Page 161 of Untouchable

He gets Parker to sign in and sit down and the ER looks empty. A few people in scrubs seem to be arriving and departing—maybe they've come at a shift change—and the person at the front tells Harp that they should be able to take Parker right back.

Sure enough, Parker isn't even done with his paperwork before they're calling him back to a room.

"Do you want me to—" Harp says, standing, unsure whether or not Parker will want him by his side when he's taken back.

“Please,” Parker says, grabbing Harp’s hand. “I mean—if you hate hospitals, you don’t have to, but—”

“If you want me there, I’m there,” Harp says fiercely, and Parker nods and smiles. They follow the nurse to the back, where Parker lays on a bed while a nurse takes his vitals as he explains what happened.

Harp finds it difficult to make conversation with Parker once the nurse is gone, and instead he goes to get water, hovers, asks Parker if he needs a snack or anything else, reassuring himself as much as Parker by standing to touch his leg or grab his hand.

* * *

"Hey,"Parker says, finally. "I"m okay. You can relax."

Harp gives him a grim smile, but he sits down.

It's only another moment until the nurse is back with a woman who introduces herself as Parker's doctor.

"Mr. James, you have a mild concussion. Everything is probably just fine, but to be on the safe side, I've ordered some imaging..."

“Bleh,” Parker says dramatically. “Guess you were right.” He shoots a crooked smile to Harp, but Harp looks tense and pale, as though Parker’s just been given a terminal diagnosis.

“If you follow me, we’ll head back,” the doctor says, and Parker looks one more time at Harp, as though asking for permission. Harp squeezes his hand before letting go.

“I’ll be right here waiting for you,” Harp says, and Parker nods, following the doctor through a maze of too-bright sterile corridors.

* * *

Harp waits nervouslyfor almost half an hour before he remembers that he has a job to do. He has to figure out what's going to happen with Parker's car.

It takes him a few minutes until he actually connects with a mechanic who knows what he's talking about—and the guy he gets on the phone isn't interested in taking in a repair tonight.

"I'll pay your weekend rate," Harp growls. "I'm asking you to stay maybe half an hour later to accept the vehicle—tops."

When the guy continues to hem and haw, Harp snaps.

"I'm not going to beg you to take my money," he says, louder. A nurse in the hallway clears her throat and Harp takes the hint, striding out of the ER.

He convinces the man to stay late and then starts the search for a towing company willing to drop what they were doing and drive to the middle of nowhere.

* * *

By the timethey take Parker back to the bed, the adrenaline has long since worn off, and he just finds he’s exhausted. An ugly headache is starting to snarl right in the center of his brain and he wishes he were home in bed, with Harp curled up around him, fiercely protective, just the way he’d held Parker the last time he’d slept over.

Harp’s not there, though, and Parker frowns. Harp’s jacket is still on the chair, and he knows Harp wouldn’t have left him, so Parker gets back onto the bed and pulls out his phone, realizing he needs to update Mindy. He has so much he needs to take care of—he’ll have to find someone to cover his sessions tomorrow if the doctor tells him he has to take the day off, or reschedule them. He has to call a towing company. He needs to get his car fixed ASAP, because Mink Creek isn’t a place one can navigate easily without transportation. He needs to call his insurance company. He probably should tell his parents too.

It’s overwhelming, though, and the sheer amount of things to attend to makes him feel dizzy, so he settles for tapping out a quick text to Mindy, telling her not to panic and that he’s safe, but relaying what had happened.

“Parker? Is that you?”

Parker’s head snaps up as he sends the text, and the blood drains from his face. His ex-boyfriend, Cole, is standing there, looking as handsome and polished and perfect as ever.

“C-Cole?” Parker says. He thinks for a brief moment that he might be hallucinating and that the concussion is much more serious than anyone realizes. “What are you doing here?”

“I just started my shift,” he says, his eyes raking up and down Parker. Parker feels especially small and grimy, his scrubs covered with blood and dirt from standing on the side of the road, his face still caked with blood, his hair sticking up at all angles. Cole, of course, is wearing a pair of scrubs that somehow manage to make his green eyes even greener—ugh—and a crisp white lab coat, a stethoscope hanging around his neck and a clipboard in one hand. He looks like the height of professionalism. “Why are you here?”

He steps closer, his voice smooth and warm—though Parker knows not to trust that warmth—and he tilts his head, his face a carefully cultivated mask of concern. Anyone around them would think that Cole was really alarmed.

---