(2016-01-20) Words
Words
Summary: Explanations and clinginess
Date: 1.20.2016
Related: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank. You have to use full URLs, like http://mushname.wikidot.com/logtitle)
Players:
pied-piper..quinton..

First Aid/Medical

This three bedroom apartment is nothing exciting. The inside is a decade or two more modern than the outside at least, but drab. Beige floors, off white walls leaves the place looking a bit instititutinal. At least the previous occupant tried to liven it up a a bit with modern furnishings.

The kitchen is divided from the living room by a breakfast bar and a window lets in light from outside. Three furnished bedrooms and bathroom lead off the living room.

Two bedrooms are used for patients, the third for the doctor on duty. The two patient rooms are furnished sparsely with three twin beds each and several candle heaters to keep the rooms warm in the cold of fall and winter as well as to provide needed light. A small nightstand sits next to each bed with an additional lantern for light.


It's a typical day in the infirmary. The place is just barely warm, probably because from the sounds of it, it is raining outside. Though there is something comforting in the sound of it hitting the windows and ground outside. There is a strange rhythmic creak Piper rocking in a rocking chair, she had it brought over from the clubhouse at some point, her face is a mask of concentration as she uses the crochet hook to stitch some blue yarn into orderly lines. From what she has finished, piled in her lap she must have been working on this one for awhile, though it's hard to tell what it is at the moment.

Quinton's pale eyes slowly blink open. the sound of the rain makes it hard, it's very soothing. Maybe 5 more minutes? But then there's a creaking noise, that doesn't fit with the rain and he turns, only to wince having forgotten about the stomach wound. Today he remembers. it's a stomach wound. And he also remembers Kayla glaring at him, mad. At least he didn't cry out today, so that's getting better. He's lost weight, even he can tell that as he lifts a hand to lay gently on his tummy. And he needs a bath. Ugh. Finally he'll glance over to the noise and blinks in surprise, not expecting that. "….Hey." He sounds shaking and a little unsure, but aware.

The movement doesn't catch her attention as much as the greeting does. Eyes lift first and then her head as hands stop moving. "Hey." she replies back as Piper studies him briefly. "Feel-ing?" she questions, a tentative smile given as she shifts from rocking chair to sitting on the edge of the bed. The crochet project becomes just an inanimate pile on the chair. A hand reaches to touch forehead and cheek to test for fever.

It's not broken, but is definitely down from yesterday. He's not burning up, but his eyes are still glassy. He mostly just looks exhausted, despite having sleepy for over a week. "…'m peachy." There's no smile returned, but he's definitely watching her, confused, "…Why….you left…" He only remembers bits and pieces, something about prom and his mom….and Piper. Was she singing?

She figured this would happen. That everything would be thought of as some fevered dream…and some of it could have been, but she certainly wasn't. Her brows furrow slightly, but it wasn’t an overly stupid question, but if he is well enough for sarcasm…there is a shake of head then "No. Could…" of all the days to be struggling her brain would choose this one "not." and of course she was singing. There is always the singing.

Quinton rolls his head, so very slowly to be able to look at her better. He'd be frowning, but even his face hurts so it's more a light scowl than anything. "You took…Donny and Elsa and…left." Apparently he thought she left without saying good bye? He wets his lips with his tongue before trudging to try and shift his body, his hand pressing on his stomach presses down more.

Okay he is really having a bad name day if he gets Quinn's name wrong, Piper doesn't focus on that, she knows who he means. One drama at a time. "No." she repeats again calmly and patiently "Couldn't. Can't. Won't." she then throws her logical argument out or tries, hard when stringing words together is difficult. "If. I. Left. How. Would. I. Be. Here. Now?" one word at a time. It's not like they can call her on the phone or chase after her.

Well, yes. He's fevered, not stupid. It's enough to push the slight frown into a deeper one and his eyes narrow, "Why?" Maybe that was the better route. Obvious she's still here. Pale eyes flicker to the rocking chair, but he can't tell what she was doing so he looks back up at her.

A much better route, a more understandable one certainly. Piper reaches out to put a hand on his warm chest. "You." she states as if is the most reasonable and obvious answer, "Worth fighting for." she'll then repeat the words she told a delusional, waxing poetic Quinton a few days ago. Maybe it will job a memory or something "You are home."

When Piper touches his chest, she can feel his heart beating fast. Faster than it should be, anyway. A flash on emotional pain, uncertainty, hope, it's all there, flashes across his face and he gulps a deep breath, looking away. She lied, he remembers that much. His poetic mind wonders if this is what a true addiction is like, needing, loving and hating, pleasure and pain at the same time. Instead of addressing that, he closes his eyes, his hand pressing a little harder on his stomach, maybe to elevate the pain, or to give hymn something to focus on, "I don't….there's no answers…Everyone wants….Looking at me…I don't…..have any." Everyone meaning Piper and Kayla. They're his everyone, really.

She prepared herself for this, had a pretty speech ready and everything, but when it comes time to say them they don't seem to be the right ones or they are impossible to get out. "Hey," she says gently, her hand moving from his chest to his hand "…love you…just want you….happy." his hand is squeezed "Answers later. Heal first." he's in pain, confused, exhausted, of course he has no answers and she doesn't expect him to have any either, not yet.

It's the first time he's heard that word from her. Even if it's been implied before, hearing it is very different. He's a writer, words are always super important. His breath catches before he pulls her hand to his face. He can't move to hold her, to kiss her, but he can bury his face into her cool, steady hand. He's trembling, eyes closed. At least he's not hallucinating. He hopes he's not, anyway.

Well that is better than angry denial and something she is much better equipped to deal with. Moving closer, Piper lets him have his way with her one hand and with the other she reaches over to run fingers along his temple and down his face, a caress she repeats as she lets him have a few moments. Finally she will lean in closer "I won't pretend," she bites her lip as she struggles to get the words out, "to be okay, if we're not."

A soft strangled cry escapes the poet. He'd gotten over the shock, but it's all back with the fever. "I….I don't know…' And that's true, he doesn't know if they're ok. He doesn't feel like he knows anything anymore. He does seem to relax though as she pets him, she's always had a calming effect on him. He doesn't know/care if it's her or the alien that does that to him. His breathing evens out some and he nuzzles into her hand.

"That's fine." that he doesn't know, she like she was fine with him not having any answers. The caressing continues as he begins to relax "Focus….on you…better." they can wait, she would rather him make a cognizant, non-duress, non-impaired decision "Need anything?" besides just the calm she is providing by totally mundane methods at the moment.

Quinton's hand tightens on hers, almost like he's afraid she's going to leave when she asks. "No." Even if he did need water…or pain medicine. He'd rather her stay touching him than move away. It's irrational, but that fear is there.

Being the stubborn patient he is, she really didn't expect any other answer, and Piper doesn't need any special abilities to know he just wants her to stay right there. The hand squeezing is enough for that. It's a bit awkward, the way he is clutching her hand, but she manages to lay on her side next to him without disturbing him too much, "Talk? Sing?" she never offers to sing, she either does it or she doesn't. "Si-lence?" she is fine with that too.

Quinton sighs, his breath tickling against the palm of her hand. "…any…" He's slipping into the clingy, whiny mode than men do when they don't feel good. "Don't go…"

Her hand goes back to caressing his temple, that seems to do as good a job at keeping him calm and relaxed as anything else. Piper knows from past experience that he likes Coldplay so she begins to softly sing one of their songs as her hand moves across his temple and through his shaggy hair in long gentle strokes. Laying down isn't the best position to sing from, but it's probably impossible for her to sing bad. She gets the first few stanza's out before the singing stops briefly to reply to his words "I won't…ever."

Quinton's breathing evens out. He doesn't fall asleep, but relaxes and lets her voice wash over him into a soothing lulled state. Slow blinks, his eyelashes brush against her skin and he mutters back, "Lost in the waves, curls crashing in my mind….There is no coming back…"

The butterfly kisses make her hand twitch at the tickling sensation they cause, but she doesn't pull it away from him. Piper listens, she knows those words by heart now, she's read that poem over and over and could repeat it word for word herself. She is unsure if she should continue with the poem, respond with something of her own, even if she isn't half the poet he is or just be quiet and let him finish. "lost in the sea of your hair…" she has to smile at that line, it's her most distinguishing feature and she has so much of it. She goes with continuing, showing him that she hasn't forgotten and actually cares enough to have commited it to memory.

That doesn't mean something. It means everything to the poet. Before someone having memorized something was flattering, but now….now it's validation. His hand presses her's into his mouth, kissing her palm with dried lips. "No Lighthouse to warn of the rock shore….A sailors prayer to guide me…"

"My…" she decides though to change that pronoun "Your North Star." Piper concludes, her hand stilling a moment to just rest on his scruffy cheek. She is silent then, watching him, once more letting him have all the time he needs to do or say something, if anything.

Quinton's forehead crinkles at some thought but he turns his face away from it as much as he can into her hand. This not moving sucks. Maybe he'll start jogging with Nora when he feels better. He doesn't say anything else, just lays there soaking in the feel of her next to him.

The small woman shifts again slightly, making herself more comfortable and relaxing against him and his layers of blankets, resting her forehead against his cheek as he burrows his face in her hand again. Piper remains silent, she's said all the words she needed to say, now it's just a waiting game, or fighting game in her case, she said it, and she means it.

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