(Untitled)

[dingdongdoodily]

The news in L.A. was in an uproar. Media staples like ABC, CBS, NBC, and FOX, along with the cable standards all flocked to an offramp outside of San Andreas. out of one of the vans stepped a comely young woman with a wind-swept, perfectly moussed hairstyle and a pressed formal business skirt-and-jacket over her smart turtleneck shirt. She directed

Comments

[cheevy]

Pickles would have less time to wait than expected. Miniver didn't have a radio or TV up in the lighing booth at work, but some of the less cloistered and more socially aware theatre employees did, and eventually word got to the resident bossperson, who told Miniver he should get home. The somewhat panicked poet is back in the apartment in record time. He jams the play button on the voicemail and listens to messages as he scrambles around, grabbing keys and a coat, making sure Kate had dry food and water in case he was gone for a few hours, then heading out the door again as soon as he heard the name of the hospital. He had a vague idea which direction it was in, and was absolutely certain that if there were no street signs to tell him exactly where it was, there would be street HUMANS who could

[dingdongdoodily]

Of course, when the news comes to Pickles that Miniver was in the waiting room, his first instinct was to yell at the nurse, "What the hell are you makin' him sit outside fer, let him in, dammit! Now!"

The nurse, thoroughly pale by the time she gets back to Miniver, murmured "He'll see you now, sir."

[cheevy]

Miniver, in no mood for rituals of politeness, leaps to his feet and simply shoves past the nurse without a word and finds Pickles' room himself. He actually manages to almost slam the heavy hospital door open as he tumbles into the room.

"Oh, holy fuck."

He stops dead in his tracks for a few seconds, staring at the bandages, before flitting to Pickles' side with steps so quick and light it's like he's walking on coals. He slips a hand into Pickles' as soon as he reaches him, and lays his other hand on his lover's forehead, smoothing back his hair.

"Oh. My god. Are you okay? Well I mean. No but. Jesus Christ."

The panicky thing... he'll get over that in a few minutes. Really. Depending on what kind of drugs Pickles is on, Miniver's squeaking might actually be a little funny.

[dingdongdoodily]

Pickles was actually fairly calm looking for all the anger he'd been spitting at the workers in the hospital. "Will be as soon as they let me the fuck outta here." He rolled his eyes, "They say they gotta make sure I don't get an infection or nothin'. I'll be fuckin' fine." He snarled at the nurse which came in to supervise. "Do y'MIND!?"

His ire was responded to by the nurse walking back out, closing the door behind her.

"Christ almighty, it's like they never saw a fuckin' celebrity with a broken leg."

[cheevy]

Miniver quickly drags a chair over and sinks into it shakily. He holds Pickles' hand tightly and keeps giving worried touches to his face and neck and shoulders, tracing his skin as if to make sure he's really him and really alive.

"Shit. Shit, man. Um. You need anything? What happened?"

He's still squeaking, his voice high-pitched with worry.