House Call by rhianwen_24601Edit
Hello, all! In honour of Valentine's Day, I come bearing a short, silly little piece of work, written in all of twenty minutes. Takes place some time after ROD the TV, and features Joseph Carpenter and Wendy, because this is Rhianwen, and she wuvs teh Wendy.
It was a dark and stormy night. At least, presumably it was both dark and storming somewhere in the world, even if wasn’t, choosing instead to be stubbornly sunny and pleasant, over one particular cottage in the English countryside, a few kilometres out of an idyllic little village.
Of course, Wendy thought with an inward giggle, the weather didn’t have to bother being dark and stormy, when Mr. Carpenter was doing such a bang-up job of it himself. Obviously, she had stunned him beyond speech.
And if there was one thing that Mr. Carpenter hated, it was being at a loss for words.
Nevertheless, as powers of speech began to return to him, the tall, pale man’s distinctly thundercloudish expression relaxed somewhat into merely a sharp gaze.
“Repeat that, please,” he requested, eyes narrowed and fixed piercingly on the little blonde returning his glare with an expression so entirely calm and unconcerned that it occurred to him briefly to wonder if she was drunk.
Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin slightly, she complied.
“I’m going to be moving out at the end of the week,” she informed him cheerfully. “No more aggravating woman around to get in your way, Sir. You see, I’ve met someone.”
“Who?” If that question had been a little louder than a soft, menacing growl, it might have qualified as a snap.
“Em, well, it’s Dr. Cross, actually.”
He stared at her for a long moment, entirely floored.
“You’re running off,” he finally managed, words thick with disbelief, “with my doctor.”
“That’s about the plot, I would say,” she agreed cheerfully.
“Well,” he said with a delicate sniff of contempt, “now I know why I’ve had a house-call every day for two months.”
“Mr. Carpenter!” Wendy exclaimed reproachfully. “How can you think that? Dr. Cross is concerned about you; you know you still periodically get confused. We’re trying to work through why.”
“And I suppose Dr. Cross is also a brilliant psychologist,” he muttered sourly.
“Oh, absolutely,” she said fervently.
“And how do you plan to support yourself?” he demanded. “Will Dr. Cross be very happy with a pretty little economic drain hanging about?”
“I’ve worked that out already,” she said serenely. “We think I should train for nursing; apparently, I’m a natural. I suppose I should thank you for letting me practice on you,” she added with a hint of a laugh in her voice. “It’s opened up a whole world of opportunity.”
“Hmph. At least I understand now why I’ve been so sadly neglected for these overpriced visits; how anyone can expect to focus on a patient with you performing a striptease in the next room—”
“Well, thank-you, Sir,” she said with something bordering dangerously on a grin.
“You do a nice striptease, Wendy,” he informed her very seriously, memories of their last unit Christmas party, at which an equally drunk Marianne and a mischievous Frankie had chosen to introduce her to the concept of the Brandy Alexander, flitting through his mind as he reflected viciously that Dr. Cross had damn well better appreciate it. “Credit where credit is due.”
“Oh, Mr. Carpenter, you take my breath away with your flattery.”
“And you take my breath away with your complete lack of foresight,” he rejoined a little sourly, folding his arms and looking away. “Honestly, Wendy, do you think that you, of all people, have the right personality to withstand a relationship with a doctor? Constantly obsessed with work, never able to talk about anything else—”
“I can’t imagine what might be like,” she murmured, a thought bubble appearing over her head, playing a montage of the hundreds of times that the man before her had sat her down on his knee and told her the life story of Mr. Gentleman and his eventual return to power.
“And you know, most of them are having it off with those nurses,” he added.
“Ah, yes, but I’ll be one of those nurses soon enough,” she reminded him pleasantly.
“You faint at the sight of blood!”
“That’s you, actually, Sir.”
“That was one time, Wendy,” he said through gritted teeth. “Can a man be allowed to live things down once in a while?”
By this point, though, it was clear that she was no longer listening at all; a light of pure joy had washed over her face, expression intent to the sound of light, quick footsteps at the doorway.
“Helen!” she yelped happily, launching herself at the tall, handsome dark-haired woman clad in tweed and just a bit of purple silk underneath.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Dr. Cross greeted with a warm smile, snuggling the smaller girl to her and running one slim, pale hand through the short mass of pale gold spilling over her shoulder. She caught Mr. Carpenter’s eye over the top of Wendy’s head, and her smile became sheepish. “I knocked, but there was no answer, and Wendy’s given me a key in case there’s ever an emergency.”
“Hmph,” Joseph Carpenter muttered, retreating hastily from the small, cozy, shabbily furnished den as the kissing began in good earnest, and buttons began to unfasten. “I think we have two different ideas of what constitutes an emergency.”
C'mon, we all knew it was inevitable. This is ROD, after all. ^_~