he really likes hospitals oh baby [OPEN]

[heavendivided]

Who: Big Boss & anyone that wants to see a grouchy, blind old man bound to a hospital bed
When: Sunday to Wednesday? WHENEVER YOU LIKE
Where: Skye Medical
Summary: Big Boss almost got killed while chasing the remnants with Triela, but instead of losing his life he just lost his eye and is now in the hospital! Whoo! He also punched a doctor in the

Comments

[heartdissonance]

Had he broken it, she wouldn't have fussed very much. Swatted at him, admonished him - then she'd have set it and that would be that. At least it would have given her something to do. She doesn't consider herself very good at this part.

Ah, yet she hadn't kept away.

"Yes, yes," she says, and pats the side of his jaw before drawing her hand back. "I know. I'm not doing any shaving today."

The wounded and the unconscious tend to feel something when she's nearby. It's like a sense of eternity - it's like knowing that the utmost calm is about three inches away from how far they can reach. Jack is not dying, but they've filled his veins with so much of God knows what; Shijima speculates that he's a little bit off right now. Maybe he can feel her. Maybe he can just feel her hair. She's not sure which option she prefers.

Her legs draw fully up onto the bed, little space as there might be, and she folds them - folds herself, too, draping all lightweight over his chest. If he says 'Heavy,' she'll switch to paws. This is what she does, though. This is how she comforts. Shiratama decides that.

"If I jostle you, you'd best tell me," she murmurs up at him, and begins to make herself comfortable like it's normal.

[heavendivided]

She's not too heavy. She basically weighs nothing, and even though she brushes against his injuries on stomach and chest, he barely registers it. He's always been numb to the pain in his chest, and for everything else, he has the painkillers. You could probably cut off his arm and he wouldn't feel it.

But he's still a little afraid, for reasons he's not entirely sure of. But calm. She's moving around on top of him, and he says, "You're lucky there's no one else in this room. God knows what they'd think." Trying to be funny, but it fails miserably, because his voice is quiet and hoarse. Hasn't been drinking and smoking enough. Throat feels dry. It wasn't like that before, when other people came.

After that, Jack doesn't say anything anymore, because he can't think of anything that makes sense or has meaning. Instead, he lifts his working arm, and places his hand where he suspects Shijima's head must be. He got it right first try, and can now run his fingers through her long hair. It's strange that she chose this form, but he doesn't question it. Fur or hair, it's all the same to him. Shijima is Shijima. She has the same presence in either form, and she's the only person he doesn't feel like he needs to be strong in front of. Triela, Kaz, Liquid; it would break their hearts if they saw him being anything other than optimistic and reassuring. If he says, 'I hate myself', or 'I'm miserable and I'd rather be dead'. It's just like that. He can't afford to break, so emotions are buried and sealed away.

In the end, though, even the heaviest rock can be knocked over with enough force. A tree can be cut down. It's like that.

She knows that, probably.

He continues threading through strands of her hair, and after a while, he gives a chocked noise. His chest is shaking, breathing erratic. This is the worst part.

You can't even cry properly.

His face is wet, and his bandage, and it feels disgusting, because he knows that's blood. He feels disgusting.

"I want to die," he says, and regrets it the very same second.

[heartdissonance]

In a different situation, she still might not have laughed. Hit him, maybe. Grumbled. As it is she lays her head down and asks him, "Does it matter?" Right now, it really doesn't. She'd hiss at whomever chose to walk in.

Jack really is one of the biggest men she's spent time with, but again: human. He's frail, and to Shijima, that isn't anything to be ashamed of. Everyone is frail. It's because lungs have the ability to stop working. And then he speaks again and she tries to lift her mind away from that. It sinks, though. It sinks its teeth into what he's said; she's a little bit spiteful but she's very understanding. Why shouldn't he want to die? It can be answered, yes - she could list things - but the fact of the matter is that 'Why should he want to die' can also be answered, and sometimes the lists of the latter are enough to cancel out those of the former. It makes a lot of sense and for a moment her thoughts wander to wonder whether or not she condones suicide.

Ah. It would displease her at this time.

"Yes," she says, and pauses afterward. The scent of his blood is heavy upon her. She's grateful, because it drowns out clean hospital smell when she's so close to him. There's a sigh and she doesn't snap at him if he happens to snag a tangle in her hair. He can work through it with his fingers, if he likes.

He can work through it. She wonders out to tell him that, because she can't say such a thing aloud.

There is no admonishment for his statement. Scorn doesn't enter her voice. She doesn't say, 'You shouldn't,' or, 'It wouldn't be fair to the people around you.' Oughtn't it be a decision he makes on his own? Regardless--

"Perhaps you will first take the time to reconsider it, however."

'Perhaps' rather than the first thought of 'hopefully.' She's not sure that she wants to talk about hope with him. Her voice is quiet.

[heavendivided]

Of course he didn't mean it. He's not someone that gives up so easily, but the fact of the matter is that even death feels more preferable to living like this. Living like an invalid, living like someone that has lost all purpose. He's of no use to anyone like this, blind and depending on other people's help and protection. He doesn't want to die, but he doesn't want to live like a cripple. Become a liability.

And he's very, very afraid. Jack's not claustrophobic, but the darkness is heavy on his heart. He sobs for a bit, but calms down after a minute or two, when he realizes that it's pointless and his grief will have to stay inside. It's not about himself so much, but about everyone else. Shijima is probably the only one that can relate to him in that moment. Jack thinks - no, he's sure that she likes him, regardless of everything, but he's also sure that she'll always like death more. She knows what it's like to be tired, and see no point in existing.

Breathe.

"I didn't mean it," he then says. "I was just curious. I know I can survive anything except time. But surviving doesn't mean living. I won't...be doing big things anymore. Or Boss things. I'm already dead. I'm dead. I don't want to be. I don't want to die. Not now. Not like this." Pause. Sob. "God, how did this happen..."

His hand stops, instead, his arm comes to rest there where his eyes would be. Two eyes. Then one. Then none. It was only a matter of time, he knows, but then again, time is an unfair, cheating bastard. He refuses to go down like this, and yet there's nothing he can do, except cheating himself. But how. How, how, how.

He cries silently, to himself.

[heartdissonance]

It's interesting, hearing that. Didn't mean it. Then...

--No. It makes sense. Of course people say things that they don't mean. He's upset- sad- she's frowning atop him, now. Deeply. It's interesting, hearing that, it really is, and she understands him but she feels like she's learning, too. And she does love to learn.

That does not, however, mean that she enjoys seeing him like this.

"I don't know how it happened," she says, blunt and quiet but not unkind. "I wasn't watching. It looks to me, though, as if you aren't quite dead yet. Jack, has your resolve really left your heart already?"

Heart. She drums her fingers against where his must lie underneath his chest. Hearts are complex. She'd like to open his up, press fingertips against arteries and morals and feelings. He's a compelling man and an earnest child.

"That is, the name I call for when speaking to you is what I consider you, regardless of bigness or bossiness. I am not looking to talk with any bosses. I am not laying with someone I refer to with that name. And I am certainly not the only one. No, you're living. You smell like it and you feel like it, too. You aren't cold under my hand."