Tales of the Parodyverse

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Just a bit late for Romance Week
Mon Jun 30, 2003 at 05:40:45 pm EDT
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Mending: A short tale of romance
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She raised her head with an admittedly dark look in her eyes as the orderly rolled the cart into her room. Despite being the dinner cart, it was as aroma free as the rest of the hospital ward. "You're here to punish me with more lime jello?" she asked acidly. "It's not the best way to discourage further suicide attempts."



The orderly gave her a big, goofy grin. She hated the way his teeth gleamed white against his darkly tanned skin. She hated even more that his visits had become the highlight of her days. Of course, considering what she had done to escape her life before even being sent here, it wasn't terribly surprising.



"Not today, my dark dudette" he declared in that vapid surfer-boy accent of his. "Today, you are treated to a most delectable pistachio pudding for your dining pleasure!"



"So instead of clear and wobbly green stuff, I get viscous and snot-like green stuff" she summed up for him.



"Yeah, guess so" he acknowledged, maneuvering the cart alongside her bed. He towered over her as he laid a tray scantly filled with thoroughly unappetizing dishes across her lap. Of course, his large, fit body would have towered over her even if he were standing. "I'm not sure what that gray stuff under the gravy is... but, like, I do know they put the morgue suspiciously close to the cafeteria. I'm just saying."



She refused to smile for him. It was transparent the way he had slowly tailored his humor towards her personality... or what he surmised it might be. The walking California cliché thought that she was just a stereotypical Goth girl. How dare he? What did he know about her? Like this was all some overly dramatic lifestyle choice... something a bored, rich white girl could play at to get back at her parents. How pathetic and childish he must assume her to be... "So do I get to feed myself, or do I have to play "here comes the plane, open the hanger doors" again with Nurse Ratchett?"



"They took the restraints off your arms, didn't they?" he answered with a shrug. "Of course, they still only trust you with one of these 'spork' things..." He unwrapped the mutant plastic spoon/fork and laid atop the napkin alongside her plate. "...But, it's still progress. And you did say Nurse Ratchett, right?" he added as he stood up straight. "'Cause, like, this one time Doc Harrington cornered me in the men's room and suggested the same game... but I think he had different rules in mind."



A little snort escaped her lips before she could help it, but she quickly reset her face to the usual cold condescending glare as he wheeled his cart towards the door.



"Don't think I didn't catch that, Dudette" he grinned as he shut the door behind him.







"Breakfast's here... time to rise and shine, Dudette" he said with an impossibly sunny disposition as he pushed his way into the room, making sure the food cart clattered as loudly as possible. It was always best to start the patients off with just the right amount of aggravation. Good for the circulation.



She cracked an eyelid just enough to register her loathing. "I swear, if you call me that one more time I'll jab a spork in your eye."



"One of only 5 spork-vulnerable spots on the human body" he noted approvingly. He didn't let on his amusement at seeing her trying to mentally tally the other four. "Of course, you'll risk being busted back down to bendy straws as your only allowed utensil... and it's, like, a bitch to make a shank out of one of those." He removed the cover to her breakfast tray with a theatrical wince, then shook his head sadly as he presented it to her. "Ugh... though I suppose I could cut you some slack, what with what you're facing. So what should I call you?"



"I have a name, you know. What, don't you people keep track of which patient is which around here?" she grumbled, her face showing the effort required to summon the will to eat what was put in front of her. "I haven't been getting some old lady's bladder infection medicine by mistake, have I?"



"No... That and Kosher meals you have to order special." He checked out her medical chart for show, though he certainly didn't need to. Ever since he was first assigned to this floor he's known the name of the petite black haired girl with the perpetual frown. "Tiffany Ann Grandpierre" he read aloud. "Huh... says here you have been getting Old Lady McDuffy's hormone therapy, though. Been having less hot flashes, Tiffany?"



She rolled her eyes, then sporked some more egg-like substance into her mouth. "Only people I absolutely hate call me Tiffany" she noted.



"Oh, well... what should I call you then?"



She gave him a tight, close-mouthed grin.



"Ah... Tiffany it is then." He ran his hand through his short blonde hair. "Though I think I like 'Tiffy' better. It's, like... more casual."



She was glaring at him again, but her heart didn't seem to be in it... though she clearly hated the nickname. "And what's so casual about me?"



"Well, there's the pink hospital gown that tends to open in the back showing the underwear with the teddy bears on it." he noted, pretending not to see her face turn massively crimson. "It's not quite a business suit, you know? Besides, you don't look like a Tiffany."



From the look in her eyes, he could tell that she took that last bit as a complement. "As long as were on the subject... who the hell are you?"



He paused in the process of backing his way out of the room, pulling his cart behind him. "Name's Biff Duncan... but my friends call be "Goofy-foot".



"How proud they must be" she noted dryly.



"It's a surfing term... See, I lead with my right foot on the board, so..."



"I really don't care. Oh, and Goofy-foot?"



"Yeah?" he asked, just before the door swung free.



"You really do look like a Biff."







She checked the clock, then mentally berated herself for doing so. "I'm just hungry" she argued to nobody in particular. She checked the clock again.



This was stupid. *He* was stupid. He had stupid jokes, coming from a stupid mouth filled with stupid shiny teeth in a stupid tanned face under stupid blonde hair, and he brought her stupid food.



Except he wasn't stupid. Not nearly as stupid as the vapid surfer boy persona first lead her to believe. And, as much as she hated to admit it, the fact that his visits with the food tray were still the highlights of her days no longer seemed quite so stupid either.



She checked the clock again.



How had this happened? Must be some kind of Nightingale syndrome. He really was everything she despised in this dreary existence that had been thrust upon her. Two months ago she wouldn't have engaged him in conversation to save her immortal soul. Two weeks ago, she wouldn't have responded at all to much of anything...



She caught herself rubbing the bandaged scar across her wrist. She wasn't the same person she was back then... and that was a shock in and of itself. When had the change occurred? Why, when she looked back on her troubles now, do they seem so small and childish, instead of so impossible to overcome? Why did she seem to be a part of something so much bigger when Biff was around?



Biff. It still embarrassed her to no end. She didn't like to even think that name. "Biff". Still, how much better was "Tiffany"? She imagined writing "Biff + Tiffy" across a high school notebook, and shuddered in horror. God, what was happening to her?



It's the pink, she decided. The god-awful hospital pink. She'd been wearing it for nearly a week now. If they were going to keep her here much longer, they could at least let her wear something respectable. Like black. She may as well be naked in pink.



She ignored the way her heart sped up at the idea of being naked when Biff walked in, and instead checked the clock again. He was more than forty-five minutes late. She sighed. This was stupid. She was stupid, sitting in this stupid bed, wearing this stupid smock, looking forward to getting an new stupid spork...



Suddenly the door opened and a fat woman in red and white stripes pushed the familiar clattering foot cart into her room. "Breakfast's here" she said in that bored yet pleasant hospital voice. "Sit up deary... don't want to spill any of it."



She blinked at the fat woman as if she were a mirage. "Wha... where's Biff?"



"It's his day off" she said. "Sorry to disappoint you... I know how all you girls like his visits. And those tight little white pants of his..."



She deflated into her bed. She really *was* stupid. Of course... he flirted with all of the patients. At least the female ones. Hell, probably the male ones too. And here she was thinking... Ugh! With a scowl she slipped so easily into her old grumpy/despondent personality that it belied all of her thoughts about how she had changed. Enough so that it even scared her a little bit. "What took you so long, anyway?" she demanded.



The fat lady was obviously tired, and while still bored the pleasant quality was slipping a bit from her delivery. "I'm right on time, dear. Your room is in the middle of the rotation for this floor. What, you think you deserve some kind of special treatment?"



She blinked, then smiled... more to herself than anything. "Not really... but maybe someone does."







"So, you get out in the morning" he stated blandly. Maybe too blandly.



"Yeah" she replied, poking at her food with her fork. Technically, she wasn't supposed to have that... or the metal (though dull) table knife either... but hospital policies be damned. May as well show *some* trust, after all.



"You going back to college for the next semester?" he asked, then regretted it.



She looked embarrassed. "No... I... have to go to counseling for a while, because of... you know." She continued to poke at what passed for food around here. "I guess when you almost kill yourself, they don't think you're ready to face art history lectures for a while..." She smiled a tight smile, then rallied gamely. "Of course, I think my roommate is disappointed anyway... I hear you get a free pass on all your courses for the semester if your roommate dies on you."



"If you like, we can get her a signed statement from the doctor that you were, like, clinically dead for a moment." Inwardly he winced... more at the word "like", than anything else. The more time he spent with her, the more embarrassed he was by some of his more inane habits. The whole surfer-dude thing felt more like a shtick... as if he were doing an unconscious Keannu Reeves impersonation for his entire life. Yesterday, when he used both the words 'toobed' and 'grommit' in one sentence he just wanted to die. It was then that he realized how much he wanted to impress this strange and fragile girl.



The fact that she seemed to want to impress him just as much scared him to death.



"Might be fun to show around at parties..." she deadpanned. "Look! I'm a freak! Well, more of one than you've already guessed... My Goth friends would be impressed, at least. I could qualify as undead."



He felt like he couldn't say anything right today. "Not so much" he argued. "I mean, not too long ago, I got rolled in this huge... um, in this wave out in Busiek Bay... Next thing I know, a lifeguard that looks like Art Garfunkle is giving me CPR... and they only do that when you're drowned as a rat." He chewed his lip thoughtfully. "At least, that guy *said* he was a lifeguard..." He was gratified to see her chuckle. "So, anyway, the whole dying thing isn't that strange. All the cool kids are doing it."



She raised an eyebrow. "Is this the kind of pep talk they encourage for people in the suicide ward?"



"Just the ones they want to see come back" he dared. He was rewarded when some color flushed to her pale cheeks. "What time are they releasing you?"



"8 am"



"Ah, good... I'll be starting my shift around then" he lied. "I'll, um... come by and see you before you leave."



"Okay... I'd like that."



"Okay then" he smiled as he pulled his cart out of the room.



"I am such a freaking coward" he noted to himself after the door closed.







"My father said... what?" she asked the woman behind the receptionist desk.



"You're one... Tiffany Ann Grandpierre, right?" the woman replied. "He called and left this message: 'Got called into a business deal in GothamMetropolis... will send car for you'."



"How... how could he do that?"



'Honey, I just write down what they say... the rest ain't none of my business."



She walked over to the chairs opposite the admittance desk and sat down. How stupid she was to think a little thing like almost killing herself would change anything. Considering that her father had visited all of twice during the ten days she was in the hospital, it seemed pretty foolhardy. Of course, in hindsight she realized that she hardly even noticed. He was a stranger to her... and while she once might have hated him for that, now she just didn't seem to care one way or another. There was only one visitor that she cared about...



And the fact that he hadn't shown up to say goodbye as he promised stung more than anything she could remember. That was the real abandonment. Unlike her father, he didn't even send a message.



"Tiffany Ann Grandpierre!" she suddenly heard him gasp. She looked up and saw his back hunched over the desk across the room. "Has she already signed out?" he asked desperately.



She couldn't help smiling to herself at his concern. And that fat lady was right... those tight white pants *did* look good on him.



"About five minutes ago" the receptionist answered.



"Dammit!" he yelled and, much to her surprise, turned and sprinted out the lobby doors and into the rain to look for her. It was actually pretty flattering. Then, just as she began to fear that he wouldn't be coming back and was about to chase out after him, he returned dripping and thoroughly miserable looking.



"You definitely do look like a drowned rat" she observed, finally grabbing his attention.



He blinked in surprise, then caught himself just before his face completely lit up at the sight of her. "You've been sitting there the whole time? Why didn't you say something?"



"You were late" she replied nonchalantly, polishing her black fingernails on her black trenchcoat while giving him a sly look from the corner of her eye.



"Yeah, um... car trouble" he answered with embarrassment. "Wow... you do look good in black."



"You look good too" she answered. "Did you know that uniform becomes mostly transparent when you get it soaked?"



"I, um..." he shifted a bit to try and preserve some modesty. "Do you... do you need a ride? Isn't your father supposed to be here?"



She waved her hand. "Long story. I could definitely use a lift, though... but I thought you were starting your shift?"



"Oh, uh... yeah... I accidentally mixed up the dates" he said lamely. "I'm not on until tomorrow. So, I'd be happy to drive you home. Unless you want one more hospital meal... you know, for old time's sake."



"Get me the hell out of here" she grinned.







They had been sitting in her driveway for a good hour. The rain pouring down on the car allowed them to feel like they existed in their own little world... Of course, the steamed up windows helped, something that he was a bit embarrassed about, especially considering that all they had been doing is talking.



And yet, he still wasn't really saying anything. Cracking a few jokes, sure... and alternating between telling stories about his life and listening to the ones she told him. After seeing his car and the crumpled up front fender, she insisted on hearing all of the details of the 'car trouble' that delayed him from seeing her off on time. But that wasn't what he wanted to talk about... He wanted to tell her how much more excited he was with life when he was around her. How much more excited he was about even himself. How from the moment he had first walked into her hospital room, he had been drawn to her... and how with each subsequent meeting he had found himself thinking more and more about her, finding it urgent to get back to her. He wanted to tell her how attractive she was, how wonderful her hair smelled, how great her lips tasted...



He was halfway through the kiss before he even realized it was happening. "Wait..." he said, breaking it off. Things were all out of order. "We... I shouldn't..." he hurried on before the hurt look could settle on her face. "This... I can't take advantage of you... After all you've been through, and your emotional state, it would just be completely wrong."



She leaned over and kissed him squarely on the lips, darting her tongue between them.



"Well... maybe not *completely* wrong..." he mumbled. He shook his head. "Still, we... I can't..."



She put a finger to his lips and climbed onto his lap. "Biff..." she said with a roll of her eyes. "...Don't be stupid."







She was all incredibly soft and modest curves, accented by shockingly dark hair against glowing pale skin. He was huge and sinewy, and his tanned skin made an exciting contrast to her body. The cramped confines of the car lead to a nervous and exciting coupling that felt like the first time for both of them. That the rain, fogged up windows and hedges were the only protection for their decency underscored the fact that they no longer cared about what was the right thing to do at the time and in their situation. They both felt wonderfully alive, and were eager to take full advantage of it. As they climaxed together, he held her fiercely on top of her and he held his breath while she gasped loudly. When he again became conscious of his own breathing he looked up into her face, entwined his fingers in her raven hair, and, in a dreamlike voice, sighed her real name.



It wasn't until that moment that they both realized the truth.


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