Day Twenty-Nine Cont'd
Nov. 29th, 2009 06:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mindsplintersWorld: Angels
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1276
Circumstance: Written at Wegman's
AND THIS PUTS ME AT A GRAND TOTAL OF 50,245. TRUST ME TO END WITH CHOLERA.
The knot sat heavy in his stomach, a twisting ball of worry and fear, and it grew as he watched his friend sink deeper and deeper into hallucinations and illness. He moved very little now but the whimpers and soft noises were almost constant. Sweat gave his skin an unnatural sheen and the soft brown hair clung to his forehead.
Rahab decided that he really goddamn hated everything liquid at that point.
Moving forward, he set the jug of boiled water on the nightstand before edging onto the mattress. When he manhandled Achaiah, he tried to be as careful and gentle as he knew how. For his trouble, he only received the faintest of sighs when he slipped an arm beneath Achaiah's shoulders and drew him closer. It took some maneuvering but, eventually, he had his friend in sprawled in his lap. He smoothed back hair with a calloused palm. "Chai, man," he whispered. "C'mon. It's time for more water." The mouth thinned in protest and he sighed, reaching down to curve his hand along Achaiah's jaw. For the moment, he did not force the issue but he knew that, come hell or high water, he was getting water, safe water, down his friend's throat. He focused on the burning heat of the skin beneath his hand. Shit. Now a fever, too? Could they not get a break? What was the point in making it this far to be taken out by a stupid mortal disease?
He felt his own jaw tense, biting back angry words. He knew perfectly well that Achaiah did not need recriminations. Blindly, he reached an arm out to retrieve a dampened cloth and patted his patient's forehead. Achaiah murmured, eyes opening to half slits. Immediately, Rahab forced a pale version of his usual grin. "Hey, there. Had enough yet?"
Achaiah's lips parted slightly but all that escaped was a sigh.
Rahab stifled the instinct to roll his eyes. This was not a drama act. This was his best friend dying. He dabbed at Achaiah's forehead again, followed by his temples and cheeks. "You're a complete bloody idiot," he murmured. "I can't believe you went an' caught this thing. I would've thought that Asiel taught you some things back there in the Pavillions." He bit his tongue before he said anything else. Instead, he focused on the other man's face again. The pallor scared him but, what was worse, the lack of emotion and animation shook him to the core. He had never seen Achaiah looking so empty. The man was a lousy poker player and a worse liar. He was just too good and never got the memo which Rahab had long ago engraved on his soul - sometimes it is better to hide than answer questions.
Dropping his hand down Achaiah's neck, Rahab checked his weak, fluttering pulse and cursed beneath his breath. "Alright," he announced. "You're going to drink this water and like it, Chai." Gingerly, he shifted the deadweight of the other man upwards until Achaiah's head rested heavy against his shoulder. He braced him with an arm across the chest and then reached for a nearby cup with his free hand. He noticed Achaiah starting to struggle a bit, ill-defined flailing, and tightened his hold. Bringing the other arm around, he held his friend tight in a bear hug. "Ssh, shush," he murmured directly into Achaiah's ear. "It's okay. I boiled it. I have that much sense."
Achaiah squirmed again and Rahab cursed lowly as he untangled a leg to hook it over Achaiah's for extra leverage. He brought one hand up and, in a combination of old memory and desperation, stroked his friend's hair. The movement was slow and careful and he felt the unaccustomed grit and filth of sweat and sickness through the previously immaculate hair. He snorted. "The first thing I'm gonna do after you get better, Chai," he murmured, "is dump you in a scalding hot tub."
"Boil me, too?" came the weak, raspy words and Rahab forced himself to hold still despite his surprise.
He continued to stroke Achaiah's hair and noticed some tension leaving the body against him. "Yeah," he finally said. "Boil you an' the sheets an' your clothes an' everything. All at once. It'll serve you right." He sighed and reached again for the cup. This time, Achaiah held still. Whether it was exhaustion or obedience, Rahab did not much give a damn at this point. "Why did you have to go an' do it?" he suddenly asked.
Achaiah made a weak, inquiring noise but it was swiftly blocked by the inteference of the cup. He choked for a moment and then his shoulders relaxed and he accepted the still warm water. One of his hands moved blindly until it had crept to Rahab's knee. He tried to frown, brows drawing together and nose wrinkling, until he almost choked and Rahab had to pull away the cup. Setting it back on the nightstand, Rahab shifted Achaiah higher against him until he was very nearly upright.
The coughing fit passed and, for a moment, the two rested in silence. Then, allowing his head to loll to one shoulder so he could squint at Rahab. "What," he coughed, "What was the question?"
"Jackass." Nonetheless, Rahab lifted a hand again to smooth back the other man's hair before reaching for the cup once more. "You're not bloody immortal, you know," he said sourly, more than a little angry accusation in his voice. "An' you're not a damn Pavillion-walker, anymore. You don't have to take care of everyone. You do that an' you forget to take care of yourself."
Meekly, Achaiah accepted the cup to his lips and drank in a series of slow, careful sips. The faint noise that escaped him indicated that the brain was working just well enough to realize the dangerous level of his dehydration. He drank a bit more deeply, cautiously. He appeared to be listening, though.
As if Rahab really cared. Now that he sensed the danger had passed enough, his anger was returning and he knew it all boiled out from the knot of fear that he had been living around during Achaiah's illness. He could apologize later. He hoped. "Damn cholera, Achaiah! This is not a little sniffle. What would I have done if you died? I hardly knew what to do. I'm not a damn doctor an' no doctor would come near this rat-pit we rent. Face it, man, in helping others, you fucked up an' I'm so not ready to forgive you for this. I don't care if it's still going. The moment you're better, we are out of St. Louis. There's nothing here, anyway. Just everyone dying."
Achaiah lifted an uncoordinated hand to push away the cup. "Alright," he whispered. "Just..."
"Just nothing." Despite his rough tone, Rahab was gentle as he moved the cup away and then slid out from behind Achaiah, lowering him to the pillows again. He turned away to refill the cup with clean water. His back to the other man, he felt his expression fall, submitting to the exhaustion and fear. "You..." He went quiet again for long moments and found him counting Achaiah's shallow breaths. Eventually, he heard them slow and relax and he knew his friend had fallen asleep. He sighed and closed his eyes, the cup and jug still in his hands coming to rest on the nightstand. He dropped his head. "You damn well scared me," he finished in a whisper.
Then he rubbed his face and turned to draw his chair up close to the bedside again, settling in for another long but, thankfully, less terrifying night.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1276
Circumstance: Written at Wegman's
AND THIS PUTS ME AT A GRAND TOTAL OF 50,245. TRUST ME TO END WITH CHOLERA.
The knot sat heavy in his stomach, a twisting ball of worry and fear, and it grew as he watched his friend sink deeper and deeper into hallucinations and illness. He moved very little now but the whimpers and soft noises were almost constant. Sweat gave his skin an unnatural sheen and the soft brown hair clung to his forehead.
Rahab decided that he really goddamn hated everything liquid at that point.
Moving forward, he set the jug of boiled water on the nightstand before edging onto the mattress. When he manhandled Achaiah, he tried to be as careful and gentle as he knew how. For his trouble, he only received the faintest of sighs when he slipped an arm beneath Achaiah's shoulders and drew him closer. It took some maneuvering but, eventually, he had his friend in sprawled in his lap. He smoothed back hair with a calloused palm. "Chai, man," he whispered. "C'mon. It's time for more water." The mouth thinned in protest and he sighed, reaching down to curve his hand along Achaiah's jaw. For the moment, he did not force the issue but he knew that, come hell or high water, he was getting water, safe water, down his friend's throat. He focused on the burning heat of the skin beneath his hand. Shit. Now a fever, too? Could they not get a break? What was the point in making it this far to be taken out by a stupid mortal disease?
He felt his own jaw tense, biting back angry words. He knew perfectly well that Achaiah did not need recriminations. Blindly, he reached an arm out to retrieve a dampened cloth and patted his patient's forehead. Achaiah murmured, eyes opening to half slits. Immediately, Rahab forced a pale version of his usual grin. "Hey, there. Had enough yet?"
Achaiah's lips parted slightly but all that escaped was a sigh.
Rahab stifled the instinct to roll his eyes. This was not a drama act. This was his best friend dying. He dabbed at Achaiah's forehead again, followed by his temples and cheeks. "You're a complete bloody idiot," he murmured. "I can't believe you went an' caught this thing. I would've thought that Asiel taught you some things back there in the Pavillions." He bit his tongue before he said anything else. Instead, he focused on the other man's face again. The pallor scared him but, what was worse, the lack of emotion and animation shook him to the core. He had never seen Achaiah looking so empty. The man was a lousy poker player and a worse liar. He was just too good and never got the memo which Rahab had long ago engraved on his soul - sometimes it is better to hide than answer questions.
Dropping his hand down Achaiah's neck, Rahab checked his weak, fluttering pulse and cursed beneath his breath. "Alright," he announced. "You're going to drink this water and like it, Chai." Gingerly, he shifted the deadweight of the other man upwards until Achaiah's head rested heavy against his shoulder. He braced him with an arm across the chest and then reached for a nearby cup with his free hand. He noticed Achaiah starting to struggle a bit, ill-defined flailing, and tightened his hold. Bringing the other arm around, he held his friend tight in a bear hug. "Ssh, shush," he murmured directly into Achaiah's ear. "It's okay. I boiled it. I have that much sense."
Achaiah squirmed again and Rahab cursed lowly as he untangled a leg to hook it over Achaiah's for extra leverage. He brought one hand up and, in a combination of old memory and desperation, stroked his friend's hair. The movement was slow and careful and he felt the unaccustomed grit and filth of sweat and sickness through the previously immaculate hair. He snorted. "The first thing I'm gonna do after you get better, Chai," he murmured, "is dump you in a scalding hot tub."
"Boil me, too?" came the weak, raspy words and Rahab forced himself to hold still despite his surprise.
He continued to stroke Achaiah's hair and noticed some tension leaving the body against him. "Yeah," he finally said. "Boil you an' the sheets an' your clothes an' everything. All at once. It'll serve you right." He sighed and reached again for the cup. This time, Achaiah held still. Whether it was exhaustion or obedience, Rahab did not much give a damn at this point. "Why did you have to go an' do it?" he suddenly asked.
Achaiah made a weak, inquiring noise but it was swiftly blocked by the inteference of the cup. He choked for a moment and then his shoulders relaxed and he accepted the still warm water. One of his hands moved blindly until it had crept to Rahab's knee. He tried to frown, brows drawing together and nose wrinkling, until he almost choked and Rahab had to pull away the cup. Setting it back on the nightstand, Rahab shifted Achaiah higher against him until he was very nearly upright.
The coughing fit passed and, for a moment, the two rested in silence. Then, allowing his head to loll to one shoulder so he could squint at Rahab. "What," he coughed, "What was the question?"
"Jackass." Nonetheless, Rahab lifted a hand again to smooth back the other man's hair before reaching for the cup once more. "You're not bloody immortal, you know," he said sourly, more than a little angry accusation in his voice. "An' you're not a damn Pavillion-walker, anymore. You don't have to take care of everyone. You do that an' you forget to take care of yourself."
Meekly, Achaiah accepted the cup to his lips and drank in a series of slow, careful sips. The faint noise that escaped him indicated that the brain was working just well enough to realize the dangerous level of his dehydration. He drank a bit more deeply, cautiously. He appeared to be listening, though.
As if Rahab really cared. Now that he sensed the danger had passed enough, his anger was returning and he knew it all boiled out from the knot of fear that he had been living around during Achaiah's illness. He could apologize later. He hoped. "Damn cholera, Achaiah! This is not a little sniffle. What would I have done if you died? I hardly knew what to do. I'm not a damn doctor an' no doctor would come near this rat-pit we rent. Face it, man, in helping others, you fucked up an' I'm so not ready to forgive you for this. I don't care if it's still going. The moment you're better, we are out of St. Louis. There's nothing here, anyway. Just everyone dying."
Achaiah lifted an uncoordinated hand to push away the cup. "Alright," he whispered. "Just..."
"Just nothing." Despite his rough tone, Rahab was gentle as he moved the cup away and then slid out from behind Achaiah, lowering him to the pillows again. He turned away to refill the cup with clean water. His back to the other man, he felt his expression fall, submitting to the exhaustion and fear. "You..." He went quiet again for long moments and found him counting Achaiah's shallow breaths. Eventually, he heard them slow and relax and he knew his friend had fallen asleep. He sighed and closed his eyes, the cup and jug still in his hands coming to rest on the nightstand. He dropped his head. "You damn well scared me," he finished in a whisper.
Then he rubbed his face and turned to draw his chair up close to the bedside again, settling in for another long but, thankfully, less terrifying night.
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Date: 2009-12-07 02:43 pm (UTC)