Cowardice

Chelsea reminisces about the beginning of the week, when she was sat in the sun, letting her troubles drift away with the breeze. It's vast contrast to the way she's spent the past two days, with her frequent visits to the cold downstairs toilet, her head becoming far too familiar with the sight of the inside of the toilet bowl.

It really wasn't much fun.

It's on the second day of her stomach revolting to something even as simple water, that Chelsea decides, in her weakened state, that she can't keep up with this.

The thought of driving herself the half an hour to Kendal and Westmorland Hospital makes her already queasy stomach, roll. The estimate she'd looked up online for the price of taxi, was more money than she had in her purse and there certainly wasn't a local bus company that she could rely on.

Chelsea sits shakily down on the edge of the sofa, mouth still tasting foul despite the swig she'd had of mouthwash. She knows realistically there's two options; hope this goes away or ask for help.

And that help would have to come from her likely reluctant neighbour.

She hadn't seen him since she'd heard his argument through the wall, mostly because she'd barely strayed away from the bathroom, but there'd been no more raised voices or slammed doors so maybe if she knocking, he wouldn't already be tense.

Chelsea gathers herself before she stands, makes sure she has her balance and that she's not going to be sick during the dozen steps it will take her to get next door.

Louis answers quickly, must already know who it is, what with their voluntary seclusion and Chelsea takes a steadying breath when he barely raises his eyebrows in greeting.

"I was wondering if I could cash in that favour." She has to press her lips together to quell the feeling swelling in her stomach, "Please."

"You don't look very well." His face softens a little, "What do you need?"

"A lift. Down to Kendal." She gulps in some air, "I'd drive myself but I feel like shit and it'd probably be dangerous."

"Isn't there a doctor in Ambleside?" Despite his almost protest, he disappears back into the door for a couple of seconds and come back with car keys jingling in his hand.

"They can't see me because I haven't transferred my registry across from my old surgery. I rang them earlier."

"Must be feeling proper poorly to go to the hospital, though."

Louis' trailed after her as she goes back into her own cottage, switching off the small TV and grabbing her phone and jacket. At the last minute she swipes the half empty bottle of water off the coffee table, even though she dare not drink any.

"I haven't been able to keep anything down for a couple of days. I called the hospital too, didn't want to waste their time but they said to go down to the walk-in centre as soon as I could."

"Uh, well, I'll drive quick-."

"Maybe just, like normal speed. I'm ready to spew anytime now. I stood up earlier and got motion sick."

Louis looks regrettably at the nice interior of his car as Chelsea climbs into the passenger side, and sighs in defeat. He can't not drive the poor girl to the hospital when she looks as green as she does, even though the fabric coating the seats is high end and cost him a fortune.

There's a good ten minutes of silence as Chelsea just stares out of the window, hand clutched into a fist in front of her stomach as she takes deep breaths. Louis can't stop glancing over every now and again when Chelsea makes a noise that he worries might be a warning of incoming puke, but thankfully she seems to have control over herself.

"So, eat something dodgy?" He glances from the unsurprisingly empty road to catch her eyes, "Should I be careful what I buy from the village shop? I'm sure the guy who runs the butcher isn't up to health standards."

She shakes her head tightly, feeling bile rise in her throat, "Can we not talk about food?"

"Ah, yeah, sorry." He mumbles, "Jus' trying to make conversation."

It seems like she isn't going to answer and Louis takes to occasionally sneaking looks out of the corner of his eye to check she's still conscious, until that is, she speaks up, "I'm pregnant."

Louis' mouth is suddenly flooded with questions and exclamations and he struggles to stop himself choking on his own spit as she spins to face her, "Like, you think you're pregnant? Or you know? Cos' being sick doesn't automatically mean mornin' sickness."

Did the corner shop even sell pregnancy tests? The nearest pharmacy was ten minutes away in Ambleside and he hadn't seen her use her car once in the almost month he'd been living next door.

"No, I found out before I came here, Louis. Christ." She scolds, and Louis can see her habitual eye roll, the only way she seems to be able to reply to Louis, "I don't just spout shit for the laugh."

The next thing Louis' brain queues up is to ask where the bloody fuck her boyfriend is and why he's letting some total stranger drive her to the hospital and not playing the doting father to do it himself. He thankfully sees sense and holds back his comment, knowing it's not always that straight forward and the fact that Chelsea has apparently moved to live in the middle of nowhere, after finding out she was gonna have a kid, speaks volumes to him.

"Sorry again." He sooths, "S'probably best if I just shut up, isn't it? M'always saying the wrong thing."

There's a heavy sigh from the other side of the car, one that sounds like defeat, "I'm just extra snappy because I'm not feeling well."

Louis nods understandably, "Guessing this isn't just normal morning sickness then?"

There's another shake of her head, "Had a Google when I couldn't stop being sick-."

"Not supposed to do that. Always ends up with the internet convincing you you're gonna die or sommat'."

"Mm, I know but it's not like I had much of a choice. NHS website said to contact a health professional if you're pregnant and there's been more than thirty instances of sickness in one twenty four hour period."

"Jesus," Louis can feel his face scrunch up at the mere thought of being sick that often, "Glad m'not you."

"Cheers." If it wasn't for small smile at the corner of her lips, Louis would have definitely taken back that little bit of word vomit. He really did need to work on his levels of sarcasm and teach himself when it was appropriate.

Sat in a car with an apparently ill, pregnant woman he barely knew probably wasn't the best time to practice his dry humour.

+++

Chelsea manages to make the thirty minute journey without making Louis pullover and once he comes to a stop in the drop-off point outside the signposted A&E department, Chelsea exits the car with a quiet 'thank you' and rushes through the doors.

Louis probably resembles a slightly confused fish as he watches after her, mouth still stuck open on a sentence. She hadn't mentioned if she wanted him to stick around for a lift back or if he could go and she'd manage from there so he was floundering on what to do.

He finds himself paying for parking without really thinking about it and hunkers down into his seat for a notoriously long wait.

Except, he's Louis and he can't sit still for long at the best of times, never mind in a parking lot with no internet access and no desire to run his car battery down by leaving the radio playing. So he gathers himself for his first time in a populated area in weeks and shuffles across the concrete to follow Chelsea's footsteps inside.

He's found himself in various emergency departments across the world and they're all shockingly similar. Desk manned by a couple of nurses and ridiculous amount of seats sat in tight rows and the scribbled wait time on a whiteboard for every poor soul who feels like crap to stare at.

The wait time apparently hasn't applied to Chelsea as she's know where to be seen.

"Can I help sir?"

Louis flinches as the nurse raises her voice as she peers at him over the top of the tall desk and attracts the gazes of other people waiting around, so he takes a couple of strides over so they can speak quieter.

"I just, uh, dropped my friend off? She-."

"Name?" She's not looked up from her computer screen but one of her eyebrows is raised in anticipation.

"Chelsea, um." His eyebrows pinch as he scrambles to think if he knows her last name. Has she ever actually told him?

"Sir, I'm going to need more than that."

"Uh, I, um." He rubs a hand down over his face and then something clicks. A piece of post delivered through the wrong door with her name printed on it, that he'd had to reluctantly leave the house to go shove through the letterbox, "Shepherd. Chelsea Shepherd. She's pregnant and she was being sick a lot."

"Are you family? Boyfriend?"

"No, no, just, a friend." He was sure he'd already said this, "I thought she might still be sat out here."

"As you're not family or a close relation, I can't tell you anything, sir. If you did indeed drop her off here, however, you're welcome to take a seat and wait."

Louis opens his mouth to explain he didn't want to be let through to sit with her while she gets checked out. He doesn't know her even slightly well enough to loyally stick with her through an examination but he can't bloody well leave her to find her own way back when she's not well.

At least, Louis thinks, they've got a vending machine that'll dole him out some tea.