hospice || e.j.

un | hell on wheels

Marli, on the other hand, doesn't take to hurting so well.

"It won't work," she repeats stubbornly, but holds out a hand anyway.

Dr. Knight smiles and took it, guiding the girl gently to her unsteady feet. In short, awkward steps, the doctor leads Marli around the room, the girl's chubby arm tucked around the woman's shoulders as they walk.

"You'll see for yourself if it will," Sufia assures, catching Marli as she wobbles and falls for the seventh time.

☾

Smith is absolutely smitten by that bleach-blonde nurse he saw handling the IV bags in the hallway today. She's perfect: bright eyes with a sunny laugh, skin a healthy tan, curvy in all the right places in her white uniform...

Smith shakes his head. Man, he must be getting lonely. An entire year spent babysitting a spoiled trust fund kid does that to you. At least the pay is good. But what use is making bank when you can't blow it all on cigarettes and whiskey shots at the bar?

Smith slumps forward in his awkwardly small plastic seat, scanning the surroundings like a good bodyguard he is. No threats. No anomalies.

The only vaguely alarming thing is the amount of curious gaze directed at him. After all, the man is well-built, decently dressed: tailored suit, Oxford dress shoes polished to a shine. Overlooking all the fine things, however, there's an unmistakable air of danger about Smith. With his close-cropped dome and sharp stubbles, the man carries the look of a reformed criminal. Someone who doesn't flinch in the face of murder.

After all, he's had rigorous training for that all his life.

What he is absolutely not trained for, however, is flirtatious attention. Women steal meaningful glances at him as they strolled past. A couple of men, too, to his surprise.

"The point is to not stand out, Smith."

Smith turns his head over to the source of dialogue. There, on the left of the plastic bench, parks a sleek, lightweight wheelchair plush with cushions. Its occupant sits, exuding a stormcloud of bad mood.

Marli Morris is not having a good day, and it showed.

"I'm aware, Miss Morris," Smith replies cautiously.

"Good for you," his principal says, fiddling with her necklace. "But not for me. Need I remind you what happened in Baltimore?"

Smith groans internally. He remembers Baltimore. Some bloke had figured out Marli comes from big money and attempted to snatch the girl for some quick extortion cash. Fortunately, the plan was sloppy, and Smith is a professional.

Maybe a bit too professional. The thing is, Smith was trained in combat, not negotiation.

"No, Miss Morris. It won't happen again. I promise."

And he fervently hopes it wouldn't. The Baltimore case was... messy, to say the least. His employer had to make a few personal calls for town officials to turn a blind eye. Smith himself doesn't get off easy. And Marli, well. Smith couldn't begin to understand how the event impacted her. Hopefully nothing too traumatic.

As if she read his thought, Marli meets his eyes in full, a wry smile on her lips.

"I hope so too."

☾

Marli Morris is fine, thank you very much. A daughter of a wealthy pharma magnate who's got all she wants at the snap of a finger shouldn't have anything to complain, right? Even if she happens to be paraplegic and moves around in a wheelchair.