Chapter Text
Liz doesn’t usually intend to keep medical information from Dev, but it keeps happening. She just… forgets, sometimes, that telling him, asking for help, is an option.
This time it’s a muscle or tendon or something in her hand – she doesn’t even know what happened, it just hurts. It happens sometimes, and it’s always gone away in a few days as long as she’s careful with it.
She didn’t even realize, when she mentioned it in front of Dev, that he’d think anything of it.
“Hang on, how long ago did you hurt your hand?”
“Uh, like, yesterday, I think? I’m not really sure how I did it…”
“And you didn’t think this was something you ought to mention before now.”
Oh. This must be one of those significant symptoms she’s supposed to have told him about. Oops. How is she supposed to know the difference?
Liz winces. “I really didn’t. I’m sorry, I swear I’m not being difficult on purposes, I just… it did not occur to me that you would care or be able to do anything about it.”
“Elizabeth, mate. I always care.”
“Oh.” Right. Dev always cares. He’s told her that, more than once, it just… doesn’t seem to stick in her brain very well. She keeps expecting to find an exception, some symptom that really is too mundane or insignificant for him, and that he’ll finally get fed up with her asking stupid questions and get annoyed at her. He hasn’t. He’s said he won’t. But her anxiety won’t give up on the idea.
“Let me see your hand. Where does it hurt?”
Difficult as it is to ask Dev for help, Liz doesn’t have trouble accepting it when it’s offered. She gives him her hand, and points out the place where it hurts – diagonally across the palm, from the base of the thumb to the pinky.
A bunch of questions, a quick exam, and an ace bandage later, Liz’s hand feels a lot better, although she’s still embarrassed by the whole situation.
“Take it easy for a few days,” Dev orders. “And sodding tell me if it doesn’t get better, alright?”
“Alright. Thank you.”
“Mate, I know it isn’t easy for you to ask for help. But you can. Anytime, no matter what it is that’s bothering you.”
“I know. Thanks, Dev. I’m trying – I am. I’m just… not used to this. People caring, and also having the ability to help at the same time. Usually those are separate groups that don’t overlap.”
“I know you’re trying, mate. I’m not miffed at you – you’re not hiding things from me intentionally, I know that. I’m just reminding you, you don’t have to deal with things on your own anymore.”
“You’re really special, you know that? No one’s ever… I’ve never known anyone like you, who cares this much, and can back it up.”
“Yeah, I am bloody brilliant, aren’t I?”
Liz laughs. “And bloody arrogant, too! But yeah. You really are.”
Despite Dev’s reassurances, Liz still struggles to admit when she needs help. She’s more frustrated with herself than anything.
“I’m trying! It’s just – asking for help is still hard for me.”
“You’re not still expecting I’ll be miffed at you?” Dev looks genuinely worried.
She winces. “My brain knows you won’t be. My anxiety is a different story.”
“Ask me a stupid question, then. The most ridiculous thing you can think of.”
“What? Why?!”
“To prove that I won’t be miffed at you, obviously. Go on!”
Liz’s mind goes stubbornly blank. “I can’t just think of a stupid question on the spot!”
“Think on it, then. Next time you’ve a stupid question, you can bother me with it, and I won’t be miffed at you. No matter how ridiculous it is.”
Liz laughs – she can’t help it. “You’re ridiculous!”
“Maybe, but I’m also right. It’s called exposure therapy, and there’s loads of research proving it works.”
“You are really something, Dev. And I know what exposure therapy is – I have a goddamned anxiety disorder!”
“I have come up with a stupid, time-wasting question for you.” Liz’s tone is flat, almost robotic – she’s acting out a script of her own making. She went over how to say this in her head so many times she lost count, searching for the least humiliating way to phrase it, the words that would be least likely to get anyone upset with her.
Dev looks up from the journal article he’s reading on the med bay’s computer, and he doesn’t seem upset – only curious. “What’s that, then?”
“I have obtained a paper cut. I am asking that you take a look at it. Because this is a stupid, time-wasting thing I could totally do myself and you promised you wouldn’t get mad.”
“Mate, I’m not miffed at you, I promise. Let’s see this paper cut of yours.”
With a sudden burst of courage, Liz sits on the gurney. Because she can, and it’s more realistic, if this is meant to be exposure therapy for her fear of asking for actual medical attention. Maybe it’ll prove to her brain it’s safe to sit there, even without a good reason.
Dev gathers a tray of supplies – gloves, a sealed antiseptic pad, and a bandaid. Then he holds out his hand, palm up: “Let’s have a look, then.”
Liz lays her hand in his, angled to show the barely-bleeding scratch across her thumb.
Dev examines the cut with an impressive degree of seriousness, considering the situation. Then he tears open the antiseptic wipe, cleans the cut, and sticks a bandage over it. All with a straight face.
Liz is struggling to keep a straight face – she wants to squirm, hide, back out of this situation before it can get any more awkward and weird. She’s being stupid and ridiculous and wasting Dev’s time and he’s letting her which is almost worse.
“There. See, you’re allowed to ask for help even if it’s something tiny. I don’t mind.”
Liz can’t find words to reply to that. Instead she whimpers, folds her legs against her chest, wraps her arms around them, and hides her face.
“You’re alright, mate. No one’s upset with you.”
“Why is this so hard,” she complains, still unwilling to look at him. “It’s stupid. My brain is stupid.”
“Oi! Your brain’s working very hard to keep you alive and functioning – it’s not its fault the world’s so bloody complicated. Do you’ve any idea how much work your brain’s doing right now, just to keep you alive? Heart beating, lungs breathing, understanding this conversation? Of course it makes a few mistakes now and then, it’s bloody difficult being a brain!”
Liz smiles. She can’t help it – Dev’s rant is too endearing and too ridiculous not to. She feels a deep, warm fondness for this man, trying so hard to set her at ease.
“Dev,” she says, finally looking up at him, “please never change.”
It’s not a waste of time. Dev may be treating a papercut, but more importantly, he’s treating Liz’s fear of asking for help. And that is a serious problem.
He bloody worries about her – that she’ll get injured, or ill, and not say anything. Not for the same reasons as the others, but just as dangerous.
She does seem to be getting better about it, though. She’s trying.
Dev is trying, too.
They’re making progress.