ways_infirmary | (no subject)

"You should tell Simon to expect us in two days," Piotr'd said.

So what if he was only late by an hour or three. It feels like an hour or three, to Mal, so he got tired of pacing around in the bar waiting for anything to happen and made his way to the Milliways infirmary.

One can't functionally tape revolvers to one's chest, and Mal doesn't try. He instead straps the marginally more modern-looking pistol using about a half of a roll of tape to hold the gun -- safety on, that's important -- directly above his navel.

Mal hears the noises of someone approaching the infirmary but doesn't take the time to look up.

Colossus comes in right behind Simon with a bloody Kitty in his arms.

He voice is hoarse and tired, "You do not need that, Mal."

He moves to put Kitty down on the table Simon pointed out.

She wants to say, "I can walk."

She's at least vaguely aware that's not true, and she's still trying a bit to squirm away.

She can't help it.

Simon registers Mal's presence mostly as oh good, someone who can help.

He slots the ampule into a spray injector, hands it to Mal. "Dope her. No, wait -- Piotr, do you know if they've drugged her at all?"

"No," as his armor disappears.

"Just the collar."

"And the Negative Zone."

He collapses in a chair next to Kitty, right a bit in everyone's way, and doesn't seem like he's going to move anytime soon.

Bullet-gun taped to his chest and spray-gun that might as well be taped to his hand, Mal leans forward over Kitty, waves a hello with two fingers before depressing the tip of the injector against her skin.

Mal pulls back almost immediately, standing to one side -- a traditional stance of his when Simon's got a bigger role than he does.

She jerks away at the touch before making herself still.

She's not saying anything. There's nothing to say.

She won't be conscious much longer, if the anaesthetic does its job.

Leaving Simon to do his. There's a great deal of work to do: multiple minor lacerations about the face to clean and close, a broken nose to set, bruises to examine for internal bleeding, primarily the mangled mess of the leg to reassemble.

It takes time.

Kitty's eyes are wide for a minute.

The anaesthetic is fast, but not fast enough to stop her from saying, "I don't want to sleep," but really--she doesn't have a choice.

"It will be all right," Piotr mutter in Russian.

The adrenaline is no longer pumping like mad, Kitty is in good hands, and he hasn't really slept in several days.

"I am--I am staying here. Is okay?" His english is starting to slip.

"It's fine," Simon tells him quietly. "I'm going to have to ask you to move your chair back a little, though."

He's already started working on her leg, cutting and tweezing away the remains of the fabric that covered it.

He nods. Yes. Can do.

He pushes his chair back slightly, lets his chin drops to his chest, and he is deeply asleep.

Time passes.

Kitty sleeps, whether she likes it or not.

When she wakes, it's slowly, and she can't figure out where she is. Can't figure out why it's hard to move. Can't figure out why it's different.

She still tries to sit up before discovering that's not an option.

"Try not to move," says a voice nearby. "The anaesthetic hasn't all worn off yet."

Simon's face comes into view, over the bed.

"How're you feeling?"

Don't move. Right.

Kitty can do that.

Kitty also can blink at Simon repeatedly for a minute as she tries to process this.

"...Like shit," she decides on after a minute.

"You're at Milliways, in the infirmary. Piotr brought you in a few hours ago. He's here too. Sleeping."

Simon's voice is very, very calm.

"Great." Still staring at the ceiling. "I want this fucking collar off."

"I need to check your leg one more time, and then yes, we're taking it off."

He suits action to word, moving down to examine the results of his handiwork. "Can you move your feet, Kitty?"

She does.

She doesn't like how aware she is of moving things, of how there's thought and not just action.

"I'm fine."

She doesn't care if that's a lie.

"You're going to be."

He moves back towards her head, and looks her in the eye.

"Kitty, when you phase, what does that do to your ability to heal?"

It takes her another minute to find words. "You know how if you stress a system it has a harder time healing?"

He nods, silently.

It's one of the many, many things he's worried about.

"Mine stresses when I'm solid," flatly. "I don't phase so much as I go solid."

A moment to process that, and Simon turns to open one of the supply cabinets.

"In that case," he says as he comes out with a screwdriver in one hand, and doesn't finish the sentence.

Kitty thinks she's supposed to make a joke here. Have I ever told you you're a very attractive man? or something.

Instead she just looks at him and it's pure hope and she doesn't know.

He lowers his gaze, partly to focus on the task ahead of him and partly so as not to look at that heartbreaking hope in her eyes.

The collar's unfamiliar in design and difficult to manipulate and Simon doesn't really care right now because it. Is. Coming. Off.

She knows without seeing the moment it comes off.

Because then the nausea that's been constant is gone and then the faint buzzing is gone and then it's not touching it's not weighing and then Kitty's phased and more than she's been for years without need, just barely remembering that it unnerves people if she starts to look like mist, and her face lights up and she can breathe and she doesn't pay attention to the buzz in the back of her skull from a different thing and it's okay.

And he feels her neck and shoulder slide through his fingers, and the feeling is disturbing but the look on her face more than makes up for it.

"Better?" he says quietly.

"Yeah." She can't stop smiling. "Oh God, yeah."

"Good."

A pause.

"Ordinarily I wouldn't advocate trying to move you, but -- am I correct in thinking that when you're phased, your legs aren't actually bearing your weight?"

"...It's weird," is the absent answer to that one, as she mostly focuses on watching her hand move in and out of the bed. "They do. It's just--different. Less mass. For everything."

"I see. In that case, it's probably best we still keep you off your feet." He glances across at the sleeping Piotr. "I feel sure Piotr could carry you again, when he wakes up."

Another beat, and carefully: "Do you know where you're going to, at this point?"

"No, I'll walk," and it's almost frantic as she glances at him, and she doesn't realize that part.

Kitty blinks for a minute.

Blink again.

"...Serenity, I guess."

"All right."

He doesn't actually say good, but the sudden warmth in his tone does.

"I should mention that if you're going to insist on walking, it'll be longer before I can discharge you."

"Don't care," quickly. "I don't want--don't make me unphase? Please? I'll be the model patient."

A pause, and Simon's lips silently shape the word oh.

"...It's impossible for anyone to carry you while you're phased. Of course."

"Yeah." She shrugs a little and looks down at her leg.

"I'll stay here. Really. I'll even only sneak out when you'll never find out."

"Can we negotiate for not at all, do you think?"

He says it lightly, but clearly meaning it.

"I'll try?"

Her smile's a little crooked and not quite right, but it's a smile.

*It had been pure chance that Simon had seen Meg on his way out, and pure luck that he had remembered the relationship.

When she sidles in, it's quiet, and nervous, and her eyes are wide in her pale face.*

Kitty?

It's Meg.

...Oh, right.

She promised Meg she'd be okay.

"Sorry," she says groggily as she blinks at the ballerina.

*Meg is momentarily dumbstruck.

Mostly because she's just about equally torn between telling Kitty she'd damn well better be sorry, and between telling her not to be stupid and apologize when she just got rescued from todash space. It is a tough decision, and either way there will be yelling, which is possibly not the best thing.

She settles for saying,* At least you're alive, *and it's fierce but quiet.

She's not crying, but she's close.*

"Too stubborn not to be," she offers.

She's supposed, she thinks, to sound teasing with that.

That one's a little more than she can manage tonight.

"S'okay, Meg."

*Meg's shaking her head.*

It very nearly wasn't.

*She squeezes her eyes shut, and then opens them.*

Merde - when you're not half-dead, I am - I am going to yell at you for a solid straight three hours, until I lose my voice and can't anymore.

"Good thing you're not a singer, then, huh?"

Her smile's very, very crooked.

It wouldn't matter.

*Meg doesn't smile back for a long moment; then she clenches her fists, and opens her eyes, and tries, because it seems better than not.*

Not like I have a performance paycheck to be suspended anyways - which means I'm free to spend all my time hanging around waiting on your every whim and driving you fou with constant overprotectiveness. Sound like fun?

"A blast."

It kinda does.

"S'long as you don't expect me to dance for joy any time soon."

- no, *Meg says, after a beat.* Not soon, maybe -

But I want to be there when you do.

Kitty doesn't say anything right away, just closes her eyes.

"Sure."