"I know, Ray." Dawn patted her friend's leg. "It's your own fault for managing to injury yourself in another weird way."
Spike snorted and contemplated eating the officious little administrator. Declán had called them from the hospital and now they were all gathered around Rachel's bed. The woman with the clipboard and zero medical experience had insisted on a suicide watch, because she didn't believe you could accidentally cut your wrist while washing the dishes.
"This mushy stuff tastes like old socks, Dawn."
"It is hospital food."
open_on_sunday — challenge #210: special dinners
Part of the London!verse and the Wolf&Declán!verse