ways_infirmary | (no subject)

(no subject)

Kim leads the way into the infirmary, then gestures toward the nearest bed.

"Spoon, have a seat, please -- I need to get a few things."

Her tone's still brisk and efficient, but the concern's clear as well.

"It's going to be all right."

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"Support and protection," she explains. "Bandages aren't really going to do the job here, and I'm not comfortable with the idea of -- the purpose of a ribcage is to protect some pretty fragile and pretty important organs. Until it grows back, Spoon's going to need something else to do that for him."

A beat, and she adds gently, looking at Spoon,

"And although another alternative is to have you to stay here in bed until you finish healing-- I'm not going to ask you to do that."

Very gently.

Wells nods. "I can do that," he says. Then he looks at Spoon thoughtfully. "It's got a full-face helmet, too, if you think that's necessary."

He doubts it, but hey, you never know.

Spoon may bite at that. Seriously. He doesn't have a fag ( I WANT A FUCKING FAG!) but he makes the icon gesture anyway.

"If he needs it, I'll make him." Ace pipes up, fiercely determined. She doesn't think that's too much to ask, really.

He melted half his face off. He's earned whatever's coming to him.

Kim gives Ace a quick, bright smile, then turns back to Wells and Spoon, shaking her head.

"No, I don't think so. As long as you're careful--"

That part is definitely directed to Spoon.

"-- I think the stress that'd come from blocking your range of vision would be worse than the support from the helmet. It's really the internal organs we've got to be the most careful with, here."

"All right," says Wells. "Spoon, will you be all right if I go get the armour?"

Spoon makes a noise of agreement, and a facial twitch that would be a smile if he had a jaw.

He doesn't, but he's got noticeably more structure there than he did when he walked into the bar.

Ace subsides back into tense quietness on her stolen pillow, watching Kim and Spoon.

Nope, she still hasn't decided who she wants to yell at most. She might end up just throwing a dart at a board somewhere.

As Wells leaves the room, Kim looks directly at Spoon.

"I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to think about it very carefully before you answer me, okay? Stamp once for yes, twice for no."

Gray eyes are clear and her gaze strangely keen, as she studies him.

"Is there anything, anything at all, about this recovery process that feels different to you from other experiences?"

He thinks about it, then stamps his foot twice. It doesn't hurt any more, or any less, than the last time he had large amounts of acid poured on him.

...It hurt more at the time, but only because it was a stronger acid.

Ace makes a faint, pained noise and retreats a little farther. She really doesn't want to think about this having happened before, even if it did.

Wells returns with the case his armour travels in, and sets it down on the floor. "All right," he says. "Got the chest piece right here. Will you be needing the glove for that one hand, or is that all right so far?"

Kim weighs the protective value of the glove versus the potential damage and difficulty that would come from stuffing three boneless fingers into its shell, and finally shakes her head.

"No-- I think just the armor for the torso," she says. "I'll get finger-splints and tape for the hand."

She turns away to do just that, heading over to the far side of the room and the cabinets there.

Spoon stands up to be fitted with the armor, looking about as underwhelmed as Gifr at bathtime.

Less likely to bark and flail, but about that underwhelmed.

Ace recognizes the look. She's been around for the last several rounds of bathtime for puppies.

"Sit still an' I'll getya a kong with peanut butter t'lick." She smarts off.

Wells is a little bigger around the torso than Spoon, so the armour's not going to fit him as snugly, but it's a decent bit of work anyway. As Wells pointed out, it's not just bronze-coloured storm trooper armour. It's been worked over by a fucking god. It'll be comfortable and sturdy regardless. "There you are now," says Wells as he starts adjusting the last few bits. "That ought to do the trick, right? Let me know if it's off anywheres."

Spoon just waits. Nothing hurts any worse than anything else, so he just stands there. He sighs a little at Ace, but doesn't actually flick her off.

Thinks about it, though.

"My turn."

Kim's back, carrying the necessary materials.

"Give me your hand."

She works quickly and gently, placing each finger in the splint's cradle and taping them up, one after the other.

Spoon lets her do that, too, without sound. He's hurt worse. All he wants to do is go home and curl up to sleep the majority of this out. When she's done he makes a noise of thanks.

"You're welcome. Now--"

Kim holds out a small bottle of painkillers that she'd taken from a locked cabinet while she'd been getting the splints.

(She'd also taken a few seconds to swab samples of saliva and an odd ooze on top of the alien's head, dropping them into test tubes. Just in case.)

"This shouldn't interfere with your current medication. One every four hours, if the pain's too much. You've got three days' worth, there. It should help."

She looks around at them all, and concludes,

"That's it, unless something changes. I'll stay overnight here, just in case -- you can find me, if you need."

A beat, and a wry, pained smile.

"Just don't go doing this again any time soon, okay?"

"A'right, Spoon, you heard the doctor," says Wells. "Let's get out of the way, shall we? Who's for Yorkshire?"

"Anything that involves gettin' away from more acidic aliens is good by me." Ace notes acerbically as she hops off the table.

Spoon? Is not leaving without the head. He put far too much effort into getting it, and damn near lost everything in the getting. He earned the damn head, and he's keeping it.

Then he makes a noise of Home is good.

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