Surprisingly good. Even with dark circles under his eyes and stubble on his normally clean shaven face.
“You look like hell,” I told him.
His eyes narrowed. “You love seeing me like this, don’t you?”
“Like what? You’re concussed, not dying.”
“To your great disappointment.”
Any hopes that maybe a bang on the head would result in him not being such an argumentative prick were fast slipping away.
“Believe it or not,” I said, “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“You know what? I don’t believe it.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” I said, standing up. “I’ll tell Richard you’re fine, and next time he can come and check on you himself!”
I began to walk away but as I reached the door, I turned back. I don’t know what made me do it, but I was just in time to see McCoy’s hand fly up to his head and he squeezed his eyes closed.
The change happened in an instant. He’d been his usual, annoying self, then in the split second I’d turned away, something had happened. I ran back over to the bed and sat down, placing my hand on his arm.
“Are you okay?” I asked, unable to disguise my panic.
“Yeah,” he said, though his voice was strained as if concentrating hard to block out the pain. “I’m fine.”
After a moment or two he relaxed. Me? My heart was still thundering.
“I’m okay,” he said. “I slept badly and sometimes my head gets real painful.”
“Is that supposed to happen?”
He shrugged. “I’m seeing the doctor again later, I’ll find out then.”
“Maybe you should get some sleep. Get into bed.”
“Careful, Leah. People will start to think you care.”
The grogginess in his voice made me a little more compassionate than I would usually have been and I laughed at the truth of his words. “Shut up and do as you’re told.”
With great effort he got to his feet, and I pulled back the covers for him.
“Are you always this bossy?” he asked.
“I’m not bossy. Now stop bloody questioning me and get in.”
With a dramatic sigh, he got into bed and I put the covers over him, like a potty-mouthed Florence Nightingale.
“Try to rest, okay?”
He nodded and closed his eyes again. When I was satisfied he wasn’t in any more pain, I stepped out in
to the corridor to call Richard.
“Hey Leah, how’s he doing?”
“Not so good,” I told him. “He’s tired and his head was hurting a lot a second ago. Is the doctor coming soon?”
“Yeah, he just called. He should be here within the next thirty minutes. From what I can tell though, McCoy won’t be fit to fly home today. We’ll have to wait and see what the doc says, but it might be a couple of days before he can go anywhere and because it’s a concussion, I don’t want him left alone.”