You Didn't Bother to Check for a Pulse?
It had been almost a month since Ella had gotten out of the hospital– another month since she’d seen or heard from the brothers, Matt, or Wesley. She’d run into the blonde man, Foggy, a few times on the street, and they’d smiled amicably at each other, but nothing more. Ella was back to talking in morse code to her unidentified neighbor, through the wall. It was like her life had been on pause and now the regularly scheduled program had picked back up.
The construction on her block continued on, but her store remained untouched. She didn’t know if Wesley was avoiding the demolition of her store on purpose, or if they simply hadn’t reached her section of the block yet. She held out of frisson of hope that it was the former.
The thought of losing her store sent Ella into a spiral of something that she really didn’t feel like analyzing. Vladimir’s jacket hung in her closet, untouched after that first night, and Ella gazed at it from the bed where she currently lounged. It was a foggy Saturday morning, the clouds above promising a spectacularly shitty day of rain and general ickiness. Ella’s ribs and leg had already begun to ache, and, ignoring her alarm, she rolled back over and buried her head underneath her comforter. She couldn’t fathom going into work today and sitting behind the counter for twelve hours without any form of entertainment. “Without friends,” her mind amended, and Ella grumbled in ascension. She dozed for the better part of the day, wandering from her bed to the fridge when her stomach happened to give out a growl. She was quickly running low on food– fruits and vegetables and general healthy things that her store simply didn’t supply. She really wasn’t looking forward to that, though. The nearest grocery store was about a thirty minute walk, no biggie when she was fit as a fiddle, but her leg had been aching something fierce for the past week, so as she propped herself up on the couch, a carton of double chocolate fudge brownie ice cream cradled against her chest, she told herself that she was simply saving up her energy for the trip. Ella idly flipped through channels before settling on the local news, a blue knit blanket thrown over her legs.
“No word yet on the whereabouts of the masked vigilante that’s been resident to Hell’s Kitchen for the past few months. Many speculate that he may have stopped fighting crime but others speculate that he may have been killed during one of his recent altercations. Consequently, the Russian mob seems to have disbanded. Some wonder if the two are linked–”
Nearly choking on a wad of ice-cream, Ella hurriedly changed the channel, hand shaking as she gripped the remote. “No more news,” she whispered, heart pounding an uneven tempo against her ribs at the prospect of Matt bleeding out in an alleyway, or actually stumbling down an open manhole and drowning. House Hunters played across her screen as she put the ice-cream down and curled up under the blanket, trying to focus on the renovations the couple would need to complete because “that flower wallpaper is straight out of the sixties.” Though, the harder she tried to focus, the more unfocused her mind became. “I am not going to start moping. No, no way, pull yourself together,” Ella hissed, rubbing at her eyes as her throat began to burn. Everyone had made their choices and she had to respect that. She certainly did not like it, at all, but she needed to respect it, if nothing else. Wesley had been right, as begrudging as Ella was to admit it– hoping they’d all get along was definitely more optimistic than realistic. “I hate logic,” she muttered, throwing the blanket up and over her head, and listening to the first drops of rain fall heavily onto the window ledge.
~~~~
It was still raining buckets early the next morning, Ella discovering this very unfortunate fact as she all but pried her face off of the couch and untangled herself from the blanket. She’d fallen asleep with the TV on and stood up to shut it off before meandering into the kitchen. She’d resolved to go food shopping today, wholeheartedly betting on the fact that the rain would’ve stopped sometime during the night. As Ella had come to realize, she’d been running really short on luck these past few months. All she had left in her fridge was a bottle of ketchup, a half eaten slice of meat-lovers pizza, and what could, at one time, have been called Chinese take-out. Her stomach hadn’t begun to growl yet, but she knew that she’d be ravenous in the next few hours– the pain meds just did that to her. It was seven a.m., and the store opened at eight. She proposed that if she left now, she’d get to the store right as it opened– the time compensating for her less than pristine condition, of course. Heaving a sigh, Ella hobbled to the bathroom and cleaned up, throwing on her raincoat over her pajama top, and wriggling herself into a pair of sweatpants and sneakers. Quickly finding her wallet and keys, she gave one last, weary look outside, before heading out and starting her trek.
Five minutes into the trek, Ella realized that she’d made a horrible, horrible mistake. Her raincoat, a cheap thing she’d got at a yard sale, was already soaked through to the inner lining. Not only was she cold, but the added weight of the wet material did nothing for her injuries. Her leg, according to her doctor, and her nurse, and the nurses’ assistant, wouldn’t be fully healed for about twelve weeks, maybe. That was the minimum time allotted on her stamp of healing and Ella had planned her life according to those twelve weeks. But, judging by the blistering pain shooting up through her leg and spiderwebbing into her hip, she wasn’t as close to healed as she’d thought. It’d only been eight weeks, give or take, and the prospect of not being able to walk more than two blocks without collapsing was infuriating. Her ribs were also burning with exertion, but those were easier to ignore. “What I do for food,” Ella snapped, eyes laser focused on the street ahead as she continued on.
At the fifteen minute mark, Ella was ready to gnaw her leg off if it meant getting to the grocery store faster. She should’ve been halfway there at this point, but she’d only made it five blocks, powered by sheer determination. She’d definitely considered hailing a cab, but she didn’t have any cash on her person to do so– she’d planned on withdrawing money at the store's ATM. The grocery store was thirty blocks away. “Twenty-five to go, we got this,” Ella groused, trying to mentally fortify herself for the rest of the walk, because she’d already resigned her body as a lost cause.
She was halfway through the seventh block when her leg completely buckled, sending her sprawling out across the pavement. She laid on the sidewalk for a few seconds, cheek pressed against the wet cement before heaving herself up into a seated position and scooting back to rest against the wall of the building to her left. Ella was grateful that no one seemed to be out so early on a Sunday morning– she’d only passed six people on her path. Cheeks suddenly flushing a nasty red, she threw her hands up and smacked them down beside her in a fit of rage. “Damnit!” she screamed, huffing as her voice echoed through the empty street. Her sweatpants were now almost entirely soaked and a chill had begun to set in. As if on queue, a peal of thunder rang out, heinously loud. “I can’t catch a goddamn break, fucking storm thinking it has any right to be here,” she hissed, pulling her hood up further and gently massaging her leg. The cold press of her wet sweatpants was helping, but her leg continued to throb wildly, the pain sending her mood down into a rapid tailspin. The rain progressed from a steady shower to an outright downpour, and Ella was stuck. Minutes ticked by and she made the decision that once she could stand, she’d trudge the seven blocks back to her apartment and eat take-out and delivery pizza for the rest of her life.
“Are you…alright?” The voice startled Ella, causing her to jerk her head backwards into the brick wall behind her. She hadn’t even heard anyone approach, lost as she was in her own miserly fate between the eternal choice of pepperoni or Italian sausage. “Ow,” she groaned, absently rubbing at the back of her head as she looked up to see who had spoken. Foggy stood over her, umbrella in hand, and worry plastered across every line of his face. His eyes widened when he realized it was her and he immediately bent down, leather messenger bag skirting the puddle to Ella’s left. He was dressed in his usual business attire. “Oh my god, are you okay?”
“Yup, totally fine, I just like freezing to death in the rain on Sundays, it’s my favorite pastime,” Ella snapped, as she leveled a glare onto the blonde man. She immediately regretted her words when his face crumpled, first in surprise, and then in indignation. “Look, I’m not having the best of mornings, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that,” she said, scrubbing her hands down her face.
“Hey, it’s fine, I’ve had my fair share of shitty mornings. Anything I can do to help?” Foggy asked, the genuine concern slowly chipping away at the mountain of anger that had been building in Ella’s chest.
“No, I’m– well, could you, maybe, call a cab? I don’t have any money on me to pay for the ride, and I swear I’ll pay you back! I’m not going to make it to where I’m going by walking, but I’ll give you my address and you can come pick up the money–” Ella rambled. There wasn’t much that she hated more than asking for help, especially from strangers.
“Yeah, no problem! Take a breath, you look like you’re gonna hyperventilate,” Foggy said, already reaching for his phone. Ella followed his suggestion, pulling in a few deep breaths and continuing to rub her leg. She listened as Foggy called the cab, giving out their present address. “Okay, how much would it cost to get from here to…?” he asked, giving her his phone so she could type in her own address.
“The grocery store on 16th. Ten dollars maximum,” Ella replied, taking the bill he offered with a grateful, weary smile.
“Do you need help getting up?” he asked, and Ella reluctantly nodded, bracing herself. He put an arm around her waist and pulled, depositing Ella onto her feet. Her leg throbbed as blood rushed back to the area, nausea biting sharply at her stomach. For the first time since the accident, she found herself half-heartedly wishing that Wesley had given the hit-and-run driver that “defensive driving course”. Foggy stayed with her until the taxi arrived, the two lightly conversing during the wait. Before she got in, she leaned over and gave him a tight hug.
“Just, thanks again. Really. You don’t know how much you saved me on this one,” Ella said, and Foggy only shrugged his shoulders humbly, giving her a wide smile.
“It was no big deal, honestly. Good luck!” Foggy said, waving once, and then continuing on his way. Ella waved back and then settled into the cab, giving the driver the address and then settling back into the leather seats.
~~~
Ella got home around ten, having been able to hail a cab on the return trip, much to her relief. Not to her relief, however, was the amount of bags she’d brought back with her. The taxi driver helped her lift them out of the trunk and into the lobby of her building, but didn’t have the time to help her carry them upstairs. Ella, to her very core, was a ‘one trip– two trips are for the weak’ woman. She had seven bags, three filled with canned goods and proteins, the others filled with fruits, vegetables, and miscellaneous snacks. There was no humanly possible way that she was carrying all of the bags up in one go– if not her leg, then her rib would have something very nasty to say about any attempt at it. Ella originally bought the apartment because it was cheap and it was a walk up, meaning she’d need to stay in reasonable shape to make it up three floors. She wanted to strangle her old self right about now. “If we do this, we can sleep for two days and eat the rest of the ice-cream,” Ella said, trying to talk herself into starting the trip. She was shivering, achey, and in a mood as foul as the takeout in her fridge. Grabbing two of the heavier bags, and one of the lighter ones, she shuffled toward the stairway, raising one foot onto the first step. “Fuck everything,” she grumbled, raising her other foot and beginning the slow ascension.
By the time Ella reached her door, ten minutes had passed and she all but collapsed in her entryway. The only sound in the hallway was the steady dripping from her sweatpants, and her ragged breathing. “Five minutes,” Ella gasped, laying herself against her door and trying to catch her breath. She’d rest there for five minutes and then she’d go get the rest of her bags. “Five minutes…”
Well, five minutes quickly turned into two hours, Ella jerking awake sometime around noon. All she wanted was to throw a world ending tantrum and hurl her groceries over the stairwell railing. She groaned deep in her throat, before latching onto the doorjamb to stand. She’d just planted her feet when a voice spoke from her right. “It looks like you need help.” Ella fought the urge to sneer, lip pulling back at Wesley’s detached, mildly condescending tone.
“How long have you been standing there? That’s one thousand shades of creepy, and I don’t need any help, so piss off,” Ella growled, limping over to the stairwell. Her anger, which had dulled to a low simmer, boiled up, fueling her.
“A few minutes, I need to talk to you,” Wesley said, quickly stepping forward and latching onto Ella’s wrist.
“A few minutes? So, you saw me passed out against my door and didn’t even bother to check for a pulse? I’m insulted, really, I am. That’s a complete asshole move,” Ella bit back, shaking him off and lowering herself down onto the step. Whether Wesley deserved the verbal lashing or not, Ella was still half-asleep and on a rampage.
“Wait, let me– I’ll go get your bags,” Wesley said, and before Ella could even open her mouth to protest, Wesley was turning the corner on the first landing. Pursing her lips, Ella walked back to her apartment, opening the door and shoving all of the bags across the threshold. She left the door cracked and then fell heavily into a kitchen chair, scooting it into the living room when Wesley reappeared, bags in hand. Her dropped them by the others and then came to stand hesitantly in front of Ella, the coffee table safely between them. He was quiet for a few moments, expression unreadable and Ella was so not in the mood for twenty-questions or more blame.
“You said you needed to talk, so talk,” Ella said, hands gripping the couch cushions, nails digging into the soft material.
“I…you know I’m incredibly inept at apologizing, and it’s going to be difficult for me–”
“It’s already difficult for me,” Ella said, and it was the truth– she was exhausted and in pain and the word ‘apology’ simply wasn’t registering in her brain. “What were you gonna do? Wait until I woke up? Leave me in the hallway if I didn’t?”
“No, I didn't know what to say and–”
“And you thought that when you discovered me unconscious in a hallway, it would be the perfect time to gather your thoughts?”
“Will you listen?” Wesley shouted, and Ella’s mouth snapped shut, though her glare stayed in place. “I came to see you because I didn’t think that this apology could be in any other form than words,” Wesley said, catching Ella completely off guard. “It wasn’t right, how I left you on the floor in that hospital room. I won’t apologize for everything that I said, because most of it was undeniable truth, but I want to apologize for how I said it. You’re…a neutral party and…I apologize for accusing you of anything.”
“…What?” Ella murmured, completely thrown out into left field. Of everything that she would have ever expected to come out of Wesley’s mouth, it wasn’t that.
“I’m sorry,” Wesley said, face softening. Ella was eerily silent as she stared at him, hands balling themselves into fists, her knuckles going white. Wesley grew progressively more uncomfortable until he shoved his hands into his pockets and spun on his heel to leave.
“Is this the first time you’ve been into my apartment without breaking in?” Ella asked, eyes glued to his shoes as he stumbled at the sound of her voice. Wesley was bewildered for all of a minute before he caught on, a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. This was Ella’s roundabout, completely unnecessary way of accepting his apology.
“Yes,” he answered, fiddling with his glasses as they started sliding down his nose.
“How does it feel?” Ella asked, finally meeting his eyes, a small smile of her own breaking through.
“…Better,” Wesley responded, smile growing a fraction of an inch.
“Good. That’s good,” Ella chuckled, running a hand through her hair.
“Well, I need to get back to work. I’ll see you around?” Wesley said, and Ella felt the slightest nudge of hope against her heart. The weeks ahead seemed to grow a little brighter.
“Yeah,” Ella said, but quickly added on, “but, you know that if the other guys come back, I’ll be talking to them, too?” Wesley’s smile dimmed a bit, making it a little sadder than before.
“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” he said, staring at her a moment longer before leaving. Ella watched him go, listened as the front door clicked close, and stayed seated until she could no longer hear the click of his shoes against the steps. Sighing through her nose, Ella stood and proceed to put away the perishable items before changing into a dry set of clothes. The rain was still falling in buckets outside, an incessant ‘drip drip drip’ against her ceiling that did wonders for her frayed nerves. She practically inhaled an apple and some instant oatmeal before making her way to the bedroom. Without a second thought she slipped into Vladimir’s jacket and curled up under the covers. “I miss you guys,” she mumbled into the pillow, sleep hastily pulling her under. Ella slept peacefully for the first time in weeks.