October knows that Daemon walked the (twistedkingdom) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-05-25 13:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | daemon, supergirl |
Who: March & October
What: October playing mother hen, again.
Where: Hospital
When: After March was admitted
Warnings/Rating: None
Toby was the sort of brother who liked to be informed when things happened, so when he was instilled at the Las Vegas hospital, Toby made sure that if any of his family were to be admitted that he would, at least, be notified. Until now, it had never been something that had come up, never anything he needed to deal with, so when the call came that evening, letting him know that March had been admitted only hours earlier, Toby wasn't entirely sure how to react. There was the initial panic, and then the worry that settled over him as he drove back to the hospital, having only gotten home a couple hours prior himself. Keeping calm was something that Toby was good at in the face of disaster, so it was with a calm head that he approached the nurses' station on the floor he had been directed to, and with an equally calm head that he let himself into March's room, taking only a cursory note of the alert on the outside of March's door declaring the caution that had to be exercised.
Settling down into one of the plastic chairs that were arranged clinically in March's room, Toby didn't say anything for a long while, just looked over the young man who was still and pale beneath the white sheet. It seemed the worry that he had expressed to Ford only hours prior had been warranted. Supergirl or not, the doors left them vulnerable, fragile in the face of the invulnerability some of them experienced on the other side. He had been waiting for something like this, a disaster, something to affect them, and the week had been filled with it. What with a ten day nap, and now March injured, Toby could only lean forward with his folded hands pressed against his lips, watching, waiting.
March had no idea how long Toby had been there. He only knew that, when he opened his eyes again, Toby was there. He was drug-blurred, but he was definitely Toby, and March managed a chuckle, the morphine helping the agony in his gut become a mere twinge at the mirth. "You're such a mother hen, Tobias," he said with a grin, his eyes closing again almost immediately when the room spun. "I don't feel like I'm dying no more, and I'm not going to bleed on anyone and kill them, so you don't got to look so morose," he added, the smile still in his voice.
Time passed, March knew, because the light outside the window was less than it had been the last time he opened his eyes. He looked over at the chair, thinking he'd imagined Toby being there, acting all worried and parental. But, no, there he was, looking tired, all folded hands and pursed lips. March fought to keep his eyes open this time, not wanting sleep to drag him under again. For all he knew, Toby might die there, sitting in that same position. "Son, please tell me you've moved, eaten something, gone and taken a piss?" he asked, voice a sleep-croak. He tried to shift on the mattress, but that was a bad idea, and the wince and flash of pain on his features was something even mashing the button on the morphine pump wouldn't help. He knew he could have a real slow recovery, since his immune system was already shot. He knew he could have complications for the same damn reason. He breathed hard, and he motioned to the bed's back. "Can you lift it some?"
The first time March roused himself, Toby had said little, greeting his brother instead with a tired smile, rising from the chair to press his hand against the younger man's forehead even as March slipped back into the darkness that was refusing to give up its hold on him. Hearing his voice, seeing the smile, it went a long way to easing some of the worry he had, but it was still there, deep in his system, as he took his seat once more. He was frayed around the edges after his fight with January, after that peculiar feeling deep inside of him with how things had shifted, broken, changed in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on. March was the icing on the cake of many other problems, but Toby would be strong through it, as he was at all times.
Hours passed, and Toby had indeed left the room. The bathroom, something barely edible from the cafeteria, and then he had returned to look over him, so when March opened his eyes again, Toby had to chuckle at those first words. "Yes, I've moved. Don't worry yourself about me. I've learned how to take care of myself over the years." The smile was soon to fade when March's face contorted in pain, and almost instantly he was on his feet, moving over to the bed to find the controls, gently easing March into a position that was somewhere between sitting and laying down. "Do take it easy," he advised him softly, a gentle hand touching March on his wrist, bare fingers, unafraid. "You'll do yourself more harm if you're not careful. Please." There was only so much that he could do to help anyone, and Toby was quite aware of that.
"You suck something awful at taking care of yourself," March said, voice sleep-sandpaper rough and slurred from the morphine. "Jan made you eat something?" he asked, not knowing things had gone bad with Toby and Jan. And maybe it was better March hadn't been around for all that, because if there was one person in the whole world that March wished ill on, it was Toby's momma.
There was quiet after all that bed adjusting and wincing. Quiet for drugs to settle in and do what they did, all warmth that March could nearly feel going through his veins. He glanced at the pump, then at the bags with medicine hanging from the stand, then at the things turned on behind the bed, on the wall. It was better, he thought, not to be a damn doctor in times like this. Lying to himself would have been a whole lot easier if he knew less. Finally, settled and near comfortable, he gave Toby a tired smile. "Son, I don't think doing myself more harm is real likely, seeing as I can't move." It was a resigned statement, even though he already knew he was going to try to get his ass back to the hotel, where he at least stood a chance in Hell of being fixed up in a way that wouldn't involve a feeding tube for what was left of his sorry days. "How'd you end up here?" he asked, finally remembering that he hadn't given his name or called for anyone.
"I took myself down to the cafeteria and managed to keep some of that food down," Toby responded, purposefully keeping from speaking of Jan. He wasn't ready to touch on that, not with himself or anyone else, though he knew that there was a wound on their relationship. It made him wonder if it would ever heal.
But he wasn't here to worry about Jan, or even himself, so Toby dragged himself back to what mattered in this moment, and that was March. "You know what I mean," Toby said quietly, pulling his hand away as he returned to the uncomfortable chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He didn't ask what had happened, because if March wanted him to know, he hoped March would tell him. But it was good to hear the sass in March's voice; the body might be injured, but the soul was whole, and that was important.
"The hospital lets me know if either of you are admitted. It's probably against some rule somewhere, but I told them that it was important that I know. So." He hoped that March wasn't angry about the invasion of privacy, and it showed in his eyes. A wariness that wasn't there before, a hesitation that was rarely anything Toby felt. "I hope you're not upset about it."
March started to laugh, and it was only the biting pain in his belly that stopped the sound short. "Tobe, you damn fool, if you were planning on abusing your power, couldn't you do something more exciting?" he asked. It was just like Toby, risking things to make sure his brothers were safe. March had never felt like full kin to Toby and Jan, because the distinction had been too sharp on their momma's end when they were small, but he knew Toby didn't see that distinction the same way he did. It wasn't surprising, and yet part of him wished Toby wasn't spending so much of his life watching over other people. Maybe he was feeling fatalistic; it was real likely.
"Toby, please tell me you're doing something with your life other than watching over folks," March said, closing his eyes again. "Life's a whole lot shorter than you expect. Don't go spending it all on other folks." And maybe it would fall on deaf ears, but it seemed important to say just then, with Toby sitting there at his bedside, looking like he hadn't slept in days.
That laugh that stopped so sharply had Toby’s brow creasing in worry, his lips pressed together in a thin line before March found his words again. “You and I both know that I am thoroughly incapable of anything exciting.” It was said with a small smile, one that didn’t quite meet his eyes, and there was a stress in those brown eyes that wasn’t normally there. “And of course I’m doing something else with my life. I just enjoy keeping an eye on the two of you. That’s all.” And it was an honest response from him; Toby lived more for others than he did for himself, and he felt that it was one of his strengths. The mind of a psychiatrist didn’t allow him to look at himself in the same way he looked at others, and perhaps that was bad. “And I’m young enough still, March,” Toby reminded him. “I’ve another 2 years before I turn 40, and if someone happens to come into my life, or something else comes along, I won’t turn my back upon it.” Though he didn’t expect any of that to happen; he was happy with the way things were, for the most part. If you discounted the new set of thoughts in his head or the way he felt after the fight with Jan.
March did his best to scoff at his older brother, but it didn't come out right; he thought Toby would understand, regardless. Even sick, he knew Toby looked damn stressed. But, with the selfishness of someone that was hurting, he didn't care near as much as he normally would. He was a doctor, and he knew how sick people could be. Being ill brought out the worst in folks, and he didn't want to be that person, so he grit his teeth and didn't bark; he wanted to bark. "You aren't doing anything but working and minding us, son. Get yourself a wife and some children of your own to watch," he suggested. "Don't wait for life to come to you, Toby. You got to go to it sometimes." Which was as much advice as the sick boy in the bed could muster.
Eyes shut again, March wondered if he should tell Toby about his intended jail break. But no, he'd tell him after. He'd have Kara contact him, assuming everything went right as rain. No point in getting Toby worked up before, not when those dark circles were living round his eyes like that. He smiled some, eyes still shut. "Toby, go on and rest. I'm not going to die on you tonight. You got my word."
Another place, another time, Toby might have argued against March's words, told him something along the lines of wives and children not being something you could simply pick up at the store, and it wasn't as though there was a line of women knocking at his door. There had been Theresa, but she was gone, long gone, and Winnie, and Toby couldn't remember when he had last spoken to her. So Toby simply nodded his head in response and rose to his feet.
He didn't say anything as he moved back over towards the bed, laying a hand against March's forehead for a moment before he reached down to give the man's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Only because you're promising not to die. But if you need me, I want you to call. Okay?" There was something heavy in those words, a thread of concern that was unmistakable, but Toby didn't beg, didn't ask for reassurance that March would call. It was important to him, but he wouldn't demand it. "I'll get some rest, and you get yourself better." Another squeeze, a sliver of a smile that went unseen with March's closed eyes, and Toby saw himself out of the room moments later. The door was closed behind him, a quiet click, and Toby stood outside in the hallway for the longest time. One hand pinched at the bridge of his nose, his head filling full, stuffed up with something he couldn't quite put a name to. "Everyone wants you off and married," he murmured to himself before he turned and headed on down the hallway, shoes quiet against the floor.
It wasn't home he went to, however, but his office. Behind locked doors, Toby sat down heavily on the old, battered couch in there, closed his eyes, and willed himself to rest.