(no subject)

[latino_menace]

It's...later. He's not sure how much, he was pretty tired and has been asleep for a while. He hasn't had to use the call button and although he does kind of feel like he's been run over by a truck, the actual injury site isn't bothering him all that much.

Still, he'll be glad when it's fixed for good and he can get out of here. Whether or not X will get her desire to put him in the cells remains to be seen, he feels. In the meantime, he's getting pretty bored.

Comments

[song_tra_bong]

Mary Anne's been keeping an ear to the metaphysical ground ever since the last time they talked.

Mostly it's been the equivalent of static until--

(Ten of Swords, High Priestess, Hanged Man)

--it's enough to start her running. She doesn't stop until she's outside the infirmary doors.

Fuck visiting hours.

She slips inside, zeroing in on Ramon's bed.

"What the shit." It's less angry than weary.

[latino_menace]

His head turns on the pillow. He looks sleepy and more than a bit like crap, from the two stab wounds on his chest to the tube coming out of his side.

'Hi.'

[song_tra_bong]

"Hey."

She pulls up a chair.

"How'd your business go?"

[latino_menace]

He huffs a tired breath.

'Despite appearances, pretty fucking well.

...you got a smoke on you? Fiona tore mine up.'

[song_tra_bong]

Mary Anne eyes the tube pointedly before replying, "Afraid I'm all out."

[latino_menace]

Lord save him from women who insist on trying to preserve his health.

'You could go get some?' he asks hopefully, though he figures he knows what the response will be.

[song_tra_bong]

"What part of 'sucking chest wound' do you not understand?"

She resists the urge to poke the bandages and emphasize her point.

"Was this part of your business, too?"

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

An angry surgeon storming into the room - shorter, trim, wearing Starfleet blues, grumbling under his breath about 'damn fool idiots who can't be trusted in society without a babysitter', carrying his field surgery kit - is a sure way to beat away those boredom blues. Especially when said surgeon is heading over to your side of the room.

[latino_menace]

Ramon looks over, startled out of a doze. And blinks because this man? Is familiar. Or rather, he knows exactly who he is. For a moment though, he's not sure why he'd be coming over.

'Who needs a babysitter?'

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

Ramon is treated to a first class, CMO-grade, traditional McCoy stinkeye, one that says louder than a shout 'don't you get smart with me, boy'. Someone's been briefed on why, exactly, he's doing a thoracic repair after an already long day on duty. Or at least as exactly as anyone's willing to tell him, at the moment. It's enough. Won't stop him from actually doing the job - he's a doctor, not a barracks-room lawyer, for crying out loud.
Though if this goes on, you'd better believe he'll have words with a certain clawed young lady about the meaning of 'non-lethal means of subduing suspects'. It's like the dark ages around here sometimes.
"You shouldn't be talking." He replies without bothering to further elaborate on the answer to Ramon's question. "Hell, you shouldn't be conscious, but that will get sorted in a moment."

[latino_menace]

He frowns at him. What's rattled his cage?

'You have a cigarette? Mine have been destroyed.'

Women.

'...and is a couple of stab wounds supposed to have damaged my vocal choards? Because if so, I'll have to tell X she's doing it wrong.'

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

"It's certainly damaged your brain, unless you've always thought mixing burning toxins with raw oxygen sources a good idea." McCoy snaps back, laying open his kit and starting the all-too-often-practiced ritual of setting out his supplies where he can get at them quickly.
"And if you go on running your mouth like the village idiot, all those holes the nice security lady put in your lungs will go on leaking air at a faster rate than if you shut your trap like a good patient, and less of it will be going to important places like your heart and brain and more of it will go nasty places like into the space between your lungs and your ribs and soon 'nough I won't have to worry about patching you up, I'll just have to worry about how they do funerals around here."

[latino_menace]

Wow. McCoy is mean.

Ramon glares at him.

'You're my surgeon?'

And nearly, nearly makes a crack about his bedside manner. And then doesn't.

[cutting_edgex23]

X does not plan on giving Ramon time to be mobile enough to leave. Which is why no more than a few days post-surgery she re-enters the infirmary, stopping by Ramon's bed and looking down at him.

She scents the air carefully, checking whether anything will prevent him leaving now.

But she does not speak.

Not yet.

[latino_menace]

He's dozing quietly - not a whole lot else to do around here. But when he becomes aware of someone by his bed, his eyes snap open. And when he sees it's her, he's wide awake and scowling instantly.

'What do you want?'

[cutting_edgex23]

"You are getting better," X says matter-of-factly.

She is not scowling at all.

"That is good."

[latino_menace]

'I'm so glad to hear you're concerned for my health, seeing as it was you that put me here.'

There is nothing in that statement to suggest he thinks he might deserve it.

'Fuck off.'

[cutting_edgex23]

"Next time I will kill you."

This is even more matter-of-fact, if that is possible.

"But now you are going to the cells."

[latino_menace]

'Have to catch me, next time.'

He'll take X's abilites into account, should the need ever arise again.

Which, y'know. Is likely.

[justcallmefee]

She returned from her flat, carrying a change of clothes for him, when she saw Mary Anne leave.

Her eyes fix on the ground for long moment in the corridor, looking down at the plain white linoleum ubiquitous to medical facilities across the multiverse. It would be so easy to just leave and never come back to this place. He'd miss her for a little while, but it's not like he's lacking for company, is it?

But he didn't leave her in the stables. He said he'd never let her go. Would he try to follow her back to Miami? She tries to imagine the whirlwind of his wrath directed at finding her, and while she thinks it would undoubtedly be a small bit of Armageddon, body count unacceptably high, she can't help the tiny smile that thought brings to her lips.

She waits an appropriate length of time before she returns to his side.

[latino_menace]

He's glad to see her. He's almost unbearably bored, lying here.

'Hey. Those clean clothes?'

Excellent.

[justcallmefee]

"I brought your comb too. Thought we could do something about that rat's nest on your head." Her tone is nothing but affectionate.

She sets the clothes on the bed, and draws the curtain around them. His colour looks better since the surgery.

[latino_menace]

He touches it, then shrugs ruefully.

'Wasn't planning on entering any modelling contests today. You have cigarettes?'

[justcallmefee]

"No," she says flatly, moving to the sink and turning on the hot water. She moves around the small space, finding a wash cloth and something she can use as a wash basin.

"How's the wound healing?"

[latino_menace]

He sighs and combs his hand through his hair.

'I don't know. It's covered, I assume it's OK. Doesn't hurt much.'