Kate gets restless enough being stuck in one place as it is, but spending time topside when she knows there's a world to explore just below sea level requires an incredible amount of self-constraint. Rationally, she knows that she can't spend every waking moment down there, it's dangerous to say the least, but all that exhilaration, that rush of adrenaline, it makes Tabula Rasa seem lackluster in comparison. She finds herself walking, jogging, hiking with little thought as to where she's headed, her sole desire to keep from staying still for long. It barely helps, but it's something.
Naturally, she gets thirsty every now and then, thus finding her way into the kitchen. She spots him at once - he's hard to miss - and can't fight her curiosity off for long. "Rapture injury?"
For a moment, Mace doesn't understand what she's asking. He's still getting used to seeing so many new faces around, and even looking up at people from the wheelchair is disorienting enough.
"No," he says, remembering the excitement and the general trail of people in and out of the clinic with various injuries to be treated. "I was lucky enough to show up here pretty messed up."
"Sorry to hear it," Kate says with an apologetic nod. It aligns well enough with her expectations of this island - there couldn't have been a worse time for her to find herself here, so chances are the same is true for others. But from the looks of it, she's the winner in this instance, still in one piece. It's a victory she hardly relishes. "So you've been indoors since?"
"Only been outside once," he confirms. He still can't believe how bright it is in the sun, and part of him is almost scared he'll go back outside and it'll be dim and gray and he'd imagined it all up. "I'm taking a self-prescribed break from the clinic before I go insane."
Kara's staring at the coffeemaker like her scowl will actually make it drip any faster. The unusual sound of wheels in the hall outside isn't enough to make her break her gaze, but when she hears them pass through the kitchen door, she turns.
And grins. "Thought you'd've tried escaping sooner."
Mace returns Kara's smile with a smirk of his own, and makes his way into the kitchen. Navigating it isn't so bad, but he looks around anyway, trying to figure out if he can get out of the chair and into a real seat without much fuss. At least having the cast on means he can actually get up on his legs again.
"I like to think of it as taking a break," he says, and parks in front of a rocking chair that's just sitting in a corner, next to a play pen. He doesn't ask.
"Mmhmm," hums Kara, finally giving up and yanking the pot away, her mug thrust beneath to catch the thin but steady stream of coffee. It'll taste like shit for everyone else now, but at least fewer are likely to want some at three in the afternoon.
"Lexie probably wouldn't approve," Mace says, not bothered at all by admitting so. He knows she'll probably understand, even if he is technically undergoing surgery in under twenty-four hours.
He just couldn't spend another damn minute in the clinic.
"But it's not like I'm making a break for it out there," he adds, and points in the general direction of the main doors.
It is, as it turns out, by chance that Lexie walks into the kitchen not long after Mace does, going in search of something to eat. Tomorrow, she'll operate, but for right now, she's actually trying her best not to think about it. This is why they aren't supposed to get attached to patients. Having never been good at that, though, and Mace having become someone she cares a good deal about, she still wishes they didn't have to do this. Not yet on duty, therefore, she means to get herself ready by seeing if there's any leftover pie in the fridge.
Of course, her path there is stopped by the sight of Mace himself, and despite the fact that she should probably be admonishing him right about now, she grins. "Let me guess, going stir crazy?"
"Just a little bit," he says, and Mace has the decency to look at least a little apologetic for being caught out of the clinic, but he can't feel much more than that. It's good enough just being out of there, especially facing what he is. "I needed to get out of there for a little bit."
"I should probably be telling you to get back to bed," Lexie says, nose wrinkling a little, "but I really can't blame you for needing a break from clinic bedrest." God knows she probably would have, too, if she'd had to stare at a wall from a bed all day instead of working there as she does. "How are you feeling?"
Mace graces Lexie with something almost approaching a smile, and he shrugs.
"I'm fine," he says, giving it some thought. "Leg hurts a little, but the cast isn't such a surprise anymore. My hand aches," he tacks on, almost as an afterthought even though it's anything but. It's the only thing he can think of, even when he's trying hard not to.
Eden's hair is still wet from swimming as she moves around the kitchen, hair slicked back into a short ponytail, when he wheels in. He's not unfamiliar exactly - she's seen a guy who looks a lot like him around this place before - but he's no one she knows, and her heart goes out to him at once. Being here is confusing enough; being here in anything less than decent shape has to be beyond frustrating. It can't be easy to get to know this place when so much of what's lovely and interesting isn't wholly wheelchair accessible. Oh, there are boardwalks, but then there's sand, too, and Eden's always been partial to places off the beaten path anyway.
"Hi," she says, giving a little wave. "There's gonna be coffee in a minute if you want any."
Coffee, just like that, like it's no big deal. They'd had some on the Icarus II, but always powdered and never as good as it used to be, and when Mace thinks about it, he's missed it.
"Sounds good," he says, giving her a nod in thanks.
She wonders if maybe he's the same guy she's seen around after all and he's just been injured and she hasn't heard about it, but she decides, no, that's not the case. There's something about the other one Eden doesn't have a name for, a quality she's noted from a distance, but which she thinks isn't here. Hard to tell. Really, she thinks, she's silly for it, trying to make these guesses and analyses like she's still some kind of spy (like she was ever any good at being one).
"I'm Eden," she says. "You been around here long?"
"Mace," he replies, and shrugs at her question. It feels like he's been here forever, but his time is nothing compared to Shari's, or anyone else who's already lived out several years here. "I'm mostly new, only hitting my three week mark soon."
The Compound is a necessary evil. It's cold, cramped, and, at times, obnoxiously loud. I guess the best thing that could be said for it is that it's easier to navigate than the jungle. That... And the food. The Winchester arguably allows for more choice if you're expecting to get served, but I've familiarized myself enough with the Compound kitchen over the past few months to make my own meals once the rush has died down. Right now, though, I just want a glass of something cold.
The handle of my cane is digging into my front as I lean forward across the counter, digging through the cupboards in search of a mug; that's when I hear it, the sound of wheels against the tile. It's out of place, and grabs my attention. Head turning in the direction of the noise, I listen closer still. Strained breaths, coming from a point too low to the ground for the person to be standing. A faint medicinal smell. A wheelchair? The only other option is stroller, but that doesn't seem right.
If there's anything that'll get Mace to clear his head quicker than a sock to the gut, it's realizing whatever he's going through is trivial compared to someone else's issues. Case in point: being blind on a tropical island, where dinosaurs exist and all kinds of crazy shit happens, from the stories he's heard (and still doesn't quite believe).
"Nah," he says, coming to a stop in the middle of the kitchen, a few feet away from the guy. "I've got enough space."
Part of him wants to get up, try to see if his legs will take his weight after being off them for so long, but he knows he shouldn't. It's bad enough he's out of the clinic without Lexie knowing. "Think you could grab me a mug from up there?"
The voice catches me short; he sounds remarkably similar to Steve Rogers, but it's not Steve. If I had my heightened senses at my disposal, I don't know that I would've even caught the similarity; I would've been so wrapped up in the man's heartbeat, his smell, that I probably wouldn't have picked up on it. It would've been too obvious that they weren't the same person.
I wonder if this isn't a clone.
"Sure," I reply, with little delay, lost in my thoughts, but still paying attention. It doesn't do well to daydream too long. My fingers find purchase around cold ceramic, and I link my thumb through the handles of two mugs, pulling them down onto the counter. Lifting just the one, now, I add, "Did you want anything specific?"
"I had my mind set on coffee," Mace replies, reluctant to sit back and let someone else do something so simple. At least the guy seems to be doing just fine on his own, looking more in tune with their surroundings than Mace feels -- and that is probably because outside passing through on a quick tour of the compound, this is the first time he's actually been in the kitchen. "It's to the right, about two feet."
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Naturally, she gets thirsty every now and then, thus finding her way into the kitchen. She spots him at once - he's hard to miss - and can't fight her curiosity off for long. "Rapture injury?"
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"No," he says, remembering the excitement and the general trail of people in and out of the clinic with various injuries to be treated. "I was lucky enough to show up here pretty messed up."
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And grins. "Thought you'd've tried escaping sooner."
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"I like to think of it as taking a break," he says, and parks in front of a rocking chair that's just sitting in a corner, next to a play pen. He doesn't ask.
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"Is this break doctor sanctioned?"
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He just couldn't spend another damn minute in the clinic.
"But it's not like I'm making a break for it out there," he adds, and points in the general direction of the main doors.
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Of course, her path there is stopped by the sight of Mace himself, and despite the fact that she should probably be admonishing him right about now, she grins. "Let me guess, going stir crazy?"
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"I'm fine," he says, giving it some thought. "Leg hurts a little, but the cast isn't such a surprise anymore. My hand aches," he tacks on, almost as an afterthought even though it's anything but. It's the only thing he can think of, even when he's trying hard not to.
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"Hi," she says, giving a little wave. "There's gonna be coffee in a minute if you want any."
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"Sounds good," he says, giving her a nod in thanks.
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"I'm Eden," she says. "You been around here long?"
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The handle of my cane is digging into my front as I lean forward across the counter, digging through the cupboards in search of a mug; that's when I hear it, the sound of wheels against the tile. It's out of place, and grabs my attention. Head turning in the direction of the noise, I listen closer still. Strained breaths, coming from a point too low to the ground for the person to be standing. A faint medicinal smell. A wheelchair? The only other option is stroller, but that doesn't seem right.
"Sorry, am I in your way?"
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"Nah," he says, coming to a stop in the middle of the kitchen, a few feet away from the guy. "I've got enough space."
Part of him wants to get up, try to see if his legs will take his weight after being off them for so long, but he knows he shouldn't. It's bad enough he's out of the clinic without Lexie knowing. "Think you could grab me a mug from up there?"
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I wonder if this isn't a clone.
"Sure," I reply, with little delay, lost in my thoughts, but still paying attention. It doesn't do well to daydream too long. My fingers find purchase around cold ceramic, and I link my thumb through the handles of two mugs, pulling them down onto the counter. Lifting just the one, now, I add, "Did you want anything specific?"
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