FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Close Your Eyes

The office I was seated in felt as ridiculous as it looked. Leave it to my mother to want to play mind games. Despite no lack in the overall air of authority she generally held, as the head of the neurology department in the humble hospital, she managed to add a few interesting... decorative touches. Touches that could have been easily explained away by any normal means separately, but when added up amount the equivalent of a CEO power play.

It wasn't a large office by any means but half of it was leaps and bounds more narrow than the other half. Where I was sitting, closest to the exit, I was flanked by walls of books in unnecessarily deep bookshelves. From the ceiling a fan hung unnaturally low, leaving me with the feeling I should keep my ears plastered to my head. The female husky before me had made sure to lock the door behind me before I sat in an almost comically small chair.

Behind her tall office chair a wall of windows faced east, which made her appear much brighter in the early morning sun than her side of the room actually was. I'm sure this was all very overwhelming for someone who had never experienced it before, but this was my mother. I could follow her psych 101 intimidation stunts. What it did to me was make me wonder if she talked to patients in this room. Or the poor families of patients.

"I assume you're here about Tristan Montgomery," she spoke slowly. Her deep brown eyes were staring down at me, as if trying to lose me in their cool vastness.

"That's what I had mentioned on the phone Dr. Hardman." At least I could always keep my cool with her.

"State your case nurse Hardman. It had better be a good one." She spoke with a calm that was meant to unnerve any opponent, resting her chin lightly on interlaced paws. Practice with this tone has earned me my ability to respond with limited unsettling feelings.

"Mr. Montgomery has a psychological affliction, not a neurological one. Isn't the decision for the provider of his care somewhat out of your jurisdiction?" I kept myself with confident body language. I wouldn't wither under the pressure of her gaze.

"The clinician who oversees the psychiatric floor is not known for his..." she paused seeming to chew on a few words in her mind to properly describe the cheetah's incompetence, "delicacy in these matters." Seeming to wave off that thought she continued, "not only do I have plenty of expertise in this area I am not entirely certain that this is in fact a psychological case. I believe it is neurological which places it well outside your realm of care nurse Hardman." She slightly raised one eyebrow, as if daring me to defy her, but I was always a rebellious teen at heart.

"I was worried you may believe that doctor, so I brought this," I held up a manila envelope I had been grasping in my left paw, "with the results of many tests for Mr. Montgomery. I have the results from an fMRI and a CT scan of his brain done at the prior time of admission to the hospital, before I was assigned to the case." I knew where she was headed before I had slid it over to her, but I pretended not to while she shuffled through the papers in the envelope, "in addition I have the results of 37 different reflex tests in comparison to averages of his species, age range, and regional specifications."

"I see," she responded in a frigid tone, "there seems to be an unusual amount of excess activity in this fMRI. That could point to hyperactivity in several regions. Making it a neurological case." The finality in the tone of her voice and an expression that dared some, but begged me to defy her still rested gently on her muzzle. It was perhaps a more feminine version of the death glare my father had used on Dr. Nolan the day before.

"That scan is 4 years old," I smiled, I had prepared for this to happen, "and you know as well as I do that a study in 2009 during a brain mapping conference showed the lack of reliability of that test when activity was clearly shown in the brain of a very dead salmon. In addition wouldn't hyperactivity have additional symptoms? Especially in the most active region shown where the occipital lobe lies. Wouldn't that be an indicator of epilepsy? He obviously shows no signs of that." I took a deep breath, returning her look of contempt finally. I'm not just a pretty face and she better know it.

"If you are quite done nurse," she started without batting an eye, "I believe in the integrity of our fMRI, and there are plenty of other disorders that can arise from hyperactivity, just because it's not epilepsy doesn't mean it isn't another neurological condition." How fantastic, a defense perhaps more frustrating than any other, the 'if you can't beat them be vague' approach.

"What neurological condition that you know of has absolutely no physiological side effects?" The irritation was finally creeping its way into my voice and etching itself into the features on my face.

"Your report mentions an unhealthy loss in weight," she shrugged. "That could be an effect from a number of disorders. I am not convinced it is entirely psychological."

"I'll find a hundred clinicians to back me then."

"As long as they're real doctors," I could practically see the knife in her eyes as she stabbed at my nursing degree, "go ahead. I stand behind my evaluation though."

"He's my employer; you can't do a thing about it you know." I had to remind her, as this fight clearly wasn't about medicine anymore.

"Well it's a good thing I won't be doing anything about it, is it?"

"What do you mean?" I asked skeptically.

"My assessment of Tristan Alexander Montgomery will simply go to his insurance provider." Her gaze and look of contempt finally degenerated into a small twisted smile, "I won't have to do a thing after that, his insurance will stop paying you and our unstable fox friend can't hold down a job to pay you. So it seems you won't be able to provide him with your services after all."

I finally cracked, this is where her projectiles bled me out. If she wanted a pissing match then I'd soak her. I stood, drawing myself to my full height and looked down on her, "I find it rather surprising doctor Hardman that a nurse has a far better grasp of medicine than you do. You base your decision entirely on prejudice without a hint of medical knowledge. It's pathetic that a doctor, with all her years of training and wisdom, is still as ignorant as you are." I didn't wait for a response before I unlocked the door and left. I couldn't. I couldn't let her see me cry as I briskly walked away. At least she'd never hear my silent tears.

---

I took the walk back to Trist's home to calm myself. Do some deep breathing exercises, and formulate a plan. How much money did I have? Could I afford to go without pay? Would his insurance company even listen to my evaluation? What could I do to fight this? I may lose battles, but I never lose wars. This is especially true when the spoils consisted of Trist. Not that he was actually the spoils... I was just trying to do my job... I think. Apparently keeping my feelings for him out of this is harder than I thought it would be.

Walking up the drive to Trist's home seemed easier this time. Almost normal, and this was curious to me, as I couldn't imagine the home feeling the same as before I left the first time. It was strange, but I could almost feel that Trist was going to have a better day today. That hope kept me going as I reached above the door to grab the key to the front door, a little sway in my step and a swish in my tail.

"WHOAH BOY!!! BACK BEAST, BACK I SAY!!!" is what accompanied a cacophony of fire alarms and the smell of scorched food when I walked in. I ran into the kitchen to check on Trist and everything in my mind went blank again. No problems from earlier just the one thought remained.

Fire. Ok... Fire... Shit! Fire! I ran to the sink and filled a dirty pan with water from the sink and splashed it onto the pan that was ablaze on the stove top. It wasn't entirely out but it was down in size and I could appreciate the sight that my little fox graced me with while I filled the pan a second time.

Trist was a safe distance from the stove, pointing a spatula at the flames, yelling at the fire as if it was going to respond. I barely held together my laughter as I finished putting out the flames, and Trist stopped yelling.

"that was kind of dangerous ya know," He attempted over the alarms, but all I could see was his moving maw and a strange, yet familiar look across his face.

"HOLD ON!!" I yelled as I moved to turn off the alarms. Thank god they were where I remembered so my eardrums weren't completely shredded by their screeching. I sighed as soon as they were off, "ok," I started walking back to him, "what were you trying to say?"

His expression hadn't changed since I had left, "that was kind of dangerous."

"What?" I asked a little shocked at this reaction.

"What if it was a grease fire?" he pointed out.

"Well what was your solution?" I teased a little. I couldn't help but slip back into the banter he and I used to partake in. Just being around him was trickling energy back into me.

"Cast a spell," he said in a serious tone.

"Did that work for you?" I asked, still amused.

"Would've worked how I wanted if I had a better wand," he responded.

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, "it worked did it." I was already feeling better. Damn him, I was supposed to be thinking of a solution. Instead I found myself focused entirely on him in a different capacity.

He shrugged his shoulders and looked at me smugly, "called you didn't it?"

I rolled my eyes in an all too practiced motion, "oh well forgive me master sorcerer. How can I make it up to you?"

"You can make us breakfast." He stated simply.

"I probably should, just to avoid catastrophe," I chuckled walking back over to the stove. Only now did I recognize the absolute mess around. It was actually a familiar mess and I couldn't help but keep a grin on my face.

"Do you know how to make crepes?" he whined a little. He loved the little sweet concoctions but he was never able to truly make them. It was at one point a Saturday morning tradition of ours. I'd make breakfast and he'd clean up. It was a silly little arrangement since he loved to cook.... Well he loved to try to cook. Poor little guy had more 'slight variations' on food than I'd care to admit. I wondered if he'd managed to feed himself at all while I was gone. In fact that thought gave me hope, that it was the true reason for his malnutrition and not mental illness.

"I actually do," I said with a smile plainly adorning my face, "I've made them more times than I can remember."

"Yay!!" he celebrated, clasping his hands together and getting a slightly dreamy look on his muzzle, "I don't know why but, I woke up this morning and I really wanted crepes."

My smile faded a bit when my train of thought returned to a certain insurance conundrum. I just got out a new pan and retired the pan from Trist's disaster. Trying to focus my attention elsewhere (at least with Trist in the room) I wondered if his body had remembered me. I always used to spend the night on Fridays so after spending last night at his abode, he probably felt like it was Saturday morning.

"Where do you keep your cups Trist?" I asked, about to restart his crepe filling.

"The cup I was using is still on the counter, right next to the rum." He replied easily, but when I spotted the neon red and purple monstrosity... There was no way to help it, I broke down in laughter. "What?" Trist just continued to ask me, his head tilted lightly until I managed to calm myself. I just couldn't believe he was using big thunder, his old coffee cup sculpted for use by extinct dinosaurs, as his 'measuring cup'.

"Noooo," I attempted, still chuckling, "like a liiiiittle measuring cup," I spoke with my paws simultaneously, showing him how small I meant, "they normally come in sets..." I trailed off when the realization hit me, a quarter of a cup of bourbon to flambé the cherries... he probably added... "aaaand that explains the fire." I just chuckled this time, too tired for another full laugh like earlier, but it was a serene happy tired. It seemed as if the negativity from my morning had just seeped out of me. Trist just blushed and kept quiet while I started on our breakfast, with real measuring cups this time.

While Trist was constantly looking over my shoulder and poking his fingers in this and that 'just to taste', cooking still afforded me a calm time to think about what had happened without so much tension built up around my mind. The latter part was mostly due to Trist.

I had to tell him about the situation with my mother. I was having such a good time with him though it was difficult to bring up the subject. I hoped he had read at least one of the three notes I had left for him strewn about his room, just in case he missed one, so he knew where I had gone. Cowardly as it may sound, I was beginning to think that maybe I should wait for him to bring it up; worst case scenario the insurance company would tell him instead of me. I really didn't want that to happen though. I have no idea what his reaction would be. What if he received that news on a 'bad day'?

Or I could test the waters. See what he would think about not having a nurse. Would that still afford me the ability to see him though? I refuse to not see him at all. I couldn't leave him. Not now. Not ever again. I needed a solution and fast, especially since I was almost done cooking. With nothing in sight I decided that for now I could use a distraction. The tension I'm sure was beginning to affect me physically and I wasn't ready for Trist to find out.

"Ok Trist, I'm gonna show you the difference between something cool and lighting the house on fire." His eyes lit up, intrigued at the prospect of being able to show off his new cooking prowess I'm sure and I was excited by the idea of him giving my mind a quick breather.

"And you won't even have to be a sorcerer to do it?"

I laughed hoping there was that twinkle in his eye that used to tell me he was just pulling my tail. "Nope, no magic," I paused for thought, "well I take that back. There's plenty of magic in kitchen chemistry." I smiled and with a wink I pulled out two clear, tall drinking glasses, and placed big thunder within arms reach. "Ok, I'm sure it'll look similar to what you did, but this little trick will really illustrate the difference in measurement." He nodded, and I measured out a quarter of a cup of bourbon and poured it into a drinking glass. Then I measured a quarter of big thunder and deposited it into the other glass.

"Hey!" Trist whined, "that's no fair at all!" I gave him a curious look. "Those glasses are really thin, I bet it wouldn't look like all that much if you picked up a fat glass." He pouted slightly, quite adorably I might add.

"That's true, but still, you added way to much flammable stuff," I chuckled. Finally I added the right glass to my pan of sugary cherries, deglazing the pan and with a flick of my lighter... voi-la, singed knuckle fur ala-carte and a side of cherry crepe. Delicious.

We enjoyed our crepe breakfast with a jovial enthusiasm I could never describe. The conversation, the light, the room, everything had my head swimming in memories. Just outside the kitchen though I knew the house was hollow. Just outside this bubble in time life could come crashing down on us at any moment. I felt like what we had, in this moment, was a tower of cards in the eye of a hurricane.

Just for this one hour though, in the eye of the hurricane, I couldn't help but close my eyes and enjoy Trist, cherries, and the music of his laughter. Pretending that, if only for an hour, everything was ok.