VIGNETTE: The Broken Hand
Date: Day 2, Month 12, Turn 22
Synopsis: Right after K'del leaves Teris, he punches a wall.
It hurt, of course.
It hurt a lot, and K'del instantly regretted that impulsive hand-flinging. He'd wanted to hit something, anything to get that rising desire to break things out of his system; actually, it'd had probably worked, he realised, after a moment, attempting to swallow hysterical laughted. His hand was probably broken.
He had to walk all the way around to the Infirmary, unwilling to walk back into the Dragon Infirmary and let anyone see how stupid he'd been. By the time he got there, he felt like he was going to collapse from the pain, giddy and lightheaded and burning and pain and--
They found him a cot to rest on, gave him a glass of something that he suspected probably contained fellis. He felt like he was floating, fluttering around in the air above the cot, the weyr, everything. Cadejoth seemed concerned, but he brushed that away: he was fine. He'd be fine, now.
He stared at the ceiling, waiting. He knew - now, in this veil of painkillers and pain, the two mingling and aiding each other, somehow - why it mattered so much. Iskiveth was infertile, but she'd done it to herself. He was infertile, and he hadn't. It wasn't fair.
He had to be the reason Milani wasn't pregnant, yet. All these turns of sexual activity, and nothing. All these months, now, of actively trying, and again, nothing. He was failing Milani, and failing himself, and he wanted more than anything not to. And Iskiveth had just given away her fertility like it meant nothing at all.
In a more logical moment, that thought may have made less sense, but not now, not here. He wanted, and didn't want, Teris to have to feel that embarrassment, every time Iskiveth failed to clutch. Wanted her to regret it forever… didn't want her to go through that. Anyone. To go through that. What he felt.
He wanted to shake Aleis, shake her until she cried for all those stupid, short-sighted, just-plain-wrong things she'd said.
He want--
"Weyrleader? Sir? K'del."
His eyelids fluttered open, and he realised that there was a healer standing in front of him. She was-- oh, shells, of course she would be - pregnant. He had to bite back the urge to be… what Teris would call pathetic, he suspected.
"I-- uh, yes?"
"I'm going to set your hand, now. You've broken a couple of bones. How did you manage that?"
He didn't have an answer to that - wasn't actually going to openly admit that he'd punched a wall in frustration. The healer watched him, but didn't press - she set the bones, instead, leaving him biting his lip to hold back the tears, fellis or no fellis.
"It's going to be fine," she promised him, suddenly, green eyes meeting his blue ones. "It's all going to be fine. You'll see."
And though she sent him home some time later, with a hand in plaster and some distinct promises to keep it out of the water, he couldn't bring himself to believe her. How was anything going to be fine?
Synopsis: Right after K'del leaves Teris, he punches a wall.
It hurt, of course.
It hurt a lot, and K'del instantly regretted that impulsive hand-flinging. He'd wanted to hit something, anything to get that rising desire to break things out of his system; actually, it'd had probably worked, he realised, after a moment, attempting to swallow hysterical laughted. His hand was probably broken.
He had to walk all the way around to the Infirmary, unwilling to walk back into the Dragon Infirmary and let anyone see how stupid he'd been. By the time he got there, he felt like he was going to collapse from the pain, giddy and lightheaded and burning and pain and--
They found him a cot to rest on, gave him a glass of something that he suspected probably contained fellis. He felt like he was floating, fluttering around in the air above the cot, the weyr, everything. Cadejoth seemed concerned, but he brushed that away: he was fine. He'd be fine, now.
He stared at the ceiling, waiting. He knew - now, in this veil of painkillers and pain, the two mingling and aiding each other, somehow - why it mattered so much. Iskiveth was infertile, but she'd done it to herself. He was infertile, and he hadn't. It wasn't fair.
He had to be the reason Milani wasn't pregnant, yet. All these turns of sexual activity, and nothing. All these months, now, of actively trying, and again, nothing. He was failing Milani, and failing himself, and he wanted more than anything not to. And Iskiveth had just given away her fertility like it meant nothing at all.
In a more logical moment, that thought may have made less sense, but not now, not here. He wanted, and didn't want, Teris to have to feel that embarrassment, every time Iskiveth failed to clutch. Wanted her to regret it forever… didn't want her to go through that. Anyone. To go through that. What he felt.
He wanted to shake Aleis, shake her until she cried for all those stupid, short-sighted, just-plain-wrong things she'd said.
He want--
"Weyrleader? Sir? K'del."
His eyelids fluttered open, and he realised that there was a healer standing in front of him. She was-- oh, shells, of course she would be - pregnant. He had to bite back the urge to be… what Teris would call pathetic, he suspected.
"I-- uh, yes?"
"I'm going to set your hand, now. You've broken a couple of bones. How did you manage that?"
He didn't have an answer to that - wasn't actually going to openly admit that he'd punched a wall in frustration. The healer watched him, but didn't press - she set the bones, instead, leaving him biting his lip to hold back the tears, fellis or no fellis.
"It's going to be fine," she promised him, suddenly, green eyes meeting his blue ones. "It's all going to be fine. You'll see."
And though she sent him home some time later, with a hand in plaster and some distinct promises to keep it out of the water, he couldn't bring himself to believe her. How was anything going to be fine?