The drip wasn’t surging through his body — obviously they’d given it to him because they thought he was dehydrated, a problem that could have been solved by just giving him a few gallons of water, for cryin’ out loud.
The easiest way to deal with these things was quickly: he pulled off the taped bandage holding the tube in place, then, with a good tug, removed the needle.
Saline poured all over his hand, running down to his arm. He swung his legs off the bed and got up, a little unsteadily. His head cleared as he tied the tube in a knot.
He couldn’t get it quite tight enough to stop running. He reached the tube up over the bag, hooking it into the chain. Gravity 101, but he was quite proud of himself for realizing it.
Now where were his clothes?
One of the nurses rushed over as he looked for them at the end of the bed. He didn’t understand what she was saying, but knowing the exact words was unnecessary; she was speaking universal nurse-patient language, saying something roughly along the lines of:
“Hey, I’m okay. Thanks,” Zeus told her.
She looked at him with the outraged stare nurses are trained to use on noncompliant patients. Zeus had seen that stare plenty of times from his mother, herself a nurse, so he simply smiled.
“You have any idea where my clothes are?” he asked.
The nurse threw up her hands, adding gestures to her verbal admonitions. She pointed at his arm where the IV had been.
It was bleeding slightly.
“You could give me a bandage,” said Zeus. He pushed down the pajama sleeve to staunch the bleeding.
“What are you doing from bed?”
Zeus looked up and the met the green eyes of the most beautiful woman he had seen in years, if not his entire life. Her dark-skinned face was framed by black hair that was pulled back behind her head into a long ponytail. Her bleached white smock hung loosely off a narrow frame over baggy blue pants. A stethoscope was strung around the back of her neck.
“I’m okay, nurse,” Zeus told her. “I’ll just be going now.”
She smiled broadly. “Oh, are you now?”
“Yeah, all I have are a couple of bruises and stuff,” said Zeus.
“Bruises.”
“I used to play football,” said Zeus. “I had a lot worse than this after a typical practice.”
“Your head?”
“Nothing.”
“Concussion?” asked the woman.
“Nah.”
God, she was beautiful.
“Your knee?” she asked.
“Banged it up, but look.” He put his weight on it, walking out from around the bed. “Not a problem.”
“No pain?”
“Just feels a little weird. You know what’s wrong with it?”
“Hyperextended it,” she said. Even her slight mispronunciation and unsteady grammar were endearing.
“You think so?” Zeus asked.
He looked into her eyes. They were definitely the highlight of her face, and her face was extremely attractive without them. The irises were almost incandescent — he’d seen hazel before, but these were more green.
Jewel-like.
So that wasn’t a metaphor. It was how some women’s eyes really were.
“I am a little hungry,” Zeus told her. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“We could get something to eat,” said Zeus. “I don’t know any places around here. I’d need a guide.”
She smirked.
“No no, not like that,” said Zeus. “Just to, you know, show me around.”
He touched her elbow. The slightest frown came to her face.
“Your English is very good,” he told her. “Is your accent British?”
“I went to school in Australia.”
Zeus looked around. The nurse who had scolded him had gone off to see another patient. Two attendants were watching from the far end of the room. The patients in the beds across from him were too sick or injured to pay much attention.
“Where are my clothes?” asked Zeus.
“You must be released by the doctor to leave. Then you can get clothes.”
“Good, let’s find him.”
“You feel okay?”
“Sure. Absolutely. I could do a dance or something.”
She smiled, this time amused.
“Come this way,” she told him.
“I’m Zeus, by the way. Zeus Murphy. Zeus is an unusual name in America. My father was Irish. My mom Greek. Zeus is an ancient god of Greece.”
He babbled on, knowing he wasn’t making much sense, but not really caring. Maybe they had doped him up.
A pair of metal desks sat at the end of the ward, pushed together to form an L. Folders and papers were stacked high at the one close the door; the other was covered with small wooden baskets that were filled with rubber gloves and common medical supplies like bandages and shrink-wrapped syringes. A stern-faced man in a pin-striped black business suit sat behind the desk, looking over the material in one of the folders — a patient’s chart, Zeus assumed. He was about fifty, and even seated looked tall.
The expression on his face could have soured milk.
“Hey, Doc,” said Zeus. “I’m good to go.”
The man looked up at him. He wasn’t wearing a tie, but his Western-style button-down shirt was cinched so tightly at the collar that Zeus wondered how any blood got to his head.
“I’m ready,” said Zeus. He made a motion with his thumb, then pretended to scribble. “Can we sign out?”
The man frowned at him and started speaking in Vietnamese. The woman responded.
“Tell him I’m good to go,” said Zeus. “Right?”
Neither paid any attention to him. Zeus thought of slipping away, but the idea of leaving the woman’s side voluntarily seemed… foolish.
Finally the man behind the desk reached to the pile of folders, took the top one, and slid it across the desk. Sighing, he handed the woman a pen. She jotted something in the top corner, and handed it back.
“You’re coming with me, right?” Zeus asked her. “For dinner?”
She shook her head. “Much work.”
“But you have to have dinner with me. To eat. For my strength.”
She frowned, but not in a mean way.
“And my clothes,” added Zeus. “You’re going help me with my clothes.”
“Clothes are at the desk, the hall end,” she said, pointing. “To the right.”
Zeus leaned out the wide doorway. There was a cage at the end, with a person working behind it.
“I can do that,” he said. “When are we having dinner?”
She tilted her head slightly, looking him over though her gaze never moved from his eyes.
“Please,” said Zeus. “Tell me when you get off.”
“Midnight.”
