(Untitled)

[nokeystomysoul]

Melchior drifts back into consciousness, his eyes and mouth and mind feeling dry, exhausted and wiped out from everything that's gone by. What happened is still a blur to him, though he feels as if he's dreamt of it -- silver flashing in his mind. It isn't enough for him to gather any meaning from it and he really doesn't want to; he runs away from

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[onlythedusk]

The moment Moritz read Bashir's note, he ran as fast as his gangly legs would take him to the clinic. After a few frantic moments of searching, he finds Melchior and drops to his knees beside him.

"Oh Melchi -- oh thank God you're alright," he stammers, taking the fisted hand and gently unclenching the fingers, kissing the palm of his hand and pressing his forehead to it. "I thought -- I was so scared I'd be too late." The thought of living without his best friend, his dearest love -- the mere thought of being alone again like that sends terrified shivers up his spine.

[nokeystomysoul]

Suddenly from the midst of his frustration, there's Moritz clinging to his hand and his presence lets Melchior release what he's been holding onto. Maybe because Moritz reminds him of death, of everything he could have lost, all the pain he could felt and caused, and the tears push at his eyes but don't fall.

"Moritz," he chokes out, sliding his fingers into Moritz's hair, then down over his cheek. "Moritz!" He remembers now, blearily, asking for Moritz, and he slides his fingers back into Moritz's hair to try to pull him close enough for a kiss. "I don't know -- I don't understand what happened. Don't leave me, don't leave me..."

[onlythedusk]

"No -- no, I"m here. I won't leave you, I swear I won't." He leans up for the kiss, not wanting Melchior to strain himself. He kisses Melchior hard and fast, holding tightly to his hands, afraid that if he lets go, Melchior will disappear.

"What happened to you, dearheart? You're hurt -- God -- I'm so sorry, is there anything I can do?"

[nokeystomysoul]

Melchior starts to shake his head, though too much movement sends pain snaking through his chest and lingering around his collarbones, and he winces, hissing under his breath as he drops his head back down to stare at the ceiling, shutting his eyes tightly in frustration. "I don't know! I don't remember!" He sighs, then winces; breathing too deeply stretches his chest and hurts him.

"I heard the others -- there's another boy in here, Peter I think, who was hurt -- talking about it. There was a girl, with a sword and a gun, and that must've been how I got hurt, but I don't remember any of it, Moritz. It's all blank -- a black spot in my memory. I was walking back to the compound, reading for a class, and then... nothing, and then Dr. Bashir was shaking me awake and I was bleeding -- oh, Moritz, there was so much blood..." he gasps

[intrinsicworth]

Glen had heard the boy was in the clinic and made it a point to check in on him a few times as he came out of the Council office or came in for his breakfast in the morning. Generally he tried not to make a nuisance of himself to the doctors that were busy enough without his questions, so he'd just stop by, sit quietly for awhile and leave again sometime later. He'd come in again only meaning poke his head in and be on his way when he saw the boy's eyes flicker open, maybe even at the sound of his footsteps. He goes to sit by the cot and looks down at Melchior. "Awake, my boy?" he asked gently.

[nokeystomysoul]

He's at once happy and upset over having a visitor. He's going out of his mind in the silence, with only his bandages to keep him company and remind him of everything he doesn't want to think about or relive anymore, but at the same time there's something humiliating in being seen like this. He knows he wasn't the only victim leftover from this night that he still can't quite remember, but that isn't much consolation.

"Yes," he says softly, his English still touch-and-go sometimes, depending on his medication level. Right now it's medium; his chest flares and burns and his skin protests the tape of the bandages and his ribs ache, dully, and his mind only occasionally finds staring at the wall for five minutes at a time entertaining.

"Hello." He tries for a smile though his lips are pretty chapped, one other thing about himself that could use some mending. He isn't sure what else he should say, what else he could pull out in English just yet, so he leaves it at that, smiling weakly.

[intrinsicworth]

"Hello there yourself," Glen said, smiling at him kindly. "Good to see you among us, though you may not be as thankful for it at the moment." He gave Melchior a knowing look. Waking up for the first time, or even for some time after an injury was never a position Glen envied. "Water?" Glen suggested, eying the pitcher and water glass nearby.

[nokeystomysoul]

"Yes," he replies, smiling a bit broader. Belatedly he adds, "Please," once he remembers the word along with his manners. He'd never held much stock in social niceties before but he's found them slipping out since he's been in the clinic. There's a lot he can't do for himself, however frustrating that is, and he's been adjusting to relying, at least in part, on others.

Slowly, as he finds the quickest way to speak and doublechecks his English, he adds, "I am happy to live, but... I want that... without... memory. Without dreams." He sighs very slightly, fiddling with the sheet.

[heir_of_l4]

There had been--in the buzz of voices and rustle of medicine packets and bedclothes--the sound of someone playing the violin. It stops suddenly, when Melchior moves, and soft fingers close over the hand he's clenching so tightly.

[nokeystomysoul]

Melchior starts slightly; he hadn't realized someone had been by his bed, even though he had been distantly aware of music. He only realizes he had been listening when it stops; the room seems much quieter than it had before, much more deflated with the lack of the music.

He barely has time to revel in that though because Quatre is here, and he smiles tiredly, relaxing his hand and shifting to hold onto Quatre's. "I am sorry; I knew not you... ah... you are here." That doesn't feel right but he hates stalling for too long, so it'll have to do. "The music is beautiful," he smiles slightly.

[heir_of_l4]

"Thank you," Quatre said quietly. "It was something to do, really. How are you feeling?"

[nokeystomysoul]

Frustrated, angry, scared, confused. In the end he goes with, "I hurt," because he can make that into a little joke, and he does, smiling wryly and adjusting his blanket over his bandages, which he thinks will need to be changed sometime later today.

"Ah -- when did you... arrive?" He hopes Quatre hasn't been sitting here forever while Melchior slept; he doesn't really understand why Quatre would want to sit by him while he sleeps. He read that in literature but it never really seemed sensible to him, unless of course they were in danger of dying. He isn't anymore.

[karmic_darwin]

If not for the fact he worked in the labs, he might not have heard Melchior had been injured at all, let alone in time to visit him. Fortunately he did hear and found time that afternoon to check in with the young man he considered something of a protege.

"Hello Melchior," Mohinder greeted, standing over his bedside. Although he might have, he didn't read the boy's chart. "I'm very glad to see you awake, although I suspect 'awake' is relative at the moment."

[nokeystomysoul]

He doesn't quite jerk awake; that requires too much strength he can't afford to expend without hurting himself, and really he wasn't all that startled because he had heard and felt someone drawing nearer. He's just so used to jerking awake now, sweating uncomfortably and unable to sufficiently maneuver his blankets how he wants them, his mind fresh with the quickly fading nightmare of what had happened to him

[karmic_darwin]

"Be still," Mohinder advised, accent rolling over his best stern doctor tone. Melchior looked as though he'd seen a ghost and been run over by - what was the phrase? oh yes - a Mack truck and perhaps gored by a bull running at Pamplona as well.

Rather than cause additional conversation, Mohinder simply sat and crossed his leg over his knee. The boy would sleep again soon enough and he could afford the time to visit with him. "I heard that you had been injured, but not how. Was there an accident?"

[nokeystomysoul]

Melchior sighs slightly and after a moment gives his head a slight shake. "No. It is hard to say. I do not remember. I hear Peter and Dr. House talking, and they say... a girl with a sword. She hurt Peter, too, on his chest." He feels slightly embarrassed that his English is so awkward but his mind is sluggish to recall things; he's good at parroting phrases from what people say before him, though.

"My wound, It is bad," he admits with a frown, "Dr. House say it will scar; it will be... badass?" He knows that is an expletive, and he throws it in to make up for his otherwise poor attempt at pulling together English.