Felix Gaeta (
mr_gaeta) wrote in
ways_infirmary2012-03-30 10:20 pm
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"Alone she sleeps in the shirt of man
With my three wishes clutched in her hand..."
Simon finally hooked him up to a morpha -- morphine, whatever it's called here -- drip once the nerve block wore off and the supposedly unidentifiable opioid had left his system. Gaeta's half-drowsing, eyes closed in a vain attempt to sleep outright; the pain's still too great, though, and the exhaustion more prominent.
And if he sleeps, that means he can't do the only thing that's worked so far.
"The first that she be spared the pain
That comes from a dark and laughing rain..."
The words are a little roughened with hoarseness, a touch slurred by morpha -- but his voice still rings clear through the infirmary.
[ooc: for continuity's sake, all threads now take place before Boyd's and Simon's.]
With my three wishes clutched in her hand..."
Simon finally hooked him up to a morpha -- morphine, whatever it's called here -- drip once the nerve block wore off and the supposedly unidentifiable opioid had left his system. Gaeta's half-drowsing, eyes closed in a vain attempt to sleep outright; the pain's still too great, though, and the exhaustion more prominent.
And if he sleeps, that means he can't do the only thing that's worked so far.
"The first that she be spared the pain
That comes from a dark and laughing rain..."
The words are a little roughened with hoarseness, a touch slurred by morpha -- but his voice still rings clear through the infirmary.
[ooc: for continuity's sake, all threads now take place before Boyd's and Simon's.]
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"When she finds love, may it always stay true
This I beg for the second wish I made too."
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And there's not much to dance to, here, in this moment. In this place.
But as she slips inside, her steps match the rhythm too.
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The song abruptly cuts off in a hoarse gasp.
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But only for an instant.
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Please.
He shudders, like a man rocked in a storm, waiting to ride out the worst of the bad weather.
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"Shhhhhh," whispers River, barely as loud as a breath, when the song doesn't pick back up.
"Gonna be okay."
Closer, now. A few more steps and she'll be at his bed, or at the empty one next to it; it's not yet clear which she's aiming for.
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The pain crests, begins the slope downward. As it diminishes, Gaeta opens his eyes in search of the source.
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"Hello," he ventures at last, hoarsely.
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From the inside especially, but not solely.
She waits, hands wrapped around her ankles and body still, until he speaks.
Then: "Hi," she says, quiet and serious.
Beat.
"I followed the track," she adds, in what might be explanation. "It's aural."
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He...can't quite parse what she's saying, but he gets the gist.
"I'm sorry," he says, not much louder. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
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In a subdued kind of way.
"You're not."
She half-smiles. "Meili," she adds. (This is not a lie, but it may be a certain amount of selective truth.)
"He's following it too."
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(The question he's repeated to nearly everybody he's seen: will you tell Louis I'm here?)
"Who is?"
Please. Please.
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"You are," River says, hesitantly, after a moment to visibly review the conversation.
It's not quite a question, but very nearly.
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"I'm..." Gaeta closes his eyes for a second, lifting a wobbly hand to drag it across his forehead. "I'm sorry."
He does sound genuinely apologetic.
"I'm pretty frakking drugged up right now. What?"
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"It's not relevant," River tells the floor, low.
River's not very good at clarifying what she means.
Glancing back up, she tries, "Call it a metaphor."
Because it is! But River's not always sure when she's using metaphors and when she isn't and when they're clear to other people, so she may well just be opting for this as a safe bet.
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Yeah, he is way too drugged -- and in too much pain -- to process any of this.
Gaeta closes his eyes for a moment, trying to regroup. "What's your name?"
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He tries for a smile. It...doesn't work very well.
"I'm Felix."