They Say Quitters Never Win (But We Walk the Plank On a Sinking Ship)

by this_pendent_world

Summary:

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A wounded Nico stumbles into Lahela just before she is due to perform in the Hospital’s talent show. Her patient offers to help fix her hair.

Keeping thing’s strictly professional between them, of course?

***

[ Set during 2x7 ‘I’m Just A Mom’]

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Lahela Kameāloha stared at herself in the mirror above the sink. 

Enclosed within the tiny bathroom on the second floor of Oahu Med, she forced her tanned neck out at an odd angle, trying to check that her ponytails were still perfect. Not a hair out of place. 

Nothing could be allowed to go wrong. 

Not if she could help it. 

Sun. No danger-drawing black cloud here. You’re the sun, and the sun can handle anything.  

Too soon, far too soon, she was due on stage to perform in the hospital’s Talent Show. 

But something was… something was missing.  

“But what?” Lahela asked her reflection, fully aware that her mirror self had none of the answers. “I can’t go up there and- uh.” 

In the glass, she could not help but rearrange herself. Her fingers shook with the need to fix something, even if she was uncertain of what. Lahela smoothed down the front of her white tank top, which she and Stef had spent hours bedazzling with her name in a thorned, glittering print. She even went as far as to untangle the chains and studded belts that encircled her hips, rethreading each strand through the loops of her red, heirloom pants.  

And everything was perfect.  

Really. 

From her hair to her lipgloss.  

She had thought of everything, had checked everything. Twice.  

So why did she feel like she was going to go up on the stage and falter? 

Lahela hated to think that there was something she was missing. As a doctor, she always had to be prepared – notes and knowledge at hand, medical tools before her. If she walked into the operating theatre without a vital piece of kit, that would spell doom.  

So, she had to suppose it was the same for performing in the talent show.  

An undone lace on her 90s style chuck taylors, a forgotten lyric, and it would all be over. The entire hospital – or at least, the staff who had managed to sneak off after a shift – would see her acting like a fool. 

Like a kid. 

A sixteen-year-old kid. 

Lahela chewed on her lip, glanced at the clock tucked high in the corner of the grey tiled bathroom. 

Wow, does mom love efficiency. The residents can even keep time whilst they sit on the toilet.   

The clock’s hand turned, minutes were ticking by. 

Oh, fine.  

“I’ll just go out there and…” 

She had apologised to her mom for getting so uptight about the performance. Aloud, she had sworn that she knew it wasn’t about winning, it wasn’t about being perfect and that she would, for just one night, let go of all her worries. What was she going to specialise in? If she made the wrong choice, would she ruin her reputation as a perfect child prodigy? Lahela had promised to set it all aside.  

It was far easier in theory, to let everything go. The worries, they held on tight. Suffocatingly, lethally, escape-into-the-bathroom-to-try-and-breathe tight. 

There was a pit in her stomach, a lump in her throat.  

Sure, she didn’t have to win. But she didn’t want to mess up on stage. 

Her mom, she had performed before in her band. 

But Lahela-  

She had always been the best at everything she tried. High school classes, medical school, her job as a resident doctor. What if this was the time where she was- bad? Her streak broken. 

Stepping out of the bathroom, Lahela forced down another deep breath. 

That’s what her father said to do when she got anxious. 

‘Just remember to breathe.’  

But the air was coming in too fast, too shallow. Were the walls of the corridor closing in? Was she really seeing spots? 

“Oh, hey.” 

Nico Alexander tried to look effortlessly cool as he leant up against the glass partition wall, towering in a speckled hospital gown and his worn blue hoodie. His dark hair was fluffy in a way that only happened when someone had been laying in bed for a really, really long time.  

A bandage peaked out from his sleeve. 

There was a healing bruise running down the sharp curve of his cheek, purpling his jaw. 

But at least, Lahela noted, there was a keen glint to his eyes once more. It was impossible not to, as Nico’s deep, brown gaze was on her. 

Her sparkling top, low red jeans. 

And his brows rose. 

Lahela hoped the sterile hospital lighting wouldn’t put a spotlight on the blush rising in her cheeks. Stupid, clinical standards.  

“What are you doing here?” She said, a little too intensely.  

Nico was largely healed from the post-op sickness that had thrown him off his dirt-bike and into a feverish sweat, scaring her heart into her throat at the end of their day together. But that didn’t mean he ought to be walking around all alone, with no nurses in sight. 

He was still a cancer patient, weak and not yet in remission. 

“I don’t know if you heard.” He placed a palm flat to the glass panelled wall, the other cupped around his mouth as he leant in to whisper. “This is a hospital, and I have cancer.” 

“No. I meant what are you doing here, in this corridor, out of bed?” 

He pointed to the bathroom door. 

“Oh.” 

Obviously, Lahela.   

“Yeah.” He winked, running a hand through his fluffy curls. “Got to keep up this sexy bed head. Did you leave a comb in there, by chance?” 

“Nico, you really shouldn’t be up. Not even for-” 

“Say it. Sexy bedhead.” 

“Not even to fix your hair.” 

Their eyes met.  

“Alright.” He finally gave in. “I’ll go and rest up in time for your big miracle cure… but only if you tell me why you’re dressed like you’re about to open for Fall Out Boy ? Save Rock and Roll , not pre-hiatus.” 

Lahela’s eyes widened. She glanced past him, to her reflection in the glass. Once more she ran a hand over her ponytails, adjusted her many belts.  

“Is that a bad thing?”  

“No.” He stepped towards her. “It’s a cool thing. Love the studs.” 

His hands reached for her, tugging at one of the loose chains around her waist as his thumb caught in her pocket. Nico’s lip twitched into an easy smile 

It felt so natural. 

To have him linked to her. 

“We can’t-” 

Even though I want to.  

Lahela took a step back, putting a hand down over her belts.  

“Just steadying myself, Doc.” Nico teased, all innocent brown puppy eyes. No wonder he had the hospital staff twisted around his pinkie finger. “Don’t think I should be up and walking yet, you know.” 

She shook her head at him. 

Nico just kept grinning. 

“I made up with my mom.” She told him, folding her arms across her bedazzled top. He hadn’t seen her in much other than her scrubs, Jellyfish Jam dress or date outfit. From the way he kept looking down, and then quickly back up to meet her eyes, she could tell he was intrigued. “We’re performing in the Talent Show again.” 

His jaw fell open, voice filled with mock outrage. “And you didn’t immediately come and get me? What if I’d missed it?” 

“Don’t get too excited.” She rolled her eyes. He was forever bouncing off the walls, it was best not to encourage him. “We’ve scrapped the old choreography.” 

“Don’t get too excited? Lahela, I’ve been waiting all my life to see my favourite teen doctor perform in a punk band with her mom.” Nico threw up his hands, then clicked his fingers as if he had just remembered something vital. Life altering. “I totally have to make a sign. Do you think there’s any gel pens around here? Or maybe-” 

He stumbled.  

Nico’s palms slid down the wall. 

No.  

Lahela moved quickly, wrapping her arm around his waist. She barely scraped his shoulders, but she was determined. 

“You need to sit down.” 

“Yeah…” 

 

---

 

Lahela tried not to stare too intently as Nico propped himself up on a stack of cushions, leaning back against the plastic headboard of his hospital bed.  

He looks so-   

That was the trick with Nico. 

One moment he looked like a healthy teenage bad boy with a strong penchant for trouble. Sure, he had a few cuts and scrapes from his dirt bike, but that was to be expected, even if owning such a vehicle was ill-advised . So many accidents on the road… They could ride around the island and get fries at Ziggys, kiss under waterfalls and joke around. 

And the next, he wasn’t even able to stand upright in the hospital corridor without getting winded.  

Which forced Lahela to look past his handsome, lightly bruised exterior, to see the cancer patient beneath. 

Which should be all I see, because I’m his doctor.  

And because she was his doctor, Lahela had to remind herself, she shouldn’t reach for his hand. Not even if it lay open on the white sheets of the hospital bed, terribly, tauntingly inviting. 

“You okay?” Nico asked. 

Lahela tried to perk up, willing the corner of her mouth into some semblance of a smile. She felt her quivering lip betray her. “Oh yeah, I’m great. Just great.” 

“Really?” 

She couldn't fool him, not like she did others. Nico always paid her a little bit too much attention.  

“No.” 

Though he should have been resting, still catching his breath, Nico leant forwards. It was rather ironic, that he was the one asking her the questions. “What’s wrong?” 

And even Lahela wasn’t sure, but she tried to put it into words for him. “I feel like-like something’s missing. Like I’m about to go up on stage and realise that I can’t do it because somethings wrong and-” 

“Stage fright?” 

“I think so…” She chewed on the inside of her cheek, looking off through the window to the skyline of the island. Rooftops glinted in the soft, golden sun. “I’ve never really done something like this before. I went through school so quickly that I never had the chance to get involved with normal things, plays and big assemblies. I can give a mean presentation to the Hospital Board, sure, but getting up there and singing…” 

“Oh, come on.” 

Lahela’s brows rose, glossed lips forming an ‘o’.  

“You’re Lahela Kameāloha.” Nico couldn’t resist the very thing that had gotten him stuck back in his hospital bed, throwing his hands up in an energetic toss. “You’re going to rock this like you rock everything else.” 

This time, her smile was very real. 

“Though…” 

“What!” 

“No, no. It’s not that I’m second guessing your mad skills, I’m sure No Doubt will be rolling in their graves when they hear your take on their song-” 

“Gwen Stefani isn’t dead, Nico.” 

“- but what’s up with the hair?” 

Immediately, Lahela’s hands shot up protectively to her ponytails. “What do you mean ‘what’s up with the hair’? They’re perfect, I checked. I checked five times.” 

“Exactly.” Nico’s tongue shot out in his cheek. “Bit straight laced for punk rock?” 

“You think I should change them?” 

“I think I can help.” 

Oh. 

Oh.  

He used one hand to hold the side of Lahela’s face as the other reached up to take out her ponytails. Her hair fell down around her shoulders in a dark wave, shining like Oahu’s moonlit waters. Nico made quick, careful work of parting her hair into sections, drawing up a few locks at a time to form small buns all around her head. 

He didn’t need to be told that she had extra hair ties at her wrist. 

Lahela turned to face him, her legs folded as she leant in to his warmth with his fingers still at her scalp. 

He never tugged. 

Never pulled too hard or made a tangle. 

Nico was gentle. 

And Lahela watched him work, the little line between his brows, in amazement. 

“How did you learn to do this stuff?” She had to ask, scared to break his concentration but far too used to letting her curiosity get the better of her. 

“Can’t I just be naturally gifted?” He laughed, and then shrugged like he would rather not have said. “I’ve been on the cancer wards a long time. Seen a lot of wigs getting made over, patients trying all sorts to cover up hair falling out. Sometimes I’d give it a go. Really, it was like a salon.” 

Her heart ached. 

“Nico-” 

“Just say thank you. You look appropriately punk rock now.” 

They sat very, very close. Lahela could see her own reflection in the endless hazel of his eyes, and really, she couldn’t have cared less in that moment if her hair had resembled a bird's nest. Atop the hospital bed with Nico, she could feel the heat of his recently feverish skin, smell the spearmint toothpaste on his breath, notice the freckles that crossed the bridge of his nose. 

His lips were right there. 

Right there. 

Nico’s incredibly kissable lips, which she knew from experience. 

Snap out of it Kameāloha . 

“Was this just an excuse?” She forced out, drawing back. Lahela thought of her father’s advice. ‘Just remember to breathe.’ It was easier said than done with Nico looking at her like that. “Fixing my hair?” 

His very kissable lips tugged up into a smile. The boy had dimples for days. “Maybe. But hey, at least now we can say for certain that there’s nothing missing for when you go on stage.” 

Lahela couldn’t help it. 

Their hands brushed atop the hospital sheets. 

“You’re right. Nothing’s missing now.” 

 

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Notes:

This fic is inspired by the fact that during Episode 7, after Lahela makes up with her mom her hair is in ponytails but when she arrives on stage for the talent show, suddenly it is in little buns. Since so many episodes are missing Nico, I thought it would be fun to mix the magic-hair-change with whatever he was up to during that time.

Also, the title is from Fall Out Boy’s ‘Don’t You Know Who I Think I Am?’

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Sunrise Over O'ahu || Doogie Kameāloha MD