Curtis and Edgar, initial treatment and visiting hours

[simon_doctor]

It's been a rough day for Curtis and Edgar. Fortunately, the Milliways infirmary is definitely set up to handle hypothermia and exposure.

[Icon above notwithstanding, Simon Tam is not actually appearing in this thread.]

Comments

[hate_gettin_older]

He blinks, hard.

(Some kind of god, he says. What other kind of god did they have, back in the tail? Who else did they have to look to?)



"I missed you. All this time."

[2goodarms]

He breathes out, shakily.

"I missed you, too."

[hate_gettin_older]

Fuck, he is not going to cry.

"I just, I din't want to -- I couldn't look at you and not think about --"

[2goodarms]

"I know."

The blood on his face. The echo Curtis didn't even realize.

The extra years Edgar could've gotten with his mother.

[hate_gettin_older]

He shuts his eyes, turns his face into the pillow.



"And I don't know what to do now."

[2goodarms]

You're asking me? he wants to say. And can't, of course.



"Well. I kind of...moved in with Dejah while you were gone." Quiet, and as steady as he can. "So if you're -- if you ever want the old room back. It's yours."

Which doesn't solve the issue of Edgar sleeping alone. But at least the room's already set up to be as comfortable as possible for someone from the Tail.

"And I mean even if you don't, you've got her room number. You ever want to talk, or...whatever. Nothing you don't wanna do, but."

Another small shrug.

"Door's always open to you."

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar grinds his face against the pillow, trying to wipe his eyes without using his hands, before he looks up again.

(The effect is more to redden his eyes than anything else.)

Muffled: "Good to know."

[2goodarms]

Curtis nods.

(The last thing he's going to do is acknowledge that Edgar's crying. He can give the kid --

He can give Edgar that bit of dignity.)

"But I'm not gonna hover," he says. "Or..." A tiny, crooked smile. "Try to give you my shoes or some shit."

[hate_gettin_older]

His laugh cracks right down the middle, tries to twist into a sob. He strangles it, swallows it down.

"Okay."

[2goodarms]

His smile trembles a little. Quickly, Curtis looks down to compose himself.

They're not okay. It's possible they're not ever going to be okay.

But maybe it'll just be a different kind of okay than before.

[hate_gettin_older]

"I just, I mean --"

The words come out almost against his will, struggling and painful.

"I should hate you, man. I don't but I should. I mean what does that fuckin make me, if I don't? If I just say okay, whatever, bygones be bygones and all that shite -- what kind of s-son even am I, if I say it doesn't matter?"

[2goodarms]

Clumsily, Curtis extracts his left hand to rub the side of it against his forehead. It's the best he can do when his fingers still don't want to move too well.

"Forgiving's not the same thing as forgetting," he says, quietly. "And it's not the same thing as hating someone. Or even just being pissed off at them."

[hate_gettin_older]

He shakes his head.

(What he can't quite articulate: the injury is simultaneously too big and too distant for anger.)

[2goodarms]

"And it's..."

He struggles to find the words.

"I don't know if it'd be easier to forgive. If that's something you want. If you knew it was an aberration, or what...what that first month did to everybody. The shit it brought out in us."

Curtis tucks his hand back under the blanket.

"Some people ended up like me, and some ended up like Gilliam. Or your mom. It brought out good, not bad."

[hate_gettin_older]

Like Gilliam.

It takes him a moment.

"Like," slowly, "like Gilliam at the beginning, you mean."

[2goodarms]

The lump congeals in his throat again.

"Yeah," he whispers. "Before."

[hate_gettin_older]

"How --" His voice has gone raw again. "How did he go from that to helping Wilford? I mean, how do you even ..."

[2goodarms]

"I don't know."

He blinks, hard.

"Maybe he thought it was the same kind of thing. Sacrifice part of something to save everyone. Who the fuck knows."

[hate_gettin_older]

He remembers Curtis's voice, telling over the story of Gilliam cutting off his own arm. He imagines that old rusty voice saying to Wilford, to the Front, to the engine itself: if you're so hungry, eat this.

"Maybe," he mumbles.

[2goodarms]

"I get it," he says. "Kind of. Wanting to hate someone and not quite pulling it off."

[hate_gettin_older]

His eyes sting again, hard.

"Yeah," he husks, and drags his fingers across his forehead and eyes.

[2goodarms]

Curtis falls silent.

After a moment, he fumbles with the blanket in an effort to wrap it around his hand.

[hate_gettin_older]

"'S your hand okay?"

[2goodarms]

"Yeah," he says automatically. "Just hurts. It'll be fine."

He hopes like hell the doctor would've told him if he were about to walk out of here with two metal hands.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar nods.

"Same as my feet, yeah," he says. "They'll be okay."