09.11.3013: Painful Painkiller Prose
Summary: Devon and Victor talk while recovering from their wounds. Okay, there's no writing, but alliteration is good.
Date: 05 September 2013
Related: Not Rats!
Victor Devon 

Infirmary, Volkan, Imperius
The Infirmary of the Volkan Barracks is bright, clean, and sterile; the complete antithesis of the world above. There is a general care ward, with moveable beds in small alcoves, only granted privacy by curtains on cuved metal rods. Equipment sits in each unit for emergency treatment, and some long care treatment.

There is a surgical unit down the western hall, with three bays, for handling urgent care of soldiers severely wounded. A recovery area is at the end of the hall. Down the eastern hallway are several doors, each leading to one of a dozen long-term care rooms. Every room is furnished with two beds and a few chairs, a bathroom, nightstands, and connections for specific equipment depending on the needs of the patient.

IC date of RP

Victor has been lying face-down or on his side for days. The only thing making it at all bearable is that the staff has gotten him a rest for his head like a massage chair, and he's been watching vids on a tablet. That's made it bearable but not pleasant. And then there's his worry about the little Lady in the next bed over, and his worry about his worry about the little Lady in the next bed over. Tucking his tablet away, he grimaces his way through a turn onto his left side, facing her, "You awake over there, Dee?" At least he's asking the question in the afternoon, but with the severity of her wound, that's still no guarantee.

"Yeah," Devon's voice comes in a soft lull from her bed. She has been lying on her back to oppose her husband-to-be's own limitations. Her chest has been heavily bandaged and frequently looked after in the wake of her surgery. She has her eyes closed, and there is a sense of tiredness around her body. She breathes out a slow exhale through her nose before she opens tired, but clear, blue eyes. She glances toward him. "How are you?"

Victor shifts his position a little, and then eventually rolls forward onto his chest again. It's hard to lay on your side when you can't roll your shoulder forward, "Going fucking crazy." He looks across the intervening distance between their two beds as if measuring, then shakes his head to himself. "I haven't been this bad off since the drake tried to bite me in half." Dragging a pillow under the right side of his chest to lever himself up a little, he shifts around again, as if unable to get comfortable — or just frustrated by his inactivity, "You? I can hear you breathin', and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad. You're usually pretty quiet."

"Your fault you got hurt," Devon says in a half-dreamy voice. She has been on pain medicine since she came back from surgery — the kind that weighs you down and makes it so you don't want to move. She tilts her head a bit toward him, her pale eyes soft in the hospital light. "Takes lots of effort to breathe… good thing I'm not ventilated. Had they punctured a lung, would have been."

Victor arches his eyebrows, "My fault? It was just three Scouts." He sounds like he actually believes that. "Was only expectin' to have to fight two of the bastards at a time on the catwalk. Didn't figure that little fucker could get around behind me." And then he pauses, admitting, "Okay, my fault." His lips purse together tightly at the mention of his betrothed being on a ventilator, "I think I'm seein' a flaw in the best-of-both-worlds thing about you bein' able to be on the battlefield and not bein' another knight."

Devon nods vaguely as she rests her head back. Her eyes close once more. "I forgive you," she says once he confirms it being his fault. She starts to smile though, though there is a faint flatness to the expression. "I'm alright, Victor… but…" Then she opens her eyes to look at him once more. "I'm… happy to hear you're worried about me." She tilts her head, whitish blond hair whispering an errant lock against her cheek. She smiles. "You're starting to like me," she says, perhaps a bit too directly. She must be drug addled.

Victor doesn't answer right away, studying her paler-than-normal features from a few feet away. Eventually, he nods, "I've liked you for a while, Dee. As a person." A hint of a smile touches his lips, "I'm startin' to like the idea of bein' married to you soon." The smile fades away quickly enough though, "That's dangerous though. For me. I gotta lay it all out on the battlefield. I can't…" he stops, starts over, "I hesitated out there, Dee. Between comin' to check on you and goin' to help 'Bethe."

Devon tilts her head against the pillow as she stares across the aisle between their beds. She frowns a bit. "You don't want me out there anymore," she says, her voice a bit thick. "You don't want to wonder if you'll be carrying my body back to Volkan to be buried." Then a smile cracks her face, but it is mirthless. "I've already had my funeral rites, Victor…"

Victor shakes his head at the frowning assumption, although he demurs from responding immediately, letting her carry on. The smiling words, however, draw a grimace to his lips, "And that still freaks me the fuck out a bit." Letting out a long, slow breath, he shakes his head, "No. I ain't gonna tell you you can't go out in the field. It's what you do, who you are. I just gotta wrap my head around this whole 'likin' you' thing." Before that can get too heavy, he snorts a little laugh, "You never did say why you didn't like me."

"I don't want you to come home dead either," Devon says finally. She holds her crystalline gaze on him, almost unblinking. Then she demures herself a bit, looking away. "I do like you," she says after a moment. "Hard not to, really." Her shoulders lift and fall, though the motion draws a terrible grimace across her otherwise lovely features. She rests her head back. "Though I hate your cigars."

Victor seems to accept the first two statements, although the third causes him to blink dark eyes, and the fourth causes him to chuckle a little — which draws a wince. "Don't knock it 'till you've tried it." Still, he nods his acceptance of the point, letting a slow smirk slip across his features, "So you were just playin' tough for Ree and 'Bethe?" A rich sense of amusement floods the words, buoying them up on a low chuckle, "The big, tough Grantham who doesn't like anybody?"

"I do try it," Devon retorts dryly. "Every time I kiss you after you've smoked one." She shakes her head a bit as she leans her head back into the pillows once more. She stares up at the ceiling. "I don't know what I was playing… I wasn't feeling very well." She smirks over at him. It lasts only a moment before her expression softens. "How are you feeling?" She asks again.

Victor shakes his head, "No, no… it's not just the taste, it's about the experience. The ritual of cutting off, lighting up, drawing in…" He waves his good hand dismissively though, "So what you're saying is I should carry some breath mints?" The question is as dry as good wine, but he shakes it off none-the-less, "Too bad. I was curious what you were gonna come up with. Besides 'you let the stupid Hostile by.'" There's a pause, "Sorry 'bout that, by the way." Evidently that's the answer to her question, or at least, one answer.

Devon shrugs as lightly as she can, and then she breathes out a slow sigh. There is a lapse of silence from the woman, and one might suspect by the way her breathing changes that she is sleeping. She takes a wheezing breath that inflates her chest deeply, and then she sighs out the exhale. "Not your fault," she finally answers. "No… I don't hate you. Not really. You annoy and infuritate… but not enough to spur on hatred."

Victor blinks again, surprised at the seriousness of the answer. "I didn't think you hated me." His brows furrow deeply, "Kinda surprised," and dismayed, or disappointed, or dis-something'd by his tone of voice, "to hear you even suggest it like it's possible." And there goes the little misunderstanding that often spurs an argument between these two. "I was startin' to think it was annoyED and infuriateD." Grunting softly, he pulls out the pillow, dropping himself back face-down on the hospital bed and lowering his head into the loop of support, "Guess not."

It is Devon's turn to blink, though it takes her a bit longer than she would have normally to fight through the medicine-induced haze. "What?" she asks toward him, turning her head against her pillow to stare at him. She furrows her brow up densely, her pale eyes worried. "Victor…" Her voice is soft and confused.

Victor shifts on his bed, "No. It's fine." Stupid beds aren't made for people who have to lay face-down, and especially not for people Vic's size who have to lay face-down, not even here in Volkan. "Don't wanna annoy you more. 'Specially not when you can't exactly storm outta here." He hisses in pain as his shifting twists his back up in an uncomfortable way, "Neither of us can."

There is a flash of hurt in her eyes at his words, and she sinks down into her bed a bit. "Not what I meant," she says, though her words are said softly. She turns her gaze away, trying to roll her back to him. She also grimaces at the pull to the liquid stitches holding her wounds shut. She just turns her head on the pillow, looking at the other side of the room.

Victor braces his right forearm on the bed, prying himself up to look over at that proud back, "Well what did you mean then, Dee? Because you damn sure said I annoy and infuriate, but not enough to make you hate me." His own weariness and slightly-glassy-eyed look attests to the drugs pumping through his system too, "And that ain't exactly a glowin' recommendation, especially for someone you just said you liked."

"I was trying to be…" Devon starts to explain, though she ends up just sighing. "I was trying to be funny," she says under her breath. She presses her fingertips under her eye, and she frowns. She keeps her gaze averted, body sunken low against the hospital bed. She looks small and pitiful at this very moment in time, but at least she doesn't sound like she is crying yet.

Victor thankfully doesn't have any tubes in him, because he curls his legs off the edge of the hospital bed, grimacing as he straightens up to sit upright. His right hand tight around his body, he takes the couple of steps requires to step around the machines Devon is plugged into and sit down on the edge of the bed with another wince. His left hand seeks out her right, "Tryin' to be what, Dee?" The question is gentle, quiet, although tight with the pain of his movement.

"Funny," Devon finally says aloud. She doesn't shy away from his hand, though her grip is hardly its normal pressure. She lifts her tired eyes up to him, and she frowns. "I didn't mean to suggest you were either of those things," she says, her tone serious. "I like you." She averts her eyes a bit. "I like you a lot."

Victor blinks at the response, actually at a loss for a moment, "Oh." There's another pause, "Maybe next time, not so much with the funny when we're both high on painkillers?" And then he adds, "Sorry to snap." Her further explanation causes him to grin a little, "Good. I'd hate to think I dragged my ass over here for nothin'." Bracing himself with one hand, he slowly leans over, grimacing halfway down, and then moves to press a kiss to her brow. "Aren't we just fuckin' high school?"

Devon relaxes a bit, though she still looks tired despite the slight smile that pulls at her lips. She draws his hand to her lips before she turns her face up toward his to try to draw him into a light, somewhat wincing kiss. Then she relaxes back into her pillow. "You going to share a bed with me now?" She asks, smirking a bit as her eyes start to drift closed.

Victor winces as well as he leans further over to meet the little kiss, straightening up with a hiss of pain after their lips part. "Shit. Ow." He looks over the hospital bed, shaking his head a little, "Don't think we'll both fit 'till I'm healed up a bit more, Dee." Both hands reach down to squeeze her hand, "I'll be right over there." Risking the wince once again, he leans over again to brush another kiss over her lips.

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