(no subject)

[mr_gaeta]

"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.]

Comments

[stilljustandrew]

He presses Gaeta's hand one more time and lets go.




"Before I go." Soft. "Something to remember, if you wake up by yourself?"

[mr_gaeta]

His eyes, still overbright, flicker halfway open.

"Hm?"

[stilljustandrew]

"First law of metaphysics," he says.

"Nothing unreal exists."

[mr_gaeta]

A beat goes by.

And then Gaeta smiles -- small, and unsteady, but more genuine than he's smiled in weeks.

"I'll remember that," he whispers. "Thank you."

[stilljustandrew]

"You're welcome."

He gets to his feet.

"Take care, okay?"

[mr_gaeta]

"Yeah. Yeah, you too."

Still smiling just a little, Gaeta closes his eyes.