Fire Up the Night [Sullivan]

[Every]

It never ceased to amaze her, how little bits of comfort made a evening easier. Amalea had left a pair of jeans, a tank top and thigh length cardigan waiting for her at the morgue. Once she had been dressed, Every made the short walk to Veil Tower’s garage to retrieve her Charger, the sleek black exterior shining as she ran her fingertips along the body. Her thumb rest on top of the button to pop the trunk, a small duffelbag sitting inside. Inside, her usual SCCY - Sins - had been placed underneath a sweater, courtesy of Dante. She tucked it behind her cardigan, moving the sweater further aside to collect the extra clip she carried and then found Princess there as well.

The formerly pink knife had been reforged overtime and the beads had long since fallen off, but the custom blade had done her well over the years. Bending over, she slid it into her boot, the shealth taking Every a few moments to readjust before it was comfortable enough that she would be able to ignore it. A glance through the back windshield revealed the time. “Might as well give him a proper welcome.” She thought, the corners of her lips turning downwards as she shut the trunk and moved to get into her vehicle. Sullivan hadn’t turned out to be the person that she’d thought him to be. It burned her to the core to even remotely consider it, but he’d fought - or mostly, he’d taken quite a lot of burns on behalf of her faction. “Cannon fodder.”

The thought elicited a quiet snort from the shadow as she started the Charger and put the vehicle in reverse. Every still didn’t know what to make of the man. The conversations that he had with Zachary drifted through her mind as she drove. The streets weren’t all that busy until she hit Bullwood, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel the only outward sign of anxiety as she made her way to the hospital. It wasn’t the building that bothered her, as she parked and moved from the vehicle fluidly, or even the chance of being recognized. That concern had faded with the news that Every Leighton - legally changed to Every Andras four years back - had been declared deceased months ago. But as she made her way inside and opted for the stairs rather than the elevator, the tapping stopped with each step she took.

A charming smirk was given to the woman behind the desk and Every thanked every deity that she could think of that she hadn’t been placed into the body of some airhead as she said, “Hi there, I’m Mercy Devereux. I’m here to pick up Sullivan Dane, he came in about a week ago?” She folded her arms as she set them on the counter, turning on the soft purr that she’d been stuck with, “Kind of an asshole, but fits that whole romantic novel esqe feel?” Nurse ‘Ashley’ as it read on her name tag let out an audible sigh, relief sweeping through her pretty features when she handed her a clipboard. “Fill these out, as a point of contact, I just need your identification card.” Blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders as she began shuffling things around.

“He shouldn’t be too much longer. Take a seat right over there.” Every took the clipboard before moving away, wiggling her fingers. Telepathically, she reached out into the man’s mind and said, “I don’t know what you did to these nurses, but they seem to want you gone.” She tried and failed to hide the amusement was evident in her voice as she drew her wraith back towards her.

[Sullivan (DELETED 11708)]

“I heard you’re finally getting out.”

Sullivan stops what he’s doing and lifts his head. He’s sat on the edge of the hospital issue bed, stringy blankets and deflated pillows strewn around him like forsaken nesting material. He’s tugging on his jeans – tattered and stitched up, but, otherwise clean – as the man appears in the doorway. It’s the senior orderly – Jack – whose mesomorphic build eclipses the light from the corridor. Jack’s a good sport because even though Sullivan nearly pulled his arm out of his shoulder socket in a wrestling contest two days ago, they’re still on speaking terms. He’s the one they send for the more difficult patients; his army training gives him the patience of a saint as well as the physical stopping power when all that patience runs out. His grey uniform mirrors the silver in his boxed beard and crew cut hair; it makes him look distinguished and a lot like a muscle-bound and aged George Clooney.

“Yep,” Sullivan says in a bitten response. “You notice this whole prison vibe too?.”

Jack laughs softly, his head shakes, and he rolls his eyes. Sullivan gives him a frown, but then carries on yanking his jeans over his hips. The fabric feels foreign against his skin as if it’s been washed in 50% potato water and 50% bleach - like everything else in this place. It’s only for the walk home, so, he can tolerate it.

“You’ve been lucky,” Jack says.

“Lucky?” he asks; the words come out like a grumble as he throws his starched, formerly black t-shirt over his head.

“Yeah. If you think this hospital is like a prison, then, boy. You have never been to prison.”

Jack gives Sullivan an appraising look and Sullivan matches it with a suspicious glare.

“It must be my charming personality,” Sullivan says.

Jack’s laugh comes from his stomach this time and ruptures the air like a beating drum. Sullivan smirks quietly as he pulls on his socks; his toes pressure against the cotton which crinkles into shape. He drags on a pair of boots and laces them quickly and firmly; he plants both feet on the ground with an internal wobble because one week on bare feet has rewritten the surface of his muscle memory.

“I think the odds are against me getting Nurse Joy’s number,” Sullivan says. He takes a few steps into the room; the echo of his footsteps is loud. “Almost as low as getting my jacket back.”

“Yeah. Sorry Romeo, but, that leather’s had it. We threw it out when you came in.” Jack gives him that appraising look again and shifts his weight about; his uniform strains. “It must have saved your life what with the state of it.”

Sullivan brows get heavy on his forehead and he drops his mouth to explain, but, there’s something else in his head that dissolves his thoughts: a voice and words that sounds something like Every speaking to him. Sullivan brings a finger to his ear and is surprised to find the cavity empty because the voice in his head is reminiscent to being spoken to through an ear pod. Sullivan rubs his ear and gives his head a quick shake like a dog trying to dislodge a flea.

“Are you ok, boy?”

Sullivan realises that Jack has a genuine look of worry on his face where that big brother expression should be. The thought of being stuck here indefinitely makes Sullivan throw on a quick grin and laugh off the strange incident. He walks up to the man, feels himself shrink in his shadow, then pats a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah. Of course, man. I’m good. So.” Sullivan claps his hands then rubs them. “I thought I was getting out of here.”

Jack smiles and relinquishes his post. The light floods in from the corridor like a boulder is rolled out of the entrance to Sullivan’s cave dwelling. He follows Jack Goliath Clooney back through the wards toward reception; the green painted line acts as his yellow brick road. Jack asks him what he’s going to do with his freedom, but, Sullivan gives him a generic excuse. His eyes are tracking the magnolia walls and he gives the creepy painting a final stare. They happen by Sullivan’s neighbour being taken back to his room in a wheelchair; the older man grunts and Sullivan cracks a smile. Sullivan can’t think of a time in the past seven days when he’s seen the man on his own two feet; his yellow skinned and balding body, which has no muscle tone, is a disturbing sight that gives rise to nightmarish possibilities.

Sullivan can’t entirely put the thought to bed after their interaction is behind him, but, he is distracted when they enter the reception area. Nurse Ashley’s honeyed locks bounce when she looks up and she spreads on a smile for Jack. She has a suggestive smile because her full lips form a natural pout. Her glittering blue eyes, buried in their sockets, watch energetically over the people who come and go. Her attention flashes to Sullivan for a millisecond and those pretty expressions contrast fiercely; the corners of her mouth pull down and her eyebrows crunch together like two trains in a crash. Sullivan tips his head to her and grins.

“Hey Nurse Joy.”

“I am so glad he’s leaving today,” she says; her attention is directly focused on Jack and she pretends Sullivan is not in the room. “I can’t believe it’s only been a week. Urg.”

“Does he have any papers to sign?” Jack asks; he supresses a laugh the best he can.

Nurse Ashley rolls her eyes and produces a document from her worn red folder along with a standard black biro.

“He needs to sign these forms to accept he’s being released. His friend is here to pick him up too. She’s in the waiting room over that way.”

“Wait. What?”

“I was just as surprised to find you had friends… Believe me.”