheets, the sudden influx of light making Veronica wince and throw a hand over her face. "Do you or do you not want a professional opinion re: your potential for death? Humor me. Help me to help you."
She squinted up at him. "You talk too much."
"So I've been told." He got comfortable on the edge of the bed, tapping her on the nose and taking advantage of the resulting flurry of weak slaps to catch her wrist and make a show of taking her pulse. "So. Pay attention young lady, because I don't like playing this clothed version of Play Doctor very often. I have good news: you're not dying."
Veronica wriggled free, curling into a ball and resting her head on the soft cotton of Arcade's knee. From her point of view the guest bedroom light created a halo of golden light in his unbrushed hair, adding an air of innocence to Arcade Gannon that Veronica knew was entirely undeserved.
"I want a second opinion."
"Boone? I can call Boone in here. You can call him Dr Craig."
She smacked him in the ribs. "I'm still dying."
"Veronica 'Vodka' Santangelo, I can promise you that you're not dying." A big cool hand was pressed to her forehead, the gentle gesture slightly marred by the fact that he was laughing at her. "You're very, very hungover, but not dying."
"Where's that second opinion?" Veronica grabbed his hand and turned it over, digging her knuckles into a pressure point until he cried uncle and promised to bring her a bottle of water. "I trust Dr Craig more than you."
"We all trust Dr Craig," said Arcade soothingly. "I've taught him everything I know about Playing Doctor."
"Gross," said Veronica, her voice muffled by the pillow she was attempting to burrow her way into. "I'm just going to stay here and continue dying. Farewell, cruel world."
He patted her on the shoulder and got to his feet, ignoring her groan of protest as the sagging bedsprings made the mattress creak. "You do that. Nurse Lily will be in soon."
I'm Dying (microfill/comment misfire)
Arcade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he silently appealed to whatever higher power felt like taking pity on him. "You're not dying."
"I'm dying."
He pulled back the sheets, the sudden influx of light making Veronica wince and throw a hand over her face. "Do you or do you not want a professional opinion re: your potential for death? Humor me. Help me to help you."
She squinted up at him. "You talk too much."
"So I've been told." He got comfortable on the edge of the bed, tapping her on the nose and taking advantage of the resulting flurry of weak slaps to catch her wrist and make a show of taking her pulse. "So. Pay attention young lady, because I don't like playing this clothed version of Play Doctor very often. I have good news: you're not dying."
Veronica wriggled free, curling into a ball and resting her head on the soft cotton of Arcade's knee. From her point of view the guest bedroom light created a halo of golden light in his unbrushed hair, adding an air of innocence to Arcade Gannon that Veronica knew was entirely undeserved.
"I want a second opinion."
"Boone? I can call Boone in here. You can call him Dr Craig."
She smacked him in the ribs. "I'm still dying."
"Veronica 'Vodka' Santangelo, I can promise you that you're not dying." A big cool hand was pressed to her forehead, the gentle gesture slightly marred by the fact that he was laughing at her. "You're very, very hungover, but not dying."
"Where's that second opinion?" Veronica grabbed his hand and turned it over, digging her knuckles into a pressure point until he cried uncle and promised to bring her a bottle of water. "I trust Dr Craig more than you."
"We all trust Dr Craig," said Arcade soothingly. "I've taught him everything I know about Playing Doctor."
"Gross," said Veronica, her voice muffled by the pillow she was attempting to burrow her way into. "I'm just going to stay here and continue dying. Farewell, cruel world."
He patted her on the shoulder and got to his feet, ignoring her groan of protest as the sagging bedsprings made the mattress creak. "You do that. Nurse Lily will be in soon."
"I'm dying."