Chapter 12: Doctor's Appointment
Two weeks later
Spitfire had been restless the last two weeks, and in a completely understandable way. If you were restricted to a bed for two weeks at first you’d say “oh this is wonderful” for maybe the first day or two, but by about day three you’d start getting antsy just to get some fresh air. By day four you start pleading a nurse to let you outside. By the second week you’d kill someone with a rusty spoon just to get out of the bed and walk again.
I can tell you right away right now, Spitfire is antsy to get out of here. Last week I made a ramp in the garage and front door, which should help. She called her work and they’ve given her time off. I mean how can you schedule in a serial killer abducting you? I can see it now: “yes I would like to schedule some time off,” “why?” “oh I’m going to be abducted by a serial killer.” Yeah like that’ll ever happen.
I visited every day before work. Trust me when I say she needed me there. The nurses said that she would go into a “shell” and wouldn’t talk to anyone unless it was necessary, but when I showed up she would open up. None of the doctors could figure it out, to them it’s a mystery. But then again they aren’t psychologists trained in dealing and diagnosing psychological trauma. That I’ll leave to the experts back at the base.
I’ve been working almost silently at the bar. Yeah I greet customers, but I don’t really chat with them. I know Spits is up and all, but it’s just one of those things where you tend to worry more than you should. Honestly I’m starting to get distracted a bit, and that’s never too good. I mean yesterday I put the wrong liquor in one of the cocktails that I’ve made hundreds of times. It should be getting better since I’m taking Spitfire home today.
I pulled up into the parking lot and parked. I walked inside to Spits’ room and as I entered I saw that she had already been dressed in some clothes that I brought the other day. The bandages on her arms had been removed. In their place were her pale arms, from a lack of sunlight, and small scars lining her arms. A week ago Hernandez asked Spits if she wanted to be in an experimental treatment to help her along. She agreed, so now there are nanites in her bloodstream slowly repairing her burned skin, and if everything goes to plan, leaving it flawless. Next would be the legs, repairing the bones to their original condition, maybe even stronger. Then finally they would start to work on the scars on her arms, making them either hairlines or nonexistent. What? I read the brief that the programmers wrote up.
They had a nurse working in the medical unit on base come in and inject the nanites. They sure are sneaky are they not? I’m sort of getting off topic now aren’t I? They had her in sweatpants since jean shorts or jeans probably wouldn’t fit over her casts, they are about thigh high after all.
“Hey, how are you doing?” I ask as I approach the bed.
“Better since I can actually go home now,” she said with a smile.
“Mr. Briggs,” said a voice in the doorway. It was one of the nurses. “If you would please come with me, there is some paperwork you need to fill out before we can let your wife leave.” Thirty minutes, and about ten trees worth of paper later, I walked back into Spitfire’s room and saw her already in a wheelchair.
“Can we go now?” Spitfire asked. I turned to the nurse who had been looking over the paperwork before I had come back into the room. She nodded.
“Yes, we can go now,” I said as a CNA walked behind the wheelchair and started pushing it, me walking alongside. We were walked to the front entrance and as soon as we reached the curb the CNA walked back inside, and I took the handles and pushed.
“Why do I have to be pushed in a wheelchair?” she asked.
“It’s hospital policy,” I started as I looked around. I saw no one, “Spits. They make you ride in a wheelchair until you get inside your car. They did the same thing for me when I got my wisdom teeth cut out years ago. It was only fifty feet to the car, but they still did it out of policy.”
She pouted with her arms crossed, “I could fly instead with two broken legs and it would be less humiliating,” Spitfire muttered.
“Well you can fly around inside when we get back home,” I commented. Spitfire’s eyes widened as she realized that she said that a little too loud. She looked back at me, “Well you said it quiet, but not quiet enough,” I said with a smug grin. I got her inside the passenger side and then I started driving back to the house. We drove for a good ten minutes before Spitfire talked.
“So what has work said?” she asked.
“I called them the day you got admitted on one of my breaks, they said to take as much time as you needed to recover. Of course you’re not getting paid because it wasn’t on the job,” I replied. She gave me a surprised look, “It’s not like we’re in financial straits,” I said shrugging. We arrived home in silence, well the radio was on, but in vocal silence.
I pulled into the driveway and put the car into park. Opening the trunk I pulled out the wheelchair that the hospital let us keep. I set it up and wheeled it over to Spitfire’s side. She opened the door and swung into the wheelchair as I held it in place. She settled into the chair and turned back to look at me.
“I can take it from here,” she said trying to move the chair via the wheel railings. But she didn’t move.
I looked and saw that she missed something, “Hey the brakes are still on.”
She took off the brakes and I chucked a bit. She shot a death glare and said, “Shut up.” I raised my hands as if I were being arrested by the police for a second before putting them down again. I went out to the mailbox and got the mail. As I went inside I saw Spits taking off her shirt and stretching her wings out. We still haven’t found a way for her to freely have her wings out outside of a sports bra. Or any bra actually.
She flexed her wings and started flapping them until she was airborne, or as high as one could be in a living room with a twenty foot ceiling. She hovered over to my recliner before setting herself down in it. Smart girl, if you’re going to spend the next month or two laid up like this, you might as well do it in comfort. She turned on the TV and watched a program or two. I too watched for a bit before having to take off to work. As I headed for the door I passed my recliner, which now had a semi-conscious Spitfire on it, the meds must be kicking in again. She reached out and grabbed my arm and looked at me with pleading eyes.
“Come home soon,” she said before letting go, falling into a comfortable looking sleep.
***
One bartending shift later
I opened the door leading from the garage as quietly as I could. As I walked inside and took off my shoes and hung up my keys I head Spitfire say, “Andrew is that you?” from the bedroom.
“Yeah it’s me,” I replied. I walked into the bedroom and saw her already dressed for bed. “What’s wrong?” I asked as I saw her distressed expression.
“Can you sleep with me tonight?” she asked innocently.
“Wait, do you mean-?” I started. She seemed to know where I was going.
“No, not like that. Can you just sleep with me in the same bed and hold on to me, please?” I was relieved when I heard that instead of the alternative.
After what she’s been through I’m pretty much up for helping her in any way that I can. “Sure, I just need to take a shower first.” One shower later I walked out in my sleep clothes, my shirt from the day and a pair of sweatpants. I set myself under the covers and slid close to Spitfire. She wrapped my arm around her shoulders and twisted herself so that while her legs were straight, her torso was pressed into me so that I could feel her breasts touching my left side.
She then wrapped my arm around her and let it sit on her hip/midsection. She let go of my arm but then embraced my torso. “Thanks for everything Andrew,” she said starting to drift off with a yawn.
“You’re welcome, Spits,” I replied holding her a little tighter. “Now get some rest now, that’s what the doctor ordered after all.”
“Ok. Goodnight Andrew,” she said nodding off.
“Goodnight Spits,” I echoed. I rested my eyes and then opened them again. A few blinks later and I also was out like a lamp.
***
The next day, late morning
We stood in the airport terminal, or should I say private terminal for private flights. Do you know what the best part is about these private terminals? You don’t have to wait in line for baggage checks or overly touchy-feely TSA agents. Yeah we still go through metal detectors, but it’s a small line in comparison to the commercial flights. I mean you’re through in like fifteen minutes, depending on the lines of course, instead of an hour or more in the other concourses.
We got on the private jet. Yes this time we got a really nice private jet; the flight that takes the civilian contractors and other workers back and forth between the base and Vegas. Today the reason for our journey was for the techs to see the progress of the nanites and for Spitfire to meet with a psychologist that works on base. You’d be surprised at how many military personnel as well as contractors that get all crazy and emotional when it comes to stress on the job. Getting Spitfire up the ramp and into the plane had been the annoying part since there were only stairs. She hates it, but I had to “princess carry” her into the cabin, a flight attendant bringing up the wheelchair.
One plane ride later and I had to repeat the same thing in reverse. Carrying her down the steps to the wheelchair. I carted her to the science wing. As I did I was saluted by those of lesser rank, not to say they are lesser people, well you know what I mean. I walk inside the lab and one of the technicians comes over and talks to Spits.
“So Mrs. Briggs, how have you been feeling?” he asks.
“Better. My arms are at least healed up to the point at which I don’t need bandages on them. The skin graft seems to be working nicely. And my legs itch,” she replied.
“They itch?” he echoed.
“Yeah they itch and I can’t scratch them,” she said rapping her knuckle gently against the cast.
“Did you try using a coat hanger?” a pilot asked as he passed. I could tell based on his uniform. “I broke my arm once as a kid, a hanger saved me from going insane,” he finished as he walked away.
“Why did you think of that?” Spitfire asked me elbowing me in the ribs.
“Well I never had a broken anything, so I wouldn’t have thought about it,” I replied. She gave me that ‘are you shitting me look.’ “I’m sorry ok. If you want I’ll go find one now as,” I squinted at the guy’s name tag, “Schmidt here finishes his diagnostics.”
I walked out of the lab and spotted a guard. “Hey buddy,” I said getting her attention. “Do you know where I can find a wire coat hanger?”
***
One trip later to the barracks and I had a wire coat hanger. I hope the poor sap I borrowed it from doesn’t get too angry at me. If he or she does they can get over it, it’s just a hanger. I found a pair of pliers and undid the wire so it more or less resembled a jimmy that you would use to unlock a car, but in half. I don’t want her bleeding under cast from a sharp part of the wire now do I?
I walked back into the lab with the hanger and see that Spitfire was just finishing up her thing with the technician guy. “Milady, your scratcher thing,” I said handing it over. Immediately she plunged the wire under one cast at a time scratching the itches that were driving her nuts. Every time she hit one she sighed in satisfaction.
“Alright then it seems like we’re all done,” he said as he punched in a few keys on his keyboard.
“So what did you do?” I asked.
“Well I reprogrammed the nanites to finish cosmetic changes on the skin graft. Next is making sure that the leg bones stay set and mend properly so they’ll make sure that happens. Next is the cosmetic look on the scar on the compound fracture. Lastly are the scars on her arms, those will go away as scheduled previously. So far though the reading look good for more field testing.”
We walked to the office building portion of the base. Spitfire wanted to fly, but I reminded her that it would require her to take off her shirt again and I’m pretty sure there are a few guys on base that would like to see some free boobage, even if they were still covered by a bra. I’ve got to talk to the guys in R&D and see if I can get some clothing that lets her wings out, but also lets them be concealed. Perhaps Hernandez could arrange that. Anyway we arrive inside the base’s psychologist’s office. I take her to the receptionist, but I’m told.
“I’m sorry sir. She’s the only one that can go in during the appointment. The doctor will want to talk with you afterwards though, that’s usually how it goes for spouses,” she says as she paged the doctor. Her phone rang and she picked it up and only said into it, “Ok.” She placed it back and said, “He’ll see you now Mrs. Briggs.”
I watched her go inside and the door close. Great, now I have to figure out what I’m going to do for the next hour. No wait, I think I know just what to do. A smile started creeping up on my face. I knew exactly what I want to do.
***
I was laughing manically, “SUCK IT BITCHES!” I exclaimed pulling the trigger on the joystick. The plane’s cannons roared to life spitting fire and death everywhere it touched. The computer then started saying, “Missile lock, missile lock, missile lock,” before an impact hit the plane and flames shot over the cockpit. My vision went dark for a moment before being replaced with a bright white light.
“Simulation complete,” a mechanical female voice said as the cockpit opened.
“Well I can definitely tell you’re not a pilot,” a female officer said.
“Well you’ve got that right, I just needed to kill an hour and here we are,” I replied.
“Why?” she asked.
“Wife’s in a therapy session with the base shrink and I didn’t want to wait around in a stuffy waiting room, so instead I thought ‘hey why not a flight simulator?’ And here I am.” I looked down at my watch, “Speaking of which, it’s getting out in a few minutes,” I said getting out of the simulator. “Would you mind setting a one hour block next week at the same time?”
“I can do that,” she replied tapping her tablet a few times. “Have a good day Lieutenant,” she said saluting as I left.
I walked back to the part of the base in which Spitfire had been getting her therapy session with the shrink in. When I arrived inside I saw the doctor shaking Spitfire’s hand saying, “Now remember what I said Sam, it’s normal to feel this way this soon after such an incident. Now we’ll meet at the same time next week, alright?” he said. Spitfire nodded her head. “Good,” he looked over to me. “Ah Lt. Briggs, if you would please come in for a moment, I’d like to have a word with you for a few minutes.”
I walked inside his office and he closed the door. “Doctor-?” I started looking around for a name plate or something that would identify him.
“Oppenheimer, Lt. Briggs. I don’t think we have formally met,” he said offering me his hand. I shook it, “Now if you would please have a seat.”
“You want to talk to me about Sam?” I asked getting myself settled in the really nice leather chair.
“Yes your dear wife Samantha,” he said sitting down, grabbing a rag to clean his glasses. “It seems as though she’s suffering from PTSD, which was expected as a possibility. Has she been doing anything out of the ordinary?” he asked putting his glasses back on.
I thought for a moment, “Well she has been a little clingy while she sleeps. Is that one?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose in thought, “It seems as though clinging to you for ‘safety’ while she sleeps. She wants to feel safe Andrew, may I call you Andrew? So I would advise letting her keep clinging to you, you’re her safe-zone.”
“Safe-zone?” I echoed.
“Yes, you know. A place or person at which one can feel safe at or with even if the world’s going to all hell outside the window.” He took a long breath on his ecigarette and blew out the vapor, “Andrew the best thing you can do for her right now is to be there for her, and to watch for suicidal tendencies.”
***
Another day at the bar, another paycheck to put in the bank for later. Nothing much has happened over the last week. Spitfire and I went back to the base for another appointment. She got another session talking to a doctor, I got to ride a surfboard behind a tank through some mud. Which, by the way is really fun to do, other than having to take a shower afterwards though.
I walked inside the house and locked up like I always do and head towards the bedroom. As I walk inside I hear Spitfire speak up. “Hey Andrew, can you sleep with me again?”
Well if she wants to cuddle up to make her feel safe, who am I to deny her that? “Sure,” I reply.