forthedog | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

Chris arched an eyebrow at that, looking up slowly, not needing Mike to look at him to know just exactly what he meant by that. Yeah, Chris was pretty oblivious sometimes, but he wasn't fucking stupid.

"Yeah," he said dryly and then gave Hobbes a quick glance before looking away again, down at Eostre. Safer territory. "Too bad we can't all be like that."

He felt the tension in his stomach knot tighter, coiling and writhing and he actively tried to force it to go away. This wasn't the place for an argument and it definitely wasn't the time and if there was one and Eostre found out about, she'd kill all three of them.

Hobbes didn't look up while Mike was talking. His face was resting in his hand on the arm of his chair, and his eyes slid from Eostre's bump to Mike's face and back again. He felt a shameful flush start, but he ducked his head to hide it. He didn't need Cutter seeing that.

He made a soft noise when Cutter spoke, something getting wound tighter inside him, but he didn't speak right away.

"She's too good," he said eventually, not really able to meet either men's eyes.

"I don't think so," Mike says, looking up finally, not at Hobbes but at Chris. Calm now but challenging. "I think maybe if all of us just made a little effort..."

He shrugs and looks down again. "But then again I could be wrong. Maybe shit just is what it is." He curls his hand around Eostre's again, wishing to God that there was some muscle tension, anything. Except for the warmth coming from deep under her skin it's almost like she's dead.

Chris went completely silent then, letting the words sink in deep, the implications, everything they weren't fucking saying and a moment later let out a quick, dry laugh, his head shaking slowly.

"Christ," he murmured under his breath and then leaned down, brushing his lips over Eostre's forehead, her skin cool, but not too cool, not scary cool. "If she could fucking see the three of us right now," he said as he stood up straight again, plopping the stick back into its cup.

"She's be rolling her eyes a lot," Hobbes said, looking up at Cutter briefly, wry twist to his mouth. He pulled in closer to the bed, arm leaning against Pinocchio's thigh, vision partially eclipsed by Eostre's bump. He sighed quietly, not really looking anywhere.

"I just. I don't get it." He didn't know what else to say.

He's quiet still, only releasing Eostre's hand to lay his fingers over Hobbes's arm, squeezing lightly. I know. I'm sorry. It's okay.

Suddenly this feels strange, to be doing this over Eostre's sleeping body, almost like family members finally having it out at a funeral. Except not like that. Nothing like that, because there's not going to be any fucking funeral. Not for anyone.

"Don't get what?" Chris asked, glancing up just enough to look at Hobbes as his hand came to rest just over her arm again, thumb running smoothly over her skin. "The comatose thing? Nobody does. It's just the Island fucking with everyone again like it likes to do."

And whether Hobbes had meant that or not, Chris wasn't sure he cared. It was about all he was willing to focus on right now.

There's a rush of shame when Mike laid his hand over his arm: he's supposed to be the one that's comforting here, not the one needing reassurance. He raised his eyebrows at Pinocchio and stood.

"Yeah," he muttered, sliding onto the edge of the bed by Mike's feet. "Yeah, I guess that pretty much sums it up."

He wondered if one of them was going to have to piss on the bed to mark territory.

"Hey, uh, I think I'm gonna run down to the kitchen," Hobbes added, rubbing the back of his neck. "Get a sandwich or something. Want anything?"

"Something sweet." He prods the side of Hobbes's thigh with his good foot. "I think there's some mango already sliced in the fridge." And for a second he entertains the feasibility of feeding it to Eostre somehow. Maybe even chewing it first or something, birdlike. Though, he thinks maybe he'd wait for the two of them to go before even thinking about trying that.

He glances up at Chris. "What about you? Want something?"

Chris just shook his head, feeling a slow rise of guilt work its way into his stomach. He was being a dick and on one level he could recognize that, but on another... well, Eostre was in a fucking coma and he'd only wanted to check on her, check on her and Mike both and he couldn't even do that anymore without Hobbes having to show up, too.

Fuck.

"No, I'm good," he said, turning his just enough to give Hobbes a quick glance, something in his eyes that's close to an apology, but probably not quite close enough. "Thanks."