Gwen's hurt-people sensor remains accurate as ever, but at least she has the sense to realise that no, it's not Jack before she blurts it out - it's that other bloke.
"Oh my God! Cam - no, Cal, right? Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm great." Cal's voice is thin and thready, as might be expected from substantial blood loss. He blinks, trying to focus on whoever addressed him.
He lets her lead him to sit down. Normally, he'd be heading right for the infirmary, but the not-dying thing seems to be holding here, and he's far past the point where pain is an issue. Why waste the bed?
(There is something vaguely familiar about her, something comforting and saddening all at once, but he's having a hard time thinking clearly enough to pinpoint it. Something about how she talks.)
She slides her arm around him on instinct (it's just as well she's tall, and the boots don't hurt), still concerned he's going to fall over as she helps him towards a sofa.
- right. Yeah, that was kind of a lowkey reaction to his condition, wasn't it?
Then, finally, that sense of familiarity slots into place. It's her accent. It reminds him of Ianto. Not exactly the same, but he's heard enough variety in British accents in Milliways to be able (usually) to distinguish between countries.
(God, he misses Ianto. It's been long enough that the grief has eased and he can think of his friend without so much pain, but Cal still misses him terribly.)
He doesn't say he's heard a lot about her, and he definitely doesn't say who he heard it from. They both know.
"Right. Uh. I got mugged. He had a knife. I didn't take it seriously enough. I guess it's easier to stab someone when you know it's not going to kill them."
Cal is capable of defending himself against muggers, thanks to a combination of Sam and the nanogenes. He just hadn't realized he'd need to take stronger defensive measures until it was too late.
Gwen shakes her head. "You're talking to the wrong member of the team if you want to know about immortality, you are," she says wryly. "But, I suppose it makes sense ... you just need enough time, right?"
Cal nods slowly, thinking as best he can through the fog.
"Yeah," he says. "People usually don't heal from stuff like this because they die first. And that's not gonna happen any time soon. So. Maybe my body doesn't have any choice except to heal."
That does make sense, doesn't it? He hopes so, because this sucks.
Jack?
Gwen's hurt-people sensor remains accurate as ever, but at least she has the sense to realise that no, it's not Jack before she blurts it out - it's that other bloke.
"Oh my God! Cam - no, Cal, right? Are you all right?"
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Hopefully, she can forgive the sarcasm.
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Gwen grins wryly. "Instinct, sorry love. It is Cal, right?"
Cal or not, he looks one hell of a mess. "Come on, better sit you down before you fall."
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He lets her lead him to sit down. Normally, he'd be heading right for the infirmary, but the not-dying thing seems to be holding here, and he's far past the point where pain is an issue. Why waste the bed?
(There is something vaguely familiar about her, something comforting and saddening all at once, but he's having a hard time thinking clearly enough to pinpoint it. Something about how she talks.)
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She slides her arm around him on instinct (it's just as well she's tall, and the boots don't hurt), still concerned he's going to fall over as she helps him towards a sofa.
"What happened? How badly are you hurt?"
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"I'm pretty sure I should be dead. Again. Or close to it. I dunno how much blood loss is survivable, but that was, uh. More than that.
"My world is. Kind of having a thing right now." That's unhelpfully vague, he knows, but the thought of going into the full explanation is tiring.
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"I know," Gwen tells him. "It's my world, too. Otherwise I'd be a lot more worried about you right now."
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Then, finally, that sense of familiarity slots into place. It's her accent. It reminds him of Ianto. Not exactly the same, but he's heard enough variety in British accents in Milliways to be able (usually) to distinguish between countries.
(God, he misses Ianto. It's been long enough that the grief has eased and he can think of his friend without so much pain, but Cal still misses him terribly.)
"You must be Gwen," he concludes aloud.
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"Yes," she says simply. "I am."
A beat. (She still can't quite mention Ianto's name, can't quite think it.)
"Look, what happened? Do you need the - the - infirmary or something?"
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"Right. Uh. I got mugged. He had a knife. I didn't take it seriously enough. I guess it's easier to stab someone when you know it's not going to kill them."
Cal is capable of defending himself against muggers, thanks to a combination of Sam and the nanogenes. He just hadn't realized he'd need to take stronger defensive measures until it was too late.
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She gives him a look that says 'you should have known better', but mostly it's still concern.
"Daft bat," she says, instead. "Look, seriously. Shouldn't you be in the infirmary? They can get you patched up, at least."
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"Probably," he says after a moment. "A transfusion would probably . . ." He trails off, and looks up.
"Do you know if we heal from this?" From injuries that should kill them? Can those heal?
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Gwen shakes her head. "You're talking to the wrong member of the team if you want to know about immortality, you are," she says wryly. "But, I suppose it makes sense ... you just need enough time, right?"
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"Yeah," he says. "People usually don't heal from stuff like this because they die first. And that's not gonna happen any time soon. So. Maybe my body doesn't have any choice except to heal."
That does make sense, doesn't it? He hopes so, because this sucks.
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"More or less, I think," she says, then, "My dad's in hospital."
Beat.
"So. Infirmary, yeah?"
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He rubs a hand down over his face, apparently unaware of the streaks of blood this leaves behind.
"Infirmary."
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