hands to hold, hands to heal
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Yaz rounds the corner to see Jordan Smith struggling out of the top of her scrubs with the amount of fight one might give a straitjacket. With one final massive tug of the blue material over her head, she throws them to the ground atop her discarded white coat and kicks the pile away from her. She staggers, then collapses to the ground in the corner between two rows of lockers, pulling her legs into her chest. Pale fingers dig into the skin of her arms, eyes squeezed tight shut despite the tear tracks running underneath them.
“Jordan?” Yaz calls softly, approaching on slow footfalls. “Dr. Smith?” The woman gives no answer, though the fingers on her arms dig in impossibly harder, knuckles and nailbeds turning white.
Yaz crouches down, and places a hesitant hand on her shoulder. “Jordan?”
Series
- Part 1 of hands to hold, hands to heal
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“It’s you, isn’t it,” Yaz says, shutting the door to patient room B-1113 behind her. “The Christmas fairy.”
Aka the mysterious do-gooder that been flitting around the hospital bedecking patient rooms in holiday good cheer of the sort that definitely wasn’t in the hospital budget, and who hadn’t been caught in the act even once. Until now.
“No it isn’t,” Jordan says, muffled through the stack of paper snowflakes in her mouth, hands holding strings of multi-coloured lights. The deer-in-headlights effect is only enhanced by the fuzzy antler headband on her head that hasn’t left it since 1st December. Well, except for surgery of course, after a strongly-worded email from their medical director stating that the hospital, in no uncertain terms, would not be liable for any Christmas baubles being left in a patient’s chest cavity.
Series
- Part 2 of hands to hold, hands to heal
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“Yaz! Yaz!”
Confused, she turns to see Jordan running towards her from across the car park, waving her arms like a windmill. She stops, and waits for the other woman to catch her. “Finally off?” Jordan asks eagerly, skidding to a stop in front of Yaz.
“Finally.” Jordan pulls Yaz in for a hug, and Yaz melts into the contact, nestling her chin over Jordan’s shoulder and letting her tired eyelids flutter shut. “What’re you doing here?”
“Who, me?” Jordan asks brightly, releasing her. “I’m giving you a ride.”
Series
- Part 3 of hands to hold, hands to heal
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out of our hands (into the fire) by Sanctuaria for Whimsicalli
Fandoms: Doctor Who (2005)
28 Mar 2023
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“Tell me,” Yaz requests, gently, softly, putting her hand on Jordan’s forearm. Not stopping her fingers which are twisting around themselves like eels now. Jordan appreciates her for that, for not trying to stop her when some part of her just needs to—wiggle.
“What are we?” Jordan blurts out. She shuts her mouth immediately after, so fast she almost bites her own tongue, and then just stares at Yaz, whose eyes have widened infinitesimally.
Series
- Part 4 of hands to hold, hands to heal
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it’s flu season (please wash your hands) by Sanctuaria for Whimsicalli
Fandoms: Doctor Who (2005)
13 Feb 2023
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“You called in sick and you didn’t tell me?”
“Jordan?” Yaz rasps groggily into the phone. She blinks once, twice, trying to clear the spots from her eyes. She’d closed them for only a moment after calling Martha, face-planting into the pillow again before Jordan’s concerned face had appeared on her phone. “…You were literally my next call.”
Series
- Part 5 of hands to hold, hands to heal