(no subject)

[lovely_ambition]

The patient had, apparently, tried to crawl out of his bed in two fits of delirium during the night. According to Brenda, the first time, he had coughed up a good bit of phlegm and announced, ‘oh god, it’s Jersey water!’ loudly, muttering that he had to get out of Jersey before he caught something just from breathing.

The second time, Chase was there to witness. And there was a large dramatic show of covering his eyes and the patient had kept insisting he needed a suit to live. “Oh god, my eyes,” the patient protested, spasming and covering his eyes. “Did you just try and match plaid with paisley, my god man, how do you live with yourself?”

Chase was unimpressed and tapped the empty plastic cup against his lips.

“I know how to look awesome,” Mr. Barney Stinson insisted, coughing and hacking up. “I have twice the awesome glands as you.”

“And they’re swollen,” Chase replied, trying to count down the number of seconds until he could foist the patient onto Cameron.

“Swollen with awesome.”

*

“So do you like, think we’ll have one of those movie goodbyes?” Marshall had brought up one day in the middle of playing the Playstation and advancing to Level 5 (which was a totally unplayed level, so they were really kicking ass). “Like with rain and stuff and maybe the dropping to the knees thing? I mean, Future Marshall could be all over that.”

“Totally,” Ted agreed, eagerly. “We’re not gonna be those guys who like…have a lame goodbye.” Ted rolled his eyes. “We’re so not laaame.” He drew out the word, making it sound totally lame on its own.

They played for a while before Marshall looked over at Ted with those wide eyes, coined the Marshallizers. “Is the big sad goodbye lame?” he asked worriedly.

“Dude, no,” Ted assured. “No, we are so not the kinds of guys who will drift and if we do, there is going to be a weeping, gnashing of teeth kind of goodbye.”

That got a grin. “Promise?”

“Pinky swear.”

Marshall went back to playing, jamming down buttons eagerly. “Man, I can’t wait to tell Lily.”

And maybe, just maybe, they both knew, a platonic friendly-guy-goodbye kiss could be part of the deal. If they each played their cards right.

*

Normally, she’s a good reaper and just takes the soul and doesn’t watch, but death by DT’s isn’t so bad. It’s halfway in she forgets how bad it can be and excuses herself to the waiting room to find a fifteen-year-old boy, blond and morose as only the relatives of the dead can be. He’s got beautiful hair, is what Daisy notices. Beautiful hair and beautiful hands.

He’s cradling a cup of coffee, but the Styrofoam is shaking in his hands and she smiles sympathetically, wondering if this is the son of the R. Chase she’d just reaped. In a moment, it’s confirmed when a beautiful woman of classic looks stands beside her.

“He’s alone,” the woman said quietly.

“Don’t be silly,” Daisy shakes that notion off. “Doesn’t he have a father? Siblings? A good friend?” Sometimes, people just need a good fuck, even.

“I left my son alone.”

Daisy has no sympathy for what the dead do and don’t do. They’ve had their chances and if she’s sorry for them, well, she’s just wasting time. She’s ready to leave, ready to show this woman the light.

“Will you give him a message?”

And this is how it starts. Daisy’s gone a good forty-something years without doing this, while performing her cons, and now there are messages. “What’s in it for me?” she asks, leaning in and giving a bubble of a laugh.

“Take my ring.”

Daisy had noticed, of course, the bauble on the woman’s hands, a pretty pinky signet ring, all rubies and gold and sized to fit a woman, probably part of a his and hers. “What do you want me to tell him, honey?” she asks, far more serious, far more grave now. The woman whispers it into her ear and before Daisy can clarify the message, she’s gone in a flash of bright light in the shape of the Melbourne coast.

Daisy sits down next to the boy, who looks young and weary already.

“Do I know you?” he snaps, eyes rimmed with red and glossy with tears. It’s clear he knows his mother is dead, has seen the Code Blue and the mood of the doctors around. “Because if I don’t, I’d like you to leave.”

He is alone, at least here.

“Your mother says she’s very sorry,” Daisy says, voice thick. “And that she loves you, but that she’s sorry she ruined so much of your life. She says…if you ever feel really alone, to turn to God.”

The boy barely reacts, but Daisy can tell that he’s fighting even harder to keep back tears and not all of them are staying behind the barrier. Daisy squeezes his shoulder, but doesn’t take his soul (even though he’d probably like her to) and leaves, the message given.

She has a trinket to pick up and a plane to catch.