Log: Tuesday, Jack, Richard, and Duckie Who; Tuesday and Jack, and then Richard, and then Richard leaves and Duckie comes in When; BACKDATED to July 4th Where; Outside somewhere, and the at the medlab What; Tuesday and Jack start the log off comparing powers. Then Richard shows up, bitches with Jack, and then Jack shoves him and Richard hits Tuesday with a quarter instead of Jack to make some kind of point and be all 'oooh look what you made happen to your friend, you loser' or something. Anyway, Jack and Tuesday go to the medlab and get Duckie to fix Tuesday.
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Tuesday's been up all night.
It's not that she has trouble sleeping. She's just been trying to find a job. It's hard to do; she can't really get a nursing job because she's not a nurse, and smaller jobs? Jesus. You try getting employed in New York City these days. Everything is automated. She's competing with robots.
She's gone through every online application she could possibly fill out, and now, she's outside looking through the local newspaper. But it's the Fourth of July! And never let it be said that Tuesday isn't festive. Sure, her decorations are kind of old, but she likes to celebrate things. So even while she's outside at a picnic table, circling want ads, there's a good old fashioned Fourth of July headband buried in her hair, the words "4th of July" bouncing around on springs.
Except that ... she's been up all night, and now she's kind of dozing, seeming almost like she's going to start drooling on the newspaper. That would be fine, really, but as she sleeps, she's shifting subconsciously, turning ultraviolet and glowy on the inhale and sliding back down to infrared and invisible when she lets it out. It's kind of bizarre, if you don't know who she is.
"Hey! Hey, look out!"
And suddenly there's a stick hurtling toward Tuesday, crashing down onto the picnic table----followed by a massive dog who leaps up onto the table to tackle the stick and ... Tuesday, in the process.
Following along behind the dog is a very tall, broad-shouldered redhead in red jogging pants and a wifebeater. "Oh, God, sorry----sorry----Elizabeth, get back here. Lizzie, c'mere----"
Tuesday shrieks, mostly out of pure shock. It's not every day you're woken up by a giant dog throwing itself at you! Thankfully, she's too young to have heart problems, so she's fine, if flustered, pushing herself back and knocking over the bench while she's at it -- which makes her stumble and land right on her backside.
"I'm okay," she says breathlessly. "I'm fine. I'm okay, I just---wow that's a big dog."
"She won't hurt you, she's just big and heavy." Jack chuckles and reins Elizabeth back in, kneeling down and nuzzling her while she jumps all over him. "Hi, sorry----" He reaches around Elizabeth and holds out a hand. "I'm Jack."
Pushing herself to sit up, Tuesday reaches over, taking his hand. "I'm Tuesday." They'd met over the journals, but Tuesday had scared him. Clean slates, right? Besides, Tuesday's hardly scary when her little Fourth of July headband is crooked and bouncing around.
"Tuesday. Oh. Hi." Right! "You're Phil's friend..?" Jack doesn't approach this with the same kind of trepidation that he did over the journals. In fact, he's rather serene about it. Like he's found peace and nothing can really shake him from that.
"That would be me. And you're Phil's ... ex?" Tuesday winces, like she's guilty for rubbing it in or something.
Jack presses his lips together for a moment to hide his smile and then shakes his head. "No."
Tuesday sighs. Oh, good. Maybe Phil had been lying to avoid things. He does that. And then she grins. "So you're the monster who pulled Phil out of his little corner where no one was attractive. I don't know if I should congratulate you or lock him into a closet. Good on you."
Jack blushes, looks away, and rubs the back of his neck. "Well, I." Wow, he feels kind of on the spot here. Did she call him a monster? Hey, now. Meanwhile, Elizabeth is trying to sniff Tuesday's crotch.
She means it totally affectionately. Shifting, Tuesday shoos Elizabeth away from her crotch, but makes up for it by scratching her behind the ears. "Don't feel too bad. Phil was just the kid growing up that I would swear would end up reproducing by budding someday. Throws me off a little bit. But if he's happy, then I'm happy for him. You don't seem too bad at all."
"I---thanks?" Jack smiles a little, rather charmed by this, in a strange way. "So I feel awfully exposed and I know nothing about you, that's a little on the unfair side. You were here... a few years ago and now you're back? I really don't know details."
Jack's charmed by the situation, and Tuesday's charmed by Elizabeth, big cute mop of fur that she is. "I came when I was about twelve -- when Pete was in the tank, if I remember right. I stayed until I was eighteen to go to college, and now that my scholarship money's run out ... I'm back. So Phil and I go waaay back. Not in a weird way or anything. But ... yeah. I went to college for nursing, but that was a mistake, it cost way too much and I'm not exactly wealthy. Hm. I make lists. I was adopted when I was about eight by a Jewish couple. My older brother is gay. ---How's that?"
Jack really wasn't expecting a family history, but there you go! He chuckles, folding his arms across his chest. "So you're helping out here in the medlab and you're surrounded by gay people."
Tuesday laughs. "Basically. Gays or Jews. It makes my life a lot easier, let me tell you."
"Gays and Jews make your life easier?" Really! Tuesday should just hang out with Jack and Dave for a while. Her life won't be easier in that instance, that's for sure.
"You bet. No pressure. Your dog is adorable, by the way." Tuesday ruffles her fur, crossing her legs Indian-style to make it harder for Elizabeth to get at her crotch. "I'd rather Phil be gay than straight, anyway. Women are nuts."
Elizabeth is all over Tuesday. Gentle, but she doesn't always know her own strength, and eventually she flops down and tries to lie on her. "I can agree with you there." Jack chuckles, makes himself comfortable. "Happy Independence Day. I completely forgot. I mean, I was reminded by the headgear. Cute."
Oh. Okay. Goodbye circulation, but Tuesday lets Elizabeth flop with a little grunt. Reaching up, Tuesday fixes her headband and flicks one of the letters on springs. "Thanks. I like to think of myself as a festive person." She just won't go out. Stay at home fun.
Jack chuckles. "I haven't had a lot of festivities on my mind recently. It's been kind of stressful. You wouldn't happen to have another set of deely-boppers, would you?" He's not serious, he'd never wear something like that on his head.
"Sure do." In response, she plucks the headband off, brushing off nonexistent dust and offering it over. She's half kidding, really. "I have another one if you want this one."
Jack hesitates, but hey. Good sport. He takes the headband, shakes it a little, and then fits it onto his head. "Dare I ask how I look?" In the white wifebeater and red jogging pants? He looks like a Fourth of July float, that's how he looks.
Tuesday grins. "Like a float." Or a stick insect. Either way: "Very festive. That's an attractive look for you."
"Oh, thank you." Jack smiles at her, shakes his head to make the deely-boppers bounce. "Rumor has it there's going to be fireworks that the staff isn't allowed to know about." Jack grins a little. "But when you have super hearing you get to hear all about that. Even if I'm on staff. Big illegal fireworks." It's not clear whether he's happy or not about that. He's kind of thrilled by the audacity of it but at the same time he's not looking forward to the noise.
"I heard about that. I'll probably end up watching from the air." Far enough away that the noise wouldn't hurt her ears. "I fly," she explains. "Sometimes. Fireworks are best when they're seen and not heard."
"You what, you fly?" Jack blinks. Wow. "You fly? Is that what you do?"
"Kind of. I can ... shift." Describing her powers is weird, and it's hard to find the right words. "I turn into different forms of light, so .. in some of them, I can fly. It's handy for watching fireworks or getting somewhere fast."
Jack squints at her. "I don't think I understand." He's not all hip on the list of superpowers.
Tuesday makes a face. "It ... here, let me show you." A moment later, she's gone -- visually, anyway, and she reaches over to gently touch Jack. She's still solid, but instead of skin, he'll feel heat and pressure. "Infrared. Heat waves."
"Jesus Christ---!" Jack jerks back, startled, and Elizabeth barks. She's confused, too. "Oh, my God..." Wow. Holy shit. His hand reaches out, tries to touch. The difference to Jack is rather incredible. The shift in the air, the way all the molecules change and heat up around her, the hum of her shifted form. Stuff no one could notice except for him.
Tuesday would like to say she's used to that reaction, but it's not like she demonstrates much. Still, when Jack reaches out to touch, she touches his hand with hers, pressing their palms together. She hasn't asked what Jack's power is yet, and even while she's invisible and warm, she says, "What do you do?"
"Ah." Jack sighs. "Superpowered senses. To the point where it's sort of detrimental. Can be really useful, but... detrimental. This is how it's always been, so I should be used to it, but the body and brain can really only take so much. And I do this little.." Jack kind of likes showing off this part. He gets up off the grass, and then lets himself sit back----in midair. He finds where the air will hold him, settles on just the right balance... and then he's pretty much hovering, it seems. He'd say he's sitting on things no one else can sit on.
Tuesday gasps, shifting back into visible life. "Wow. Is that ... are you telekinetic or something?"
"Um. No," says Jack, dropping back down onto the ground. "It's more like..." He runs his fingers through the air. "This space ... isn't empty. This air isn't a mass of nothing. It's full of atoms and molecules and all kinds of things that people can't see or feel, and... I can feel it." Jack always feels like he's in a mist. There's always a tingling pressure against his body. A bit like being underwater, but lighter, more delicate. "I can feel it and... touch it... and... I guess there's an x-gene mutation in there that lets me manipulate it. To an extent."
"Wow," she repeats, reaching out her hand, phasing back into infrared and letting her hand brush his in the air. "This has to feel really weird to you."
Jack's fingers twitch and tug back for a second, and then settle against hers. "Ah... yeah. Yeah, it's really weird."
Tuesday is warm -- but that's all she is right now. Thankfully, she can phase her clothes with her. That could get awkward otherwise. "Mine can hurt people, too," she admits. "I give sunburns when I'm in ultraviolet. I'm a horrible person to sleep next to."
"Are you ultraviolet when you sleep?" Jack chuckles. "So if I were to sleep next to you, I'd be fried to a crisp by morning?"
Tuesday snickers. "I shift in and out when I breathe. I can't help in when I'm sleeping, so ... ta da. Sunburns."
"Remind me not to spend time in bed with you," says Jack, and then he realizes... gosh, that's rather awkward, isn't it! He flicks the deely-boppers for good measure. "I mean. Ah. Of course I wouldn't be."
Rather than let it be awkward, Tuesday laughs, gradually fading back into visible light. "Of course not. I'm not that kind of girl."
Jack wiggles his head so the deely-boppers shake. "Oh, sweetheart, neither am I." Playing up the Gay for effect. Complete with hands on hips and a playful roll of his shoulders.
"Well, good. I'd hate to think I'm making friends with someone who's..." Tuesday makes a so-so motion with her hand.
"Someone who bats for both teams? Someone who's only gay in order to get the ladies?" Jack is grinning, reaching down to scratch Elizabeth's ears when she whines for attention.
"Someone who's that kind of girl," she answers with a winning smile. "But I've met the second type. It's a trip."
"It's a trip! It's downright cruel. Gives me a bad name. I like to think that women are absolutely safe around me." Jack chuckles and goes over to sit at the picnic table. Elizabeth happily follows and nuzzles his lap, gets her paws all up on him. "But am I safe around you, is the question. Are you going to give Phil a reason to worry?"
Pushing herself up off the ground, Tuesday brushes at her clothes and settles back in at the table, pulling her newspaper back over. "Please. You're more than safe. I don't date."
"I didn't date, either," says Jack, rather ruefully. "But... mm." Oh, he's doing that thing. That dreamy-eyed thing. He's just gotten back together with Phil. Forgive him. Things aren't comfortable but he's glad to be settled again. "You should tell me about Phil when he was twelve." Grinning. "Sometime. He might not want me knowing stuff like that."
"Yes, well. When I say it, I mean it." Tuesday's smile turns wry. "I'm too busy trying to find a job to have a relationship. Too much emotion. But I'll tell you all about Phil one of these days, from what I remember. He was the awkward freaky kid. It was cute, in a gawky geeky kinda way."
"I met him once, when were, like ... six or so. I forgot all about it until a little while ago. I gave him my kneepads and he stashed them behind a cabinet----and we found them again and that's the only reason I remember." Jack is fondly petting Elizabeth and dealing with her. She loves the fresh air, loves being outside where she can run around. She's rolling around in the grass now.
"He was a good kid. Still is. I've kept in contact with him, but he didn't mention you in his emails." Tuesday shrugs. "Maybe he just didn't know where to start, since I was so used to him not ... caring. Or he thought I wouldn't believe it unless I met you personally."
Jack waves a dismissive hand. "That doesn't surprise me; he doesn't talk about us. Not with other people, anyway. It's a scary thing for him, so." He shrugs. "Sometimes it gets to me. Sometimes it doesn't. I understand, or I try to. He's nervous and he's private."
"Phil takes some time," she admits. "I really can't say much more than that. It's not really my business." Tuesday's content with that. She's not a relationship advice type person. "I'm happy to be back, though. Lots of new people, but what can you expect? Like ... him, for example, I've never seen him before."
Tuesday motions behind Jack to one of the older residents (that, or just an older looking student) throwing a stick to a big black dog.
Jack looks over his shoulder and all of the color drains from his face. Elizabeth follows his gaze and barks. "Lizzie? Lizzie, no. No." But too bad. Elizabeth is barking and bounding over. She's too trustworthy, too friendly, and she's going off to try and get the stick.
Tuesday looks from Jack's face back to the dogs, standing, even if she doesn't know what to do -- or even what the problem is. But ... hell. They just look like they're having fun. The black dog is barking right back, looks like he's going to attack until the man yells his name. At that, the dog -- Ace -- seems to calm down, bounding over to Elizabeth and promptly smelling her rear.
"...friends of yours?" she asks cautiously.
"No." Jack frowns. "Elizabeth!"
Lizzie lifts her head, barks, but she's too interested in Ace right now, sorry.
"No. Not friends of ours."
Ace is being downright friendly. He's bigger than Elizabeth (not by much), butting at her with his head. Playing. But the way Jack says it makes Tuesday a little ... worried. "Who is he?" Whoever he is, he's calling his dog back, sending Ace barreling back toward his owner, tackling him onto the ground just as playfully, knocking him on his ass and licking his face.
Jack watches all of this with something very much like disgust. "Lizzie, c'mon..." And then Elizabeth is bounding back over with the stick. "He's the English teacher," he mumbles irritably. "And I have reason to believe he's responsible for my father's murder." No, he's not going to keep that a secret, thanks.
"He what?"
"Hey, Jack!" The man is pushing his dog away from his face, raising a hand in greeting. Perfectly friendly, except for that grin, showing too much teeth for comfort.
Jack lifts a hand in turn, his smile very false, very forced. "Hi, Richard." Richard probably can't hear him, because he really doesn't bother to raise his voice in order to be heard at all. "Yeah. Mm." To Tuesday now. "Yep. That's the man who killed my dad." Another little wave.
"Shouldn't you call the police or something?" Tuesday is stunned. Richard's a big man, easily around six feet, and he's wrestling with that dog like it's nothing.
"Wilson Fisk's son," says Jack through his teeth. "It doesn't work that way."
"Oh." Yeah. Tuesday knows what that means. "...What about Emma?"
"I ... that's the thing. I don't want to be swinging accusations around." Jack frowns. "I don't know whether that's truly the case. I've confronted him. We fought, physically, I... mm. I have no doubt he could have and would have done it but I don't have proof at all."
Tuesday doesn't have a reason not to believe Jack. It sounds weird, sure, but this is New York City. And this is the Academy. Tuesday's used to the weird stuff. Richard's pushing Ace off of him, picking up another stick and tossing it to get him away. "Still. It wouldn't hurt to ask Emma to look, if you're that sure. She doesn't have a problem getting into peoples' heads."
Jack shakes his head. "Funny thing." He taps his temple. "He's immune to psychics. He's got a mix-and-match set of powers and they all add up to something dangerous... and the thing is... he's really friendly but I think underneath all that he's insane. He's got a heartbeat that doesn't waver. I can't tell when he's lying. He scares me more than anything; whether or not he killed my father. There's something wrong with him."
"Damn." How convenient. Tuesday moves around to sit on the same bench as Jack, watching Richard warily. "Maybe he has a pacemaker? That can keep a heartbeat from skipping when someone lies."
"I don't know." Jack shrugs quietly. "I don't know. I try to avoid him ever since he set me on fire."
"He set you on fire?!"
"Calling my name, Jackie?" Oh, yeah. Richard heard that part, whistling for Ace to come back to him and making his way over. "New friend?"
Shit. Way to be subtle, Tues. Jack looks up at Richard, the deely-boppers bouncing cheerily despite his expression. "Richard." Doesn't bother introducing Tuesday. He doesn't feel like being that polite, thanks.
"And...?" Richard motions toward Tuesday with a tip of his head.
Tuesday would have introduced herself, but she's busy staring up at him. She's usually more polite but apparently this guy sets people on fire!
"Tuesday. This is Tuesday, um." Jack doesn't know her last name, sorry. He was told, but he forgot. Her first name is so memorable he supposes that she doesn't need a last name. "So. Richard. Tuesday. Now you know one another. Richard, I was just telling Tuesday how you set me on fire." He smiles as politely as he can.
Tuesday starts answering with, "Johnson---", but Richard cuts her off. Or, really, they start speaking at the same time and Tuesday is drowned.
"An accident. I react badly to being sucker punched and tackled. Sometimes, things just happen."
Jack's mouth twitches and he grinds his teeth. "I happen to sucker punch and attack people who insult my family." Yeah. Even if Richard didn't kill Matthew Murdock, the things he'd said were pretty unforgivable.
"So calling your father a sadistic bastard for what he did to my mother is worth an attack, but Terry Ellsworth repeatedly referring to him as a faggot is kosher?" Richard raises an eyebrow.
"Excuse me? Since when is any of that your fucking business? My father didn't rape your mother," Jack snaps angrily. Hi, Tuesday, welcome to the world of the Fisk-Murdock feud.
"Funny, most people would call what he did to her sexual assault---"
"Hey!" They can't see her, but Tuesday's there, squeezing between them in infrared, pushing them apart. She isn't physically touching Jack (though he can feel her), but the hand against Richard's chest is hot. He started it, after all. "Not now, okay? Happy Independence Day. Celebrate. Don't fight." It sounds like something worth fighting over, but not now, yeah?
Jack is calmed down a little by Tuesday, but he still tears off the deely-boppers like that's the signal he's going to war. "You can suck my cock, Richard. I'm going to figure out exactly what the hell you're up to."
Richard takes a step back before Tuesday has the chance to burn him through his shirt. Brushing nonexistent lint off of his clothes, he just grins. "I would, but I don't put my mouth on anything that dirty. And where's the mystery, Jack? So far, I'd consider myself to be absolutely transparent." And just like that, Richard's leaving, like he's just closed a perfectly reasonable conversation. "Ace. Come on, you brute, let's go."
As he's walking away, scratching Ace behind the ear, Richard waves -- and as he does, his sleeve creeps down his sleeve just enough to expose part of the strangely shaped burn.
Or the curves of a branded-in bullseye.
And Jack? Fuck it, he stops being polite. A smack of his hand against the air and it creates enough of a gust to shove Richard hard in the back.
Richard stumbles forward. He doesn't seem to take it well. Richard's looking back and pulling something out of his pocket, throwing it like a bullet.
He's not aiming at Jack. Whatever it is, it hits Tuesday in the arm; she's slid back into visible, now that Richard's walking away, and she steps back with a shriek, holding her arm.
"Might be you next time, Murdock. Keep that in mind."
Jack is nothing short of horrified. He immediately goes to Tuesday, trying to pull her hand off of the wound. "Oh, my God, I can't believe----" The more time he spends with Richard, the more he's convinced that the man is completely psychotic. "Oh, God, are you okay? Are you okay--?"
Tuesday has her hand pressed firmly to her skin, and she makes an uncomfortable noise when he tries to move it. "Don't---! Don't, he got me in the elbow---" It's excruciating, and she has to cut herself off to grind her teeth. What the hell is this? She comes home and a week later, someone's throwing things! "I don't know what he threw. I don't know what he threw, oh my God---"
"All right---okay... fuck. All right, so we'll take you to see Dr. McCoy." Except, oh shit, Dr. McCoy's in Japan, isn't he? "Take you to see Phil. Phil's in charge while his dad's away, this shouldn't... hooookay, this really shouldn't be that bad. What the fuck is wrong with him, I'm talking to Emma, I'm... I'm taking this to her. I am so sorry, I never thought that he'd..."
"It's not your fault," Tuesday hisses. "I---hn. Help me---help me get my shirt off---" Even now, she doesn't feel comfortable asking him for his, but her shirt will work better than her hand.
"I'm not----no, you keep your shirt on." Jack's being nice, and he's taking off his own shirt to wrap around her elbow. "Come on." He's used to dealing with injuries lately. Usually they're his own, so he's pretty thankful for that, at least. "Have you met Duckie? If we're lucky she'll be downstairs and you'll have the right blood----what's your type? I... don't know what types she deals with, honestly. I just know that she asks that."
"I'm B negative---thank you." Tuesday holds the shirt tight around her elbow. "I don't know. I don't remember." She's holding back tears; tears make it hard to see and breathe. She's trying to stay calm, keep her heart rate down. "Thank you."
"Shut up!" Jack exclaims, giving her shoulder a friendly shove despite her injury. "So am I!" Distracting her by being pleasant and upbeat. "Come on, Elizabeth, to the labs we go..."
Oh. Oh, ow, thank Jack. "Ow." She's dripping a little, but the shirt's soaking it up, so Tuesday's walking, biting the inside of her cheek on the way to the medlab.
When they get there, Phil's heartbeat isn't. Jack doesn't even bother calling his name to ask if he's there. However, there's a heartbeat that he... sort of... kind of... recognizes as female and semi-familiar. "Duckie? You down here?"
Large white wings stretched across at least a desk and a half as if they had sprouted from the office furniture and could be piloted across the skies. The much smaller girl actually attached to those wings was crouching on the floor, trying to grab something that had fallen when her name is called, popping her up like bird bobbing in the water. "Yeah, I'm sorry! I just came down to ask Phil something an- oh! Jack! Tuesday?" Her wings drop as her shoulders do, pinfeathers hitting the floor in *swoosh*.
"Duckie!" Tuesday moves over to a table to rest her arm on it. "I was hit in the elbow. I don't know with what."
Jack just has to mention: "Richard Fisk threw something. I'm guessing it's a coin. I don't know." He's carefully working to unwrap Tuesday's arm. "And I'm going to Emma about it, it was entirely unprovoked. On her part. I might have provoked him but he didn't do anything to me. Which just means he's batshit crazy and she's hurting and ... you can help her, right? Maybe, yeah?"
Duckie shuffles over, her face following every moment of the explination. "Oh- what- how- Oh gosh." Biting her lower lip, she gingerly assists in the unwrapping, wincing at the wound, "He threw a coin!?" Because that did NOT look like a coin! That was horrible! Duckie has no bedside manner as her arms flails for a moment as she looks for something sharp. "Oh, oh gosh, I need a ... sharp thing!"
It's deep, too. Richard Fisk has an arm on him. "It's not gushing," Tuesday says, swallowing hard. "Probably didn't hit anything major. ---Calm down, Duckie." Like Duckie's hurt and Tuesday isn't. It hurts like a bitch, and Tuesday's jaw hurts from grinding her teeth, but there's something bizarrely cathartic with thinking of her own injury as just another test scenario from college.
"Well, shit." Jack's no medic, either, so he just looks up at Tuesday. "You mind telling us how we're supposed to get this out? You're the nurse... we'll get it out, she'll heal you up, it'll be like nothing ever happened." He grins, tries to be pleasantly reassuring.
Meanwhile, Duck amuck continues. Drawers are rifled through, little noises of sympathy pain following after her. "Of all the days, Phil's not- oh, oh gosh, where do they keep- oh, here! Found it! Found, uhm, something." A desk chair topples over as her wings hit it and she stops to right it again before coming back. "Ohhhh we are going to have to get it out," Duckie winces. What do we do?!?
Tuesday swallows hard. Nods. "Okay. Okay. We'll have to get it out like a splinter." Okay, that may or may not be right, but she's in pain and she's only half a nurse! "And then we'll seal it back up and---and if it's okay with Duckie, we'll just do a minor blood transfusion, yes? Right. Okay."
"Oh, whatever, you don't have to seal it up," says Jack, grinning. "She'll just bleed on you; it's all very unscientific." He winks in Duckie's direction. Let's be cheery, folks. That's really hard when he wants to kill Richard Fisk. "I'm really glad Phil's not here right now," he says through his teeth. "'Cos he would kill me for this." What was it Phil said? Do not engage? Ignore him? Stay away from him? Yeah. Oops.
"Duckie, if you don't think your hands are steady, I... would be willing to bet I could get it out." Jack's no doctor, but he's got sensitive hands that are good for delicate jobs. "You know. If that's.. I don't know if that's allowed. I mean, I'm not saying you can't do it..." But she's twitching all over the place and knocking stuff over! Jack's concerned for Tuesday's arm.
She fixes Jack with a look. "I'm not even supposed to be in here!," she squeaks. "I'm saying I can't do it!" She turns a much more empathic eye towards Tuesday. "Are you okay?," she asks, putting a gentle hand on her good shoulder. "And... do you know where the getting stuff out of people equipment is?" Help.
Tuesday shakes her head. "I don't know where anything is anymore." She's not sobbing, but the tears are trailing down her face now. She can only hold back for so long. "I, um---try that cabinet. Farthest to the right." She pretty sure she remembers a case of ... something in there.
Jack is starting to get all twitchy. Where is Phil and why isn't he here and why didn't he ask Phil to train him in first aid! Damn it! Jack can patch up your average wound or two, but tugging out shrapnel isn't a strong point. Neither is navigating the medlab. However, he's heading to the cabinet in question, finding forceps amongst a lot of other instruments. Okay, okay. It's a start. "Hopefully it didn't go too deep," Jack murmurs, coming back to Tuesday and setting the instrument down. He's a historian. He knows that people used to survive when they got pieces of arrows lodged in them and someone would... take the piece out with sharp pointy sticks. It may not be up to code but whatever Duckie's going to do will make up for whatever mistakes Jack makes.
"I doubt Richard meant to do a lot of damage..." Jack's taking Tuesday's arm, using his shirt----which had been wrapped around the wound----to clear away blood. "Let me just..." His fingers start to touch and his ears start to listen. If there's one thing his father taught him, it's that his eyes can be more of a hindrance than a help. His eyes, in fact, close.
Duckie is in no condition to complain or backseat nurse on this whole thing, so when jack closes his eyes, she just makes a little squeaky noise in the back of her throat and bites her finger. Feeling a little useless, she waits to see how this turns out and angles a nearby light better so that Jack can see what he's... oh. Never mind.
Tuesday swallows hard. Nods, hissing quietly when Jack touches. Super senses. That's what he said. So Tuesday stays quiet, reaching up. Quietly asking Duckie's permission to take her hand.
She'd held on to her shoulder, fingers rubbing at her back but when Tuesday reaches for her hand, Duckie is there. She sort of wants to start up conversation, but at the same time, they might need the only medically trained person to throw in a couple directions now and again, so the Worthington girl kept a silent vigil.
Jack works blindly, listening to where the blood flow shifts from being contained to.. uncontained, to the way the blood and muscle responds to a foreign object----his radar sense isn't as developed as his father's was, but in touching and in listening he thinks he has a good idea of exactly where to go. Which is good, because he's sliding the forceps into the wound. He should have disinfected them, but.. again, Duckie will handle that, right?
Tuesday squeezes Duckie's hand. She's not someone who needs physical contact with people, but she needs someone to hold onto when Jack's poking into her arm. But she's handling it pretty well, all things considered, whimpering softly but staying as quiet as she can manage. Jack needs to concentrate.
She wants to watch, but she doesn't want to watch. she wants to make sure everyone's okay, but oh gosh he's putting something in her arm... Duckie gives Tuesday's hand a squeeze to comfort the both of them and says a mini-little prayer that Jack can pull this off.
It takes a couple of excruciating minutes, but slowly, surely, Jack is pulling out the object. Whatever it is. He's got the forceps around it but he's not sure what it is.
When Jack finally gets it out, it's a quarter. Bloody, of course, but unmistakably a quarter. Old, too. Tuesday squints at it to get a better look. "...Is that the Kentucky state quarter?"
Jack frowns, looking up at Tuesday. "Uh. Does it matter? It's a fucking quarter."
"Oh my GOSH it's a QUARTER!" Duckie has the right reaction, horrified by the good sized coin that got embedded in Tuesday's arm. With little pomp or preperation, Duckie grabs for the sharp object she'd brought with her and slammed it through the meaty part of her palm. With barely a wimper, she reached out and pressed her own wound to Tuesday's, a solid connection of contact that started out warm and quickly lost all pain.
"Duckie--!" Tuesday watches Duckie stab herself with a hiss and a wince, but that's mostly ignored when Duckie touches her. Her arm heals fast, and Tuesday sighs gratefully. "Thank you." She could've healed herself, but ... Tuesday's healing doesn't stick like Duckie's.
That was a whole lot of stuff happening really quick and Jack feels a little ill at all the blood and stabbing and he just pulled a motherfucking quarter out of a girl's arm! He has to go stumble away toward the sink to was his hands. And try not to throw up, thanks.
For her part, Duckie sighed with relief, that short sharp stabbing pain well worth the satisfaction of seeing someone better. "I'd say 'better thanks would be not doing that again' but someone did put a quarter in your arm man that's weird!," the girl with the white feather wings and the power to heal people with her blood interrupts herself. "Now, he threw that at you and it stuck in your arm? Did he... do it on purpose or is he maybe super-strong or something?"
"He was having a fight with Jack." Like that makes it worse. "It was weird. He and Jack started bickering, Jack shoved him a bit with his powers, and the next thing I know, he's throwing stuff at me. It looked pretty on purpose to me. That guy seems like a psycho."
"He's Bullseye's son," says Jack, from where he's hunched over at the sink. "Biologically. It's no secret, he'll tell you if you ask, along with a big sob story." Jack is washing his hands in hot water, getting them covered in soap. Thanks to the blood, the bubbles are pink. "If it hit you, he was aiming for you. And Duckie, that's... what Bullseye does. Did. I don't even know if he's alive anymore. I don't know how he does it but he could throw an eraser at you and it would probably kill you. Or at least bust you up a little. I don't know what it is. Quarters? Yeah. No question he'd throw a quarter and it'd lodge in you like a bullet."
Duckie holds up a thin little hand, "And... why is he here again?" And why was Jack shoving him but that might start a whole chain of arguments as to blame and fault but for right now, these two are describing someone not exactly sane working at her parents' school who is more than a danger to himself and others.
"I have no idea, but I know I won't be inviting him to my birthday party anytime soon."