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Slamming the door shut behind her with some difficulty, Sloan proceeds to hobble into her living room tiredly, hoping that she’ll be able to set her ankle up and rest it. Her crutches are beginning to make the underside of her arms sore, and the cast is so clunky and heavy that she wants nothing more than to sit back and sleep for about a hundred days. However, luck is not in her favour, as she is greeted by a less-than amused looking Don, sat in her spot on the couch.
“Need a hand?” he asks gently, eyeing her crutches and tutting softly.
“I’m fine,” she huffs, lowering herself less than graciously onto the couch.
“So, before I get into the ‘why didn’t you call me?’ part of this conversation, I’m just gonna ask: what the hell happened?”
Sloan shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. Normally she’d be glib and explain how she’d injured herself. However, as her injury had been predicted by Don that morning, she is not willing to give him the satisfaction.
“Got into a fight with a really short mugger,” she retorts, hoping that he’ll laugh and accept her facetious reply.
“Nice try. What happened to your shoes, Sloan?” asks Don pointedly, glaring at her sock-clad foot.
“I took them – well, it – off by the door,” she replies innocently.
“And is that a sneaker I see by the door?” interrogates Don, his tone amused.
“Well, you can’t expect me to wear heels with a cast,” she mutters, attempting to sound reasonable.
“No, but I’d expect you to bring the heels you fought tooth and nail to wear this morning back home with you,” he replies deadpan, his eyes dancing with mirth.
“One of them broke,” she growls, noting the amusement in his expression.
“Ah, that would explain why you attempted to sneak in here stealthily,” he chuckles, a hurt tinge still lingering in his eyes.
“Look, I know you’re kind of upset because I didn’t call you, I just -”
“Why didn’t you call?” There’s the slightest hint of emotion in his voice – he’s seriously upset, but he doesn’t want to rattle Sloan by showing her.
“I just – I was embarrassed, and…I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
“See you like what?” asks Don, his face losing all colour as he realises that her injuries might have been worse than just her apparently broken foot.
“I managed to push the bone out of my skin trying to run for a cab,” grits out Sloan, feeling the dull throb in the base of her foot as she reaches to elevate it.
For a moment, Don looks horrified. He clears his throat before hoarsely whispering, “What happened?”
“I was running for a cab and my heel got stuck in a storm drain. It – and my ankle – snapped. I didn’t feel it at first, so I kept tugging. The result: bone sticking out of the skin.”
“Holy shit, Sloan! You didn’t think I’d want to help you?”
“I knew you’d want to – I didn’t want you to have to,” murmurs Sloan, her voice rumbling quietly.
“C’mere,” he concedes quietly, lifting her foot onto the highest cushion on the couch. He settles himself beside her, wrapping his arm snugly about her shoulders before pressing his lips to her temple. “If you ever worry me so much, I will kick your ass immediately after nursing it better,” he growls.
Chuckling quietly, Sloan nods in agreement, snuggling closer into Don’s side.
“What are you going to do at work tomorrow?”
“I was going to ask Will if I could share his office during my on-air hours, and then stay in mine for as much time as possible.”
“Use mine, Sloan. I don’t mind sharing with you,” he offers softly, gently kneading her shoulder with his hand.
“We’d kill each other in a day. It’s fine – I can share with Will until my foot heals a bit.”
“We probably would. But I want you to tell me if you need anything okay?”
Sloan hums in affirmation, nodding pensively.
“Thanks, bubba.”
“Sloan! What happened to you?!” Mac’s shrill and worried voice rings out from the newsroom as she spots her friend by the elevator banks.
Sloan attempts to wave her hand good-naturedly, but fails somewhat as she remembers that she has crutches nestled under her arms. Hobbling over to Mac, she murmurs into Mac’s ear, “I’ll tell you later – can I borrow Will’s office for a while?”
“Of course! I’ll help you get settled in there for the long haul. Don’t even think about using your office until your foot heals,” she warns, her eyes flashing seriously.
Taking Sloan’s bag in hand, Mac leads her gently to Will’s office, shooting down his questioning look while she settles Sloan in to his office.
“We having a slumber party?” asks Will sarcastically, his eyes shining with mirth until he spots Sloan’s crutches, “What happened?” he murmurs concernedly.
“I had an accident on the way home yesterday after work,” huffs Sloan, “but it’s not a big deal – I can handle it.”
“And you didn’t think to call me? Or Mac?”
“I didn’t even call Don,” laughs Sloan quietly, “I’m fine.”
“Shit, Sloan, it wouldn’t have hurt to have some help, though,” intones Mac sharply, chastising her for not asking for their help.
“I’ll be fine. Look, I’m just going to work out of here for a few days and then I’ll be out of your hair, I promise,” she smiles, flopping down onto Will’s couch.
Outside, the newsroom seems to be gathering together, casting glances at Sloan’s elevated ankle as they continue to murmur between them.
“What do you think happened to her?” asks Jim, curiosity and concern colouring his tone.
“I heard someone tried to mug her and she kicked them hard enough to break her foot,” murmurs Tamara, shifting her eyes towards Sloan’s steadily paling complexion.
“Where’d you hear that?” laughs Jim before taking a sip from his coffee.
“Tess mentioned that Don had said something about it this morning,” responds Tamara indignantly.
“I’d say it was probably something at the gym,” replies Maggie offhand, recalling Sloan’s intense work-out regime from that one time she’d made the ill-advised decision to work out with her.
“Where is Don? He should’ve come up with Sloan this morning, shouldn’t he?” growls Jim.
“He had some stuff to deal with for ten o’clock,” responds Neal.
“How’d you know?” asks Jim.
“I can check his calendar on the shared app – which you would know, if you learned to use it.”
“I have learned how to use it – I choose not to,” responds Jim petulantly.
“Anyway,” presses Tamara, “if you don’t believe what Don said, what do you think happened to her foot?”
“I’m sorry, are we reporting on Sloan’s foot tonight?” asks Mac, her voice startling the idle staffers as she comes up behind them.
Scrambling to look more productive, they excuse themselves from Mac’s immediate vicinity and get back to work, only somewhat sheepish at the fact that they’d been caught gossiping.
Laughing, Mac glares at them only semi-seriously, ensuring that they continue their work. She then proceeds to march back to Will’s office, giggling when she’s finally behind the closed door and blinds.
“What’s so funny?” asks Sloan absentmindedly, her eyes never leaving the page in her hands.
“You’ll never guess what the top theory out there is, about how you injured your foot.”
“Go on,” sighs Sloan, knowing that she should have guessed that the others would be curious.
“Apparently they think that you fended off a mugger and hurt yourself in the process,” laughs Mac, the corners of her eyes crinkling with genuine amusement.
Sloan doesn’t find the theory so funny, as it sounds incredibly familiar. She realises that it’s practically the same excuse she’d used with Don the night before.
“That dickhead. He used my excuse to fuel gossip – probably because he finds it funny.”
“I’m sorry?” Mac is thrown for a loop by Sloan’s abrupt interjection, unsure of how Sloan had reached that particular conclusion.
“Last night I was embarrassed by the fact that I’d gotten hurt because I was running in heels after Don had warned me about it in the morning, so I made up some cock and bull story about being attacked by a short mugger. It looks like he’s decided to get comedic value from it by spreading it around the newsroom.” The latter half of her explanation is a growl, a clear threat to Don hanging in the air.
“Do you want me to kick his ass?” offers Will sincerely.
“Nah, I can still manage that – even with a broken foot,” she responds, her face breaking into an easy grin.