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Entry tags:
(open) Attention, all personnel. It's that time again.
Who| Hawkeye and anyone, with specific scenarios for Ellie and Guy Crood
What| Surviving the second week in this new hell
Where| Sticking near the center of the island, but wandering around
When| Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Want to maul him? Let me know! I'll update warnings as needed.
Ellie
Ellie's hollow tree had served as his first shelter against the jungle, though being part of it itself. A dead part of it, so naturally Hawkeye thinks he feels some comfort keeping in its skeleton. The rains wouldn't stop, though, and there was only so much he could take of being confined to such a small, suffocating area for long. Hunger was new to him when a lot of things weren't- he'd taken to chewing on the collar of his shirt late at night and reminding himself of a baby with a pacifier. It was embarrassing and his ears would sometimes burn red with frustration. He was supposed to be the adult and the strong one and he still played with the chain of his dog tags between his teeth for the sake of tasting something other than plain lukewarm nothing. The metallic taste would remind him of blood and then he'd just get scared and drop the chain with a tink and roll his head back and listen to the pains in his stomach instead before drifting off to sleep. The human body was an incredible thing. He knew. It could go much longer than he had without food, with horrors.
The screams would ring out at night and he didn't know who or what they were from and sometimes he'd feel like springing to his feet and going to the source and other times he'd mutter in a heated breath, "Shut up, shut up," and trek the now muddied jacket over his head. Sometimes animals would run past- then he'd take his own advice and can it.
He'd said he wouldn't play their game, whoever 'they' were who supposedly had cameras hidden in the clouds and rocks. But the anxiety and guilt were quick to try and persuade Hawkeye otherwise. He can't just hide. Sit in the mud and rot away. He-- the girl can. The girl he's been with can. The girl didn't have a career, she didn't have to worry about others dying. She wasn't just hiding away when she could be helping. She couldn't do anything, so there was nothing to do, Hawkeye reasoned. They'd have to move from the tree eventually. He made his way out of the hiding spot as silently as he could on weak legs.
Almost immediately a white spot crossed his vision- he figured it might be from the dehydration until the spot became clearer, came nearer. A parachute. Small. It caught on a low lying branch to his left. It beeped. A metal canister.
Hawkeye thought it was going to blow.
He turned in panic, slipped in the mud and scrambled a ways on his hands and knees until he got to his feet again and cried out, "Down! Stay down!" Because a hollow tree blown to bits would mean shrapnel but if Ellie could cover her head-- and he practically bulldozes into her, the poor thing, and forces her down and muscles her head down and against his chest and though he's sore and stiff as a board with tension, he realizes just how odd it was that the assumed bomb hadn't exploded yet.
It was his first arena. The hell did he know about sponsor gifts?
Guy
After he had wolfed down his food, he decided to go out and scout. Because- back to his previous train of thought- a hollow tree wasn't adequate shelter. Nothing was, short of a real house, and he was beginning to think that finding one of those here was impossible. Notice, though, that Hawkeye still held out hope.
Part of him still wished a MASH unit would show right around the bend. He couldn't find his way around a jungle but he could around tents and flag poles and terrible shacks impersonating functional hospitals. He opens his mouth to complain to nothing, but snaps it shut. His first week had taught him to shut up unless he was with friends. -common sense to others. Hawkeye would argue he never had to learn that, but rather that he never believed his predicament was what everyone said it had been. The world around him seemed slower than before. Brighter, but slower. He'd sworn he would have killed by now if Rosie's ever came in sight but it had all been in jest. He pushes a heavy leaf out of his way and trudges on, remembering how he used to wonder how anyone could stand still. Now he wondered how anyone had the energy to move, let alone the energy, mental and physical, to kill people. Eva's attempts at his life came back, and Hawkeye snapped his head up.
And almost right ahead was a young man he'd seen his first night, who had trapped him. He didn't look well and Hawkeye told himself to pay more attention where he was going because some people out there apparently had no qualm with savagery.
"I'm going to start billing you," Hawkeye warns, teasing grin on his lips because he'd fight against his bedside manner deteriorating until he simply couldn't anymore. "You don't believe me, but I mean it. I'm a doctor, you know, I can name any outrageous price I want." And he hopes he doesn't get a spear in the gut when he steps closer to the guy turned dog chow. "What happened?"
Open
He knew there were caves somewhere because of Holiday. She had mentioned them the first time they'd met and he now counted her message and gift of food as a second meeting. He now kept an eye open for cameras, actively looking for them during his walks. He never found any and despite everything still doubted there was an eye on him at all times. It was an alien concept- then again, this was an alien world despite how much it looked like something that could be found in his. Three times he almost stepped on discarded beer cans. He had bent over and taken a sniff and wrinkled his nose and gagged and wondered why he ever thought it would be a good idea to do what he did. Then he had chucked the cans- all but one Hawkeye stuffed in a pouch in his jacket. It was odd to move with it just there, but aluminum was malleable and- and something, alright? It would be good for something.
By the time he had swatted at the hundredth mosquito, he was feeling winded. No, he just wasn't cut for toughing it out in the wilderness. He wanted to go home. He wondered about the Four-Oh-Seven-Seven. Some chief surgeon he was, behind enemy lines anywhere he turned, never where he should be doing what he hated but had a duty to do. Suppose he shouts at the cameras that are supposedly everywhere and asks kindly for an aid station- a thatched roof and stretches and some blood and needles and bandages and a lot of penicillin. Optimist he is, stupid he isn't.
And besides, if he wanted to perform, he'd just drop his pants.
A yawn wasn't exactly the sort of reaction he had expected from himself at the thought. There's mild disappointment in his features because of it -men and women behaving like animals, why couldn't he? For starters, because there was now a chirp, chirp, chirp echoing through the jungle that Hawkeye had heard before though not during the day. It sounded closer, and with that he quickened the pace to return to his headquarters. He'd search for the caves later, maybe, probably not. He knew he would have to but-- so how about he focuses on staying in one piece throughout the rest of the evening first?
What| Surviving the second week in this new hell
Where| Sticking near the center of the island, but wandering around
When| Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Want to maul him? Let me know! I'll update warnings as needed.
Ellie
Ellie's hollow tree had served as his first shelter against the jungle, though being part of it itself. A dead part of it, so naturally Hawkeye thinks he feels some comfort keeping in its skeleton. The rains wouldn't stop, though, and there was only so much he could take of being confined to such a small, suffocating area for long. Hunger was new to him when a lot of things weren't- he'd taken to chewing on the collar of his shirt late at night and reminding himself of a baby with a pacifier. It was embarrassing and his ears would sometimes burn red with frustration. He was supposed to be the adult and the strong one and he still played with the chain of his dog tags between his teeth for the sake of tasting something other than plain lukewarm nothing. The metallic taste would remind him of blood and then he'd just get scared and drop the chain with a tink and roll his head back and listen to the pains in his stomach instead before drifting off to sleep. The human body was an incredible thing. He knew. It could go much longer than he had without food, with horrors.
The screams would ring out at night and he didn't know who or what they were from and sometimes he'd feel like springing to his feet and going to the source and other times he'd mutter in a heated breath, "Shut up, shut up," and trek the now muddied jacket over his head. Sometimes animals would run past- then he'd take his own advice and can it.
He'd said he wouldn't play their game, whoever 'they' were who supposedly had cameras hidden in the clouds and rocks. But the anxiety and guilt were quick to try and persuade Hawkeye otherwise. He can't just hide. Sit in the mud and rot away. He-- the girl can. The girl he's been with can. The girl didn't have a career, she didn't have to worry about others dying. She wasn't just hiding away when she could be helping. She couldn't do anything, so there was nothing to do, Hawkeye reasoned. They'd have to move from the tree eventually. He made his way out of the hiding spot as silently as he could on weak legs.
Almost immediately a white spot crossed his vision- he figured it might be from the dehydration until the spot became clearer, came nearer. A parachute. Small. It caught on a low lying branch to his left. It beeped. A metal canister.
Hawkeye thought it was going to blow.
He turned in panic, slipped in the mud and scrambled a ways on his hands and knees until he got to his feet again and cried out, "Down! Stay down!" Because a hollow tree blown to bits would mean shrapnel but if Ellie could cover her head-- and he practically bulldozes into her, the poor thing, and forces her down and muscles her head down and against his chest and though he's sore and stiff as a board with tension, he realizes just how odd it was that the assumed bomb hadn't exploded yet.
It was his first arena. The hell did he know about sponsor gifts?
Guy
After he had wolfed down his food, he decided to go out and scout. Because- back to his previous train of thought- a hollow tree wasn't adequate shelter. Nothing was, short of a real house, and he was beginning to think that finding one of those here was impossible. Notice, though, that Hawkeye still held out hope.
Part of him still wished a MASH unit would show right around the bend. He couldn't find his way around a jungle but he could around tents and flag poles and terrible shacks impersonating functional hospitals. He opens his mouth to complain to nothing, but snaps it shut. His first week had taught him to shut up unless he was with friends. -common sense to others. Hawkeye would argue he never had to learn that, but rather that he never believed his predicament was what everyone said it had been. The world around him seemed slower than before. Brighter, but slower. He'd sworn he would have killed by now if Rosie's ever came in sight but it had all been in jest. He pushes a heavy leaf out of his way and trudges on, remembering how he used to wonder how anyone could stand still. Now he wondered how anyone had the energy to move, let alone the energy, mental and physical, to kill people. Eva's attempts at his life came back, and Hawkeye snapped his head up.
And almost right ahead was a young man he'd seen his first night, who had trapped him. He didn't look well and Hawkeye told himself to pay more attention where he was going because some people out there apparently had no qualm with savagery.
"I'm going to start billing you," Hawkeye warns, teasing grin on his lips because he'd fight against his bedside manner deteriorating until he simply couldn't anymore. "You don't believe me, but I mean it. I'm a doctor, you know, I can name any outrageous price I want." And he hopes he doesn't get a spear in the gut when he steps closer to the guy turned dog chow. "What happened?"
Open
He knew there were caves somewhere because of Holiday. She had mentioned them the first time they'd met and he now counted her message and gift of food as a second meeting. He now kept an eye open for cameras, actively looking for them during his walks. He never found any and despite everything still doubted there was an eye on him at all times. It was an alien concept- then again, this was an alien world despite how much it looked like something that could be found in his. Three times he almost stepped on discarded beer cans. He had bent over and taken a sniff and wrinkled his nose and gagged and wondered why he ever thought it would be a good idea to do what he did. Then he had chucked the cans- all but one Hawkeye stuffed in a pouch in his jacket. It was odd to move with it just there, but aluminum was malleable and- and something, alright? It would be good for something.
By the time he had swatted at the hundredth mosquito, he was feeling winded. No, he just wasn't cut for toughing it out in the wilderness. He wanted to go home. He wondered about the Four-Oh-Seven-Seven. Some chief surgeon he was, behind enemy lines anywhere he turned, never where he should be doing what he hated but had a duty to do. Suppose he shouts at the cameras that are supposedly everywhere and asks kindly for an aid station- a thatched roof and stretches and some blood and needles and bandages and a lot of penicillin. Optimist he is, stupid he isn't.
And besides, if he wanted to perform, he'd just drop his pants.
A yawn wasn't exactly the sort of reaction he had expected from himself at the thought. There's mild disappointment in his features because of it -men and women behaving like animals, why couldn't he? For starters, because there was now a chirp, chirp, chirp echoing through the jungle that Hawkeye had heard before though not during the day. It sounded closer, and with that he quickened the pace to return to his headquarters. He'd search for the caves later, maybe, probably not. He knew he would have to but-- so how about he focuses on staying in one piece throughout the rest of the evening first?
no subject
Then there was that nose, which was most likely broken and still bleeding slightly.
He spat out blood so he could speak.
"Bad day," he gasped out.
Then he tried to take another step, and when he realized his leg had suddenly decided to stop working, he looked at Hawkeye and gasped out a quiet, terrified, "help" before starting to collapse in Hawkeye's direction.
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The nose he'd seen. He'd seen too many like it to give it so much as a second thought. The paleness, clamminess, shivering was disconcerting. Screw searching for broken bones- and Hawkeye'd scold himself something awful if he could- he immediately presses two fingers against Guy's neck, just under his jaw. "I'm checking your pulse," he announces maybe louder than he should because he wasn't keen on startling the patient. "You could be in shock. Dizzy? Why am I even asking? You collapsed at my feet. The hell happened to you? I'm serious about charging you, you know. I don't normally make house calls and this is the second tally I've marked under your name in the phone book."
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Fortunately the blood in his mouth was mostly just blood that had dripped into his mouth from his nose. He was started to drool a little though, as if his mouth was producing too much saliva. Where Hawkeye's fingers were pressed against Guy's clammy skin, he'd feel a pulse at rapid staccato, dangerously fast, but it was starting to skip beats and slow down. Soon, it would start getting too slow. He was practically dripping with sweat and his pupils were also dilated.
"Little girl," he gasped. "Little girl with a mangled leg. Shredded to -" He cut himself off. "She was dying. I asked her if - if she wanted me to make it quicker. Since she was in agony."
He closed his eyes tightly. He felt no guilt but that didn't mean it hadn't been disturbing.
"Before she - before I - she said a woman with one eye was the one who'd maimed her." He opened his eyes again. "Not a very nice lady. I ran into her and she tried to kill me. It was me or her and after what she did to that little girl..."
He leaned forward and gestured with a shaking hand at his shoulder. There was a little puncture wound there. The area around it was bright and dangerous red, but not pussy. Inflammation, not infection. (Yet, at least.)
"I got her pretty good but she poisoned me with a dart. I think she also broke my nose."
Drool started to drip from his mouth onto his chest.
"Shelter. Need to move to - before I can't walk anymore. My muscles are locking up. Getting weak. Everything hurts."
The plants here didn't have a direct equivalent to plants in their worlds but what Hawkeye was seeing was similar to hemlock poisoning. And there was more to come: ataxia, tremors, seizures. Lots of fun stuff.
no subject
As Guy talked on about his personal horror story, Hawkeye peeled off his jacket and felt, he thought, all the cold of the jungle that wasn't there. The words hit him clear, which was a good sign in spite of it all, and which made for a particularly spectacular exercise in keeping himself steady. The sight, then feeling, as he wrapped the jacket around Guy's shoulders, of drool made his own mouth water but he swallowed and thanked God that he could, though why he wasn't sure of at all. The wounded shoulder would have to keep because Guy was right--
"Uh huh."
Thick skin came with the territory. Hawkeye had seen his share of maimed girls and dead girls and had brought killers back to life. And what had he said before? Just another day at the office. Holiday hadn't believed him- bah! One eyed woman- he kept that filed away.
"I found a girl too, but she'll be alright."
--so Guy was right. And Hawkeye cupped the man's chin and turned it up. "Keep your head up. Breathe evenly. I'm going to stand up and you'll stand up with me. Lean on me. We won't walk far and you'll get worse before you get better." And he forced an arm over his own shoulder, gave a nudge as a signal and didn't wait any longer before he was hurting all over, rising to his feet in what could pass as a fluid movement, cooperation or not. A hundred yards is what he's hoping for because the cover was thicker there, though it would mean more risk than an open spot when the real fun would begin. "Come on, big guy. Fast is good." He missed the good old days of bum legs and ignorance. --a mercy kill. Damn.
no subject
It was all he could say before the exertion of moving - and the fact he was drooling all over himself - made it too hard to speak.
Guy struggled along with all the persistence of someone who'd faced situations before where his survival had depended on how far he could move before succumbing to dehydration, hunger, or injury - or all three at once. That is to say that they got more than a hundred yards. Not much more and it was a struggle the whole way there, but they managed. There was, mercifully, a fallen tree, now hollow, that they could take shelter in. It was large enough for them to sit upright in comfortably.
"Here," Guy gasped out. "Here's good."
People passing by would possibly not even notice them in there and the whole place reeked of the earthy smell of damp wood, which could help disguise their smell from things like the raptors.
Even if it didn't suit their needs, it was clear that Guy wasn't going to make it any farther, because his legs were starting to go rubbery and useless underneath him. He was also gasping and going even paler as his pulse and blood pressure tanked.
"If I start - to make - too much noise - leave," he gasped out. "Take my things - and leave. No point in - in both of us dying."
If he started dying, if he started to make a lot of noise doing it, he didn't want Hawkeye to stay, get found out, and killed because of it. Especially when Hawkeye had proven more than once that he was a kind enough person to go out of his way to help people.
no subject
And there's nothing either of them can do about. It wasn't an escape from reality if he decided to focus on right, right, left instead of the haunting images of death, the feeling of someone who had ended a child's life using him as support as they both carried themselves to the hollow tree, the temporary haven. It wasn't denial if he felt irate at the words continuing because it meant he was still bombarded by something that- at the moment- didn't concern him. Morale? No, there was never any of that. This was just survival instinct.
Hawkeye has Guy stand while he ducks inside the trunk first- joy, joy, another low roof over his anxious head- and has the other maneuver inside in as smooth a way as possible. Fresh air was within the tree as well as outside of it, so he shouldn't worry about the dankness that was everywhere in the jungle. He did anyway. But time was becoming an enemy here, along with everything else, so Hawkeye decided to just stop worrying. After he'd gestured and tried to get Guy to lie down, back to him, he decided it would be an equally good idea to let it be known.
"Listen, fella." Because he knew he was the guy's elder and he'd lie if he said to himself it didn't get under his skin to be given orders. Still, he keeps his voice steady, keeps it from becoming harsh. It's delivered in a matter-of-fact rush, and his hands go to keep count on the pulse that's too low. "I don't think you were paying attention last time we had a chat. I come from a war zone. I know what to do." Here, at least. The intensive care was about to get a work out. "Your only job is to stay alive and do what your body tells you to- except die. It's not to tell me what to do. The poisoning is acute. It's going to be a real ride getting you through it." And he won't pretend to tell him that he's got faith he'll make it- hasn't got the heart to say there's no chance in hell, either. --hasn't got the knowledge, actually. Any simple tool- anything from his medical bag, back in Korea, would make this so much easier.
"Don't worry about keeping quiet," he adds. Worrying was his job, and as much as he'd try to ignore the fact that he will, Hawkeye knows it's part of the game. Besides. They're dead men anyway, the both of them.
-but then there's Ellie.
-but he's not thinking about that right now
He moves, starts touching shoulders and stomach, feeling and hoping against a tremor. "And keep breathing- slow and deep, if possible. And trust me." Again, but unspoken: if possible.
no subject
And he knew there might be thrashing. He'd done this before, through one long, painful night after a scorpion sting, which had caused a seeping wound he'd nearly died from - the source of the scar on his leg. He hadn't remembered it but his family told him there'd been several times during the night he'd gone unconscious and started violently shaking, in fits that lasted several minutes. This might not be the same poison but he knew it might happen again.
He settled with his back to Hawkeye, on his side, hoping against hope that he hadn't misplaced his trust in the man, now that his back was turned.
There were many that might have been uncomfortable with strange hands pressing on his shoulders and stomach, but being close to someone else and being touched while he was this sick was a comfort. He was a tactile person from a family of tactile people. The rare times he'd ever been sick, injured - or poisoned the one time - they'd fretted over him. Multiple sets of hands had wiped the sweat off his brow, rubbed his back, rubbed his cramped stomach, massaged cramping legs and arms.
They were a family, after all. Sickness was something you didn't suffer alone and with no medication, no medical supplies, nothing to beat back sickness or death, all that had was their hands. Hands to tilt his head so he could drink some water, hands to carry him to the bushes to take care of nature, hands to feed him, and hands to rub his body down with wet rags while his skin burned up. When any of the others were sick or in need of care, he did the same for them. He'd even helped deliver his own child that way.
So this kind of medicine was familiar to him. It was the only kind he knew.
Hawkeye would feel muscles twitching. Twitching and relaxing. Tremors. His hope was for naught. All he could hope for now was that the muscles of Guy's lungs didn't decide to start dancing the tarantella or give up the ghost altogether so that he stopped breathing.
Drool dribbled from the corner of Guy's mouth as he lay there. He didn't bother wiping it away.
He did try to speak. It was easier now that he wasn't moving but still difficult when his mouth and jaw muscles didn't want to work, when his nose was stuffed with clotted blood, when his tongue felt too slippery in his mouth.
"The little girl. Her leg was... You couldn't have saved her, could you? You said you couldn't do much for me. She was going cold. The before-death. When people start to go cold and out of it before they die." He went on slowly, because it was difficult to get his tongue to cooperate. "I don't feel guilty if no one could. But if someone could have..."
He didn't know what was possible when he didn't know what a doctor was and didn't know what they could fix.
no subject
Hawkeye brings a hand unceremoniously to wipe at Guy's face, fingers pinching his bloody nose first and dragging down and over to wipe excess drool from his mouth. He didn't care much for glamour and what mess he made and got over his own skin served as a distraction from putting his weight over Guy who was beginning to convulse. He really did wish he'd shut up, despite the fact that it seemed talking at least gave the fellow reason to keep sucking in air.
"I don't know what I could've done," Hawkeye mumbles, flat and distant and almost entirely uninvolved in the tale. He could only handle one crisis at a time, Christ, and he didn't want to think about how bad the girl's leg had been butchered or the fact that he was trying to keep a child's murderer alive. He really didn't. "I wasn't there to see how bad it was." And he sure as hell wasn't here to soothe troubled souls. His own was enough trouble.
He wipes at Guy's face again. No, he didn't want to hear the details of the dead girl's body, either.
"Whatever poison you got hit with, it's attacking your nervous system. You're twitching now but that'll start to get violent in a minute. You gotta ride it out." But he doesn't feel comfortable telling him it was up to the muscles and not his will or brain to do that. "Whatever you do, try not to punch me too hard. I'm fragile and I break easy."
no subject
Guy was from a very different world than Hawkeye. The rules weren't so much different as still being made up on the fly. Life could be suffering, death could be mercy, and the sun could be salvation from the end of the world.
"I don't know - I don't know what a nervous system is but I can see lights," Guy said fuzzily.
That was the only warning the both of them got because just a moment later his body went stiff and then he started convulsing. His body was mostly rigid during it, and he started frothing slightly at the mouth, his skin going slightly blue. Though his arm jerked and twitched a little bit, he fortunately didn't hit Hawkeye with it that hard.
It lasted for about a minute, after which his body finally went still and he started gasping for breath. Color started to return to his face as he lay there very still on his side.
no subject
For a moment longer than they should have been, the gasps were alarming.
He was about to shout, to slap, to shove, when the skin he was touching turned a little less gray, a little less blue. He shoves anyway and doesn't worry about it being a little rough. Shoves a shoulder away from him so Guy turned to lay on his stomach. So. Breathing. The guy was breathing by himself and that was so, so very good.
And Hawkeye was still so alert.
"Hey."
Talk. Move. Keep breathing. Keep doing what you're doing, he means. Don't make me stomp on your chest.
"How you feeling?"
Dr. Do-Nothing, that's him.
no subject
"Di'you put down n'baby? She needs a nap," he said muzzily.
He clearly thought he was somewhere else, maybe with his family. This was good though. Confusion and disorientation after a seizure were to be expected. He was breathing, he was talking, his brain was working well enough for that. He wasn't out of the woods yet, certainly, but at least it meant it wasn't status epilecticus. Short seizures were better than long ones, even if they weren't as good as no seizures at all.
"She's a good girl this morning. She's bein' a cutie," he said and a smile bloomed over his face, even though his eyes closed again. Hawkeye had seen that kind of smile before. No one lived a life without seeing that kind of smile at least once. It was the smile of a parent absolutely bowled over by a love of their child.
Apparently it was something ageless. Apparently it was something that hadn't changed since animal skins were all the rage. It was a universal. Apparently that was where his mind went when he was sick and disoriented and in a place full of murder, with the blood of another child on his hands.
That was where this man's mind went in the dark. It was where it went when he was confused and maybe dying. Instead of going somewhere far more agitated and hateful, it chose to settle there in a quiet little place of love, so that if he did die there next to Hawkeye, the last thing he'd be thinking about was holding a little baby girl in his arms.
no subject
How stupid. What kind of entertainment could come from watching an infant be torn to shreds? Well, Hawkeye imagined the would-be, could-be scene play out and it seemed as vivid in his mind as it would in a terrible film. He wished for a second that Guy hadn’t ever said anything, wished that none of this would have been his problem, wished his head and mind would stop wandering to such places. And, Christ, he almost gives Guy another shove, rougher and heavier and truly angry. A baby? Where in the hell did that come from? He understood confusion, but of all places...
And Christ, he hated him too. Hawkeye didn’t mean it and he knew it, but that didn’t stop the surge of misplaced anger. He was angry at this guy like he’d been angry at B.J. so many times before, and he knew it meant nothing apart from how much of a decent person he wasn’t. He gets it when Guy mentions the nap and the morning and the gentle smile spreads. And Christ, Hawkeye hated him for it. Because why can’t anything be simple and why did the fellow have to get himself poisoned and into Hawkeye’s way, and how dare he fucking talk about his child when he’d just gone and killed somebody else’s daughter? And he was angry at himself, because how dare he worry about whether or not this bastard would live and how dare he think he possible couldn't, when the man was a sick father?
But he didn’t mean it and he knew it. Everything would run its course whether it be life or death or a fit of convulsions due to poison or just a fit due to being his ugly self. He doesn’t shove and the hand he brings down to rub hard but steady circles on Guy’s back isn’t heavy and the slap isn’t sharp. His voice, however, now is. Families were fine and dandy, as were nice thoughts and dreams. They didn't have a place here, though. "Fella. Hey. Your girl's not here." Which ought to be a comfort if the guy's mind was right. "Hear that? Can you hear me alright? Remember where you are?" So the guy would now want to rest. Tough cookies, Hawkeye's not going to let him. He shakes Guy's shoulders, feels his forehead. Pokes at the little puncture wound, trying to bring him back to this world with crude tactics. "I need you here with me, not there with them. Sooner the better, please."
no subject
"What - whadd'you mean? Ow! Don't poke there." He niffed the air, as if the scent of the rotting log didn't match what was in his head. They did sometimes spend time in the jungle, but usually opted for traveling by the sea or through open plains. Most of the time, wet ground and damp wood wouldn't be the things he'd be most likely to smell.
Now he was worried. He turned slightly so that Hawkeye could see his face more.
"Where is she?" he slurred. "Where's Bug?"
Apparently that was his daughter's name. Looking around the inside of the log, Guy started to look confused. "Where am I?"
Then there was the sudden sharp stab of understanding as he looked at Hawkeye's face, remembering what it was from, and Guy reached a shaking hand up to clasp it over his eyes and groaned.
Yep, it was starting to look like he was getting oriented to his surroundings and remembering where he was.
no subject
It wasn't like he had a say in the matter. Guy didn't either.
The fella's expression renders Hawk immobile for a moment. He feels his blood run cold. Kind of forgets to breathe. Then he slowly remembers he's sore and that his stomach burned and he brings up a hand to wipe brutishly at Guy's face, like he had before to clear the drool and blood, though he wasn't sure if anything was really there to clear and he didn't really care.
And what the hell kind of name was Bug?
Stupid boys. Marrying young.
Stupid children, all of them.
"Away from her," he says, and pats the guy's back like it's supposed to be cheerful. And it was. "Welcome back, chum."
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"Still feel..."
He was still twitching and shaking, still pale, still sweating, still drooling. He still might seize again.
Still breathing, though. He was still breathing. That didn't seem to be stopping quite yet.
"Not - out of the ravine - yet."
He took a few deep breaths to try to feel less winded.
"What happened? Did I pass out?"
He was still a little confused. One minute he'd been talking to Hawkeye and now he was coming to with every muscle in his body aching and the feeling that he had some kind of clamp squeezing his head so hard that he could see spots of light.
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"I know," Hawkeye says. He doesn't prod at the puncture on Guy's shoulder again but his hands do move from strictly sustaining the fellow to feeling around his back and ribs again. Stethoscope- he didn't even have access to a stethoscope. But his skin felt warmer than the fellow's, and his jacket was still over him though it was soaking through. That was gross, he thought in a very unconvincing way, because he was definitely going to be taking it back either off the back of a dead man or one living. "The thing about medical school is that you pay an institution to screw you over a desk during the best years of your life, and they don't make it too pleasant either. And while you're being had, you have to do these silly things like read and study. Usually illnesses that afflict the human body- ya know, the whole 'doctor' thing? Trying to prevent those things from happening? You need to learn about what you're preventing or treating first."
And how did he start rambling about med school? Guy's confused voice snaps Hawkeye out from his own world. He grimaces and continues. "The toxin you were hit with, it's giving you seizures. That means you have too much going on in your body at one time, and the muscles tighten abruptly. It means your brain's giving out signals it shouldn't to the rest of you. If I had tubing with me I'd have stuck it in you because I'm afraid of your airway blocking. With puke or something. If I have to, though, I'll find a way. Trust me on that. I can't exactly- flush it out. The toxin. Not when I'm scared to leave you alone to go find water, at least. Next time you should really consult me before you go find any more trouble. I'll tell you all about how it'll be a bad idea." He had more to say about the poisoning, none of which was particularly encouraging, so he didn't see the harm in keeping it to himself.
Every twitch and jump of skin makes him tense and it grows exhausting, quickly. He sighs and wonders if it was a yawn instead. A breath in, a breath out-- who ever said he couldn't be a life coach?
"--so to answer your question: No, you didn't pass out. And you're really good at the 'staying alive' thing. Good for you. I'll throw you a party later, but only if you make it through the final act in one piece. I have some soliloquies I've been practicing since undergrad, but they're no fun to recite without an audience." Hawkeye grins and it hurts his cheeks. He closes his eyes and feels like he'd fall forward, or else that he'd fall into an abyss, so he snaps them open and finds his hold tightening over Guy's body. "Hamlet's always been a favorite. 'To be or not to be'. Classic."
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He took a few steadying breaths.
"What's a - a solilolo - that thing you said?" That was too many syllables for Guy's tongue to contend with right now, especially when he was drooling so much.
There were some things that Hawkeye had said that he understood and others he didn't, but of the ones he didn't, that was the one that sounded the most interesting. If it involved reciting things to the audience, maybe it had to do with telling stories.
"Is it some kind of story? I tell - I tell a lot of stories back home. I'm good at them."
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He snorts. "Soliloquy!" And he projects his voice, and continues in the same breath, lowering his voice when he quoted, "'To be or not to be', that's from Hamlet- 'To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer, the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortu-'" He cuts himself off with the shining realization that he was in a fallen and rotting trunk with a strange boy who may or may not be dying and that there are people outside of this hovel hellbent on murdering them both. Hushed, with no sense of offense at having his play cut short, Hawkeye says "I'll tell that one to you later. They're... part of a play, usually. Which is this story that's acted out. I like stories, too. In fact, 'Hawkeye's a name of a character in a story that my dad likes, and I'm named after him. It's an adventure book, with Indians and... usually, I just like smut." The topic of books shouldn't excite a man so much. It almost obscene, the stirring he felt in himself just talking about it. About books, stories, in general, not about smut. And he remembered when B.J. had gotten that old mystery paperback and the camp had gone nuts, devouring the words. Relishing every chapter. And he wondered just how different this time was to then.
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For a moment, his mind wandered into expansive places, poking and prodding at the potential of it, dreaming of all the stories that could be told that way.
"I think - I'll tell you a story. When I have my breath back. Or a joke. I've made up some decent jokes. How about - how about as soon as I get better from this, I'll tell you a joke?"
He drew in a deep breath.
"And then when we both get out of this place - because they say people come back even if they don't survive - when we both come back, then I'll tell you a story. And you can tell me one, too. That's something to look forward to, right? I'll tell you a story and then you can -"
He smiled a crooked smile, marred only slightly by the spittle on his lips.
"Then you can bill me for that, too. Whatever billing is. Since you seem - to enjoy it so much."
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If he knew the plants, he might know if one had medicinal properties.
He groans, though, and rolls his eyes and wants to howl out a laugh but he had just been insulted, so he doesn't. He wants to explain his own joke, but doesn't know how to go about it. His patient was smiling. Hawkeye figured he could let him keep that cheap shot. "That's not a bad idea," he finally says. "If I'm going to live a life forever in debt, I don't see why you shouldn't." And his stomach growls, but he ignores it. Didn't have a choice, really.
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Hawkeye had celebrated a little too soon. Guy went quiet now and didn't answer for a moment.