forthedog | (no subject)

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It hasn't made things any better. It's keeping him in bed and that's the best he thinks he can hope for right now.

At first he hadn't known what was going on; there had only been a sense of confusion and fear, people running through the halls, once or twice a faint scream. He hadn't know what was going on, and then all at once he'd come face to face with it, one of the doctors stopping and giving him a clipped explanation and then a flurry of panic and trying to get up and then some unknown time later... Chris and Lennox. And what they were carrying.

They'd put her in bed next to him. He had moved as much as he could. His leg is still painful, but moveable at least, if he's careful.

So it's happened before. So last time everyone was fine. So fucking what. This is Eostre and she's pregnant and he's fucking sick of the island doing this to him, making him feel this kind of fear.

He lies next to her and rests his head against her shoulder.

His hand hasn't left her belly in hours. He hasn't slept in he doesn't know how long. He counts his breaths and hers, and measures out the remaining time until he knows. One way or the other.

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At least people had started to notice that there was some kind of cycle to the Island's cruelty. So, when the fog pulled in Saturday morning and people started randomly falling unconscious, it was recognizable to some and therefore a little less terrifying.

Chris and Lennox both remembered immediately, remembered dragging Joe and Billy up to the clinic to be watched by Sookie before they both headed back to their own hut and clung to each other, trying desperately to stay awake, terrified that the Island would take them, too. Chris remembered it clearly, too clearly, almost. And while this time he knew what was happening and was relatively sure that things would return to normal again on Monday, there was still the lingering doubt in the back of his mind that said it wouldn't.

Winter had lasted a month, after all.

He and Lennox found Eostre asleep in the kitchen and, with some effort, managed to get her to the clinic and up into bed with Mike. They'd left shortly after, once they'd managed to assure Mike that she'd be okay, that the babies would be okay, that everything would be fine come Monday. Even if neither of them were positively sure they were telling the truth.

They'd gone back to the hut then, neither of them really voicing their biggest fears: that this time it would be different, this time people wouldn't wake up, this time the fog would take more people they loved. They'd held each other instead and said with their bodies what they couldn't say with words and when they both woke again, it was time for dinner.

But, Chris wasn't hungry and so he squeezed Lennox's hand before they got to the kitchen and nodded at the clinic. He knew Lennox would understand and gave a grateful smile before he headed off.

He walked slowly through the room, trying not to be unnerved by the bodies all around or the people diligently attending to them or the doctors buzzing around with the clipboards. Mike and Eostre were near the back and Chris was unsurprised to find that neither of them had moved much since he'd been there last.

"Hey," he said, his voice quiet as he walked up, reaching out immediately to rest his hand on Eostre's arm. She still felt warm, at least and he slid his hand up gently to the crook of her elbow, wondering if she could feel him at all, know that they were there with her.

He glances up and tries to smile, but it's faint and weak and it dies fast. He drops his gaze again, pulls in a shaking breath and strokes his hand slowly across her belly.

He's not unhappy to see Chris, but it's not what he really wants.

"They aren't moving," he says very quietly. "I've been waiting for hours. They aren't fucking moving."

That was definitely something Chris had been worried about, but when Mike said it, he felt a weight drop heavy in his stomach, nearly enough to drag him down and his face falls completely, eyes widening slightly.

"Oh," he said because he didn't know if there was anything he could say. Were the girls in a coma, too? Were they okay? Would anyone even be able to know?

He hadn't really been panicking before, but he thought maybe he was about to.

"Have you, uhm, have you talked to a doctor? Have they done an ultrasound or anything?"

He closes his eyes. If he had any fucking energy, if he could fucking breathe he thinks maybe he'd be screaming.

"I can't." His fingers curl into the fabric of her dress and grip, like he can hold her there or pull her back. "Everyone's busy, everyone's fucking scared... For God's sake, man, look around. There's no one to deal with this now."

His voice is tight and carefully level, panic and frustration behind it. He knows all the doctors are busy, that no one is as important as anyone else, but at the same time he knows that's not true: what he's dealing with here is the most important thing in the fucking world and if someone doesn't drop what they're doing and deal with it he's going to rip off his splints and beat people with them, is what.

Chris was shaking his head even before Mike had finished speaking, his jaw tensing as he immediately looked back over his shoulder.

And, Mike was right in one sense: the doctors were wandering everywhere, from bed to bed and chair to chair, comforting those they could, checking vital signs and loved ones. Fucking chaos.

But, in Chris's mind and in Mike's mind too, there was no doubt, Eostre was in greater need then all of them. She was fucking seven months pregnant for one thing.

A second later, Chris was marching across the clinic floor, his eyes set on one of the doctors. He didn't know her name and he didn't really care, but a quick explanation of the situation and only a minor bit of arguing had him with a stethoscope moments later.

"Here," he said, when he got back and he leaned over the table, putting one end of the contraption to his ears. "Push up her shirt a little," he ordered, lips still set in a firm line.

He watches Chris go and for a fraction of a second he feels a spike of envy and maybe even jealousy; Chris is able to do what he can't do, what he should be able to do, because he's lying in this bed fucking helpless and he can't take care of his own damn family.

But then again, maybe that's just another reason to be thankful for Chris.

His eyes hit the stethoscope in Chris's hands and Chris is barely done speaking when he's already pushing her shirt up over the mound of her stomach, forcing his hands to stop shaking by sheer will, eyes locked onto Chris's face.

Swallowing, Chris ducked his head to fit the ear pieces in place and then pressed the cool metal of the stethoscope to the skin of her stomach. He could hear sounds, but nothing distinctive and he slid it down lower, feeling around, his fucking stomach in knots.

Chris didn't pray, hadn't really in over fifteen years, but if anyone had made him say his thoughts outloud right then, it might've sounded suspiciously close to one.

And then he heard it, very faint, but undeniable and it was like everything uncoiled inside him and he looked up, meeting Mike's eyes. "Heartbeat," he said, lips quirking into a relieved smile. "One set, but it's something." Now, if only he could find the other one.

When he hears the words a breath he hadn't been aware of holding escapes him in a rush and he sinks back into the bed and against her. One, but he feels sure in that moment that there are two. Three all together.

"I think I knew," he murmurs. "I mean, I think if... if something happened, I would know. Somehow. And I didn't... feel like, like that. But I didn't know." He laughs shakily and closes his eyes again. "Sorry. This is just hard."

Chris is still somewhat determined to find the other heartbeat and his hand slides over the mound of Eostre's stomach to search it out. As far as Chris is concerned, Mike doesn't have to make any excuses or explanations and he shoots him a very quick glance, a smile that isn't quite that, but understood.

Concentrating, he finally picked up what sounded like maybe another heartbeat. It was hard to make out and sounded more like an echo of the other one, but for not it was enough. It had to be.

"Think they're okay," he said after a moment, his voice a murmur as he reached up to tug the stethoscope out of his ears.

When Hobbes got up that morning, the fog threw him. It wasn’t something he’d expected to see on a tropical island, but, well. All things considered, it could be worse. He wasn’t about to go hunting, not in weather like this, so he stayed in. Caught up on his reading.

It wasn’t until he was trying to get into the Compound that he realized things had gone wrong. He had to push upstream just to get to the clinic, and here and there people were crying and looking real quiet. Dinosaurs, he thought at first, but no. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t blind panic. The whole building just felt like an OR waiting room.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, dancing his way through the crowd, staring back the way he’d come, “What the hell is going on? No one’s telling me anything –“

“Oh, god,” he murmured, finally turning around. His mouth drifted open, snapped shut. He looked away from Cutter, eyes going instead to Pinocchio before snapping back on Eostre’s closed eyes.

“Oh, god…what happened?”

His eyes slip open in time to see the familiar form just before he hears the voice, and he feels a twinge of guilt. He hadn't honestly even given that much thought to Hobbes, not after seeing the state Eostre is in. He loves Hobbes, loves him as much as anything in the world, but Hobbes isn't pregnant.

"She's okay," he says roughly, his hand closing on her limp one and squeezing. "She's... she's in a coma. Apparently a lot of people are. Chris says this has happened before." And I'm glad you're okay and I'm sorry and I need you now.

The minute he noticed Hobbes, Chris went tense, his grip tightening around the metal piece in his hands as he tried to push past the instinctive rise of jealousy. Only it wasn't jealousy so much anymore, he noticed. Just a kind of dull throb of being one wheel too many.

Swallowing, he nodded, his head still ducked to keep his focus on Eostre's sleeping body. At least she looked peaceful.

"Happened last year, too," he tried to explain. "Half the island went comatose for a weekend. She should wake up Monday morning like nothing happened." And fuck, he hoped that would really be the case again. The alternative... he didn't want to even acknowledge the alternative.

Hobbes stared down at the bed wordlessly, watching the slight rise and fall of her chest. He rubbed a hand down his face. "God," he muttered finally. He wanted to ask about the twins, if they were alright or if anything could be done, but with Pinocchio looking the way he did, he didn't even want to bring it up.

"She's alright though, right? She's just sleeping." He looked at Pinocchio, then Cutter. He just wanted to hear it said again.

He slid a hand onto Pinocchio's shoulder, by the juncture of his neck, meaning for it to be comforting. For whatever reason, it was hard to do with Cutter standing a few feet away.

"How're you holding up?" he asked quietly.

"I'll be a lot better on Monday, when this is fucking over," he says a little too firmly, almost grimly, but he reaches up with one hand and closes it over Hobbes's, squeezing. "Chris and Lennox found her in the kitchen, brought her in. They've been keeping her hydrated. They say that's all they can do."

He keeps Hobbes's hand and his threaded but looks up at Chris, remembering stumbling back to the Compound with him, trying to make him believe that he wasn't being replaced. Suddenly he feels awkward in addition to terrified. Please, I love him... and I love you too, you know that.

Chris suddenly felt like he was in the way, intruding in a place he didn't belong anymore, so he kept his head lowered, still focused on Eostre, his hand light on her arm.

He only looked up when Mike finished speaking, his nerves still drawn tight and something caught his attention in the look Mike was giving him, but he couldn't quite figure out why.

Clearing his throat, he nodded quickly and took a step back, his hand dropping to his side.

"I'm gonna go give this back," he murmured and turned quickly to go just that, searching for the doctor he'd stolen it from.

Hobbes felt something uncomfortable tighten in his chest, but he looked up at Cutter, pulling his hand away from Pinocchio's marginally.

"Yeah, sure. Okay," he said, watching him carefully, eyes taking in the slumped shoulders, not meeting eyes. He winced, instead looking down at Eostre's belly and Pinocchio's spread hand.

"He okay?" he murmured to Pinocchio when Chris turned away. He understood that this was scary - it was just the palpable shift in atmosphere since he walked into the room that confused him.

Or maybe it didn't. He thought that maybe he was working things out.

"Come back, okay?" Mike watches Chris's retreating back with his stomach twisting.

"He will be." He sighs and his mouth thins into a line. "I hope. I think he's just still not sure what to do with you." He looks up at Hobbes again and almost tries to smile, but it's kind of a failure. There wasn't a lot to smile about and it seems like even less now.

"I'm just glad you're okay. Not sure I could take Eostre and you conking out on me."

"I think what he wants to do with me is punch me in the mouth," Hobbes muttered, watching Chris move away. He managed a wry grin, one eyebrow arched. "But, you know. I guess it's nothing personal."

"Oh, hey, you didn't knock me up," Hobbes said lightly, trying to shift away the weight that was hanging over them. "And, after the past few weeks, I feel like I could almost do with the rest."

Tentatively, he reached out and slid his hand over Mike's on her belly. "It's gonna be okay," said, looking down at her belly. "All of it. We've gotten out of worse."

"I know," he says quietly. "But here's different. Here it's like..." He stops and half laughs, humorlessly, looking around at the chaos in the clinic. He remembers this, too, from a long time ago. People dealing with the wounded, with the dying. Triage. You deal with what you can deal with and you let the rest go.

"Back home I had nothing to lose," he murmurs, and glances up again. "Except Florence. And you."

It was only because Mike had asked him to come back that made Chris actually do so. He'd had the vague sort of plan to hand off the stethoscope and get out of there. After all, he'd only gone in there to check on Eostre, make sure she was still breathing and hydrated and that Mike wasn't driving himself insane with worry. And, Lennox was probably still waiting for him anyway.

But, there'd been something in Mike's tone that had made him come back. Except he didn't really acknowledge either of them as he walked over, heading immediately for the plastic cup of water on the table beside them. He poked at the piece of wood sticking out of it, a tiny piece of cotton fabric wrapped around the end, soaked in water and he leaned over to wet Eostre's lips lightly, making sure some got into her mouth. It didn't seem like enough, not nearly enough, but he tried to tell himself that it was.

Watching all this made Hobbes gut twist. It was hard to see her so vulnerable. He pulled away from Pinocchio, pulling up a chair on the other side of the bed and leaning his chin on his folded hands.

An awkward silence passed. He watched Cutter's hands.

"...is Jim okay?" he asked eventually, looking up at Chris, eyes concerned. "I haven't seen anyone all day."

For a few seconds he isn't sure Chris is going to come back, and when he does he feels a strange mixture of relief and tension. From the second he walked in the clinic today Chris has been solidity for him, and Hobbes being here hasn't changed that. But Chris is also an element that makes this potentially explosive. Or Hobbes is. Either way, the combinations might make for something uncomfortable.

Goddammit, why can't two of the most important people in his life fucking get along?

He watches Chris's hands move over Eostre's face and his heart hurts a little, and he stays quiet.

Chris glanced up at the question, his eyes passing briefly over Mike's before settling on Hobbes's as he swiped the tip of the wet cloth gently across Eostre's bottom lip.

"Yeah, he's okay," he said, his voice still quiet before he looked down at Eostre again, watching her lips carefully, tension still deep in his belly. "He's in the kitchen right now eating if you want me to get him."

"Nah, it's alright," Hobbes said, making himself smile. He shifted in his chair, rearranging himself. "I bet he's already put his vigil in."

He sighed to himself, leaning back in the chair restlessly. He remembered feeling this way in the middle of mine fields - some heavy weight in his stomach, dipping and lifting over and over. He looked up at Pinocchio, some pleading degree to his look. He didn't want to plead out and leave, not when he just got here, but if he and Cutter needed to be alone and...do whatever it was they did when they were alone, well. He could do that. Really.

He looked back up at Cutter. "I'm just glad he's alright."

"I'm glad you're both all right," Mike says quietly, not looking at either of them, stroking his hand softly down Eostre's sleeping face.

"You know what I always love about her?" He smiles faintly, still not looking up, but clearly talking to both of them. "The way she always seems to have enough room for everyone. Y'know? It's like everyone gets enough with her. There's no reason for anyone to feel left out."

And he falls silent again, letting the words hang in the air. Not adding You moron.