jacob frye (havefun) wrote in the100, @ 2016-01-07 19:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, claire temple, jacob frye |
WHO: Claire Temple & Jacob Frye
WHEN: 12/31 - 01/01, midnight
WHERE: Medical Ward
WHAT: Three, two, one! HAPPY NEW YEAR.
WARNINGS: Minor language, some swapping of gross (and historically accurate!) medical stories, paralyzing self-doubt, top hats
So far, it had been a quiet New Year’s Eve. Not for everyone - the rumble of music and laughter could be heard reverberating through the Mountain - but for Jacob Frye, it had been quiet. A mere ten minutes had been wasted tracking and locating his twin sister Evie, who was inexplicably reading something in the library, but after he had begun snapping book covers shut to see which one was the loudest she’d all but escorted him out, claiming that he was being annoying and distracting her from her work. Which he supposed was fair, as his sole purpose for snapping book covers had been to be annoying and to distract her from her work.
Evie sorted, Jacob entered Phase Two of his New Year’s Eve plans and had gathered up a few items from the kitchens, carefully walking the rest of the length to the medical ward without dropping anything necessary. He and Claire Temple had talked before about how she always worked holidays. Doing so wasn’t something foreign to Jacob - he couldn’t remember the last holiday he and Evie had ever been “off”, whatever that was - but it also invited its own need for cheer-making, and he had it on good authority that he was ever-so-cheerful when he wanted to be.
And so over an hour before he’d greeted Claire by kicking at the door to the medical ward, informing her that she had to open up a back door or a window or something for the bad luck to go out, and then as soon as that had been accomplished he’d passed over the traditional bread (for food), salt (for money) and coal (for warmth) for all the necessary New Year luck. It was an old English tradition that apparently hadn’t carried over to America given Claire’s bemused expression, but it was quiet in the ward anyway and the light was dim and no one was about, so they’d started swapping stories about New Year’s past.
“I still can’t believe you had to pull the entire thing out yourself,” Jacob marveled as she wrapped up another tale about People Who Put Questionable Things in Inadvisable Places. “Is it always so mad around the holidays back where you’re from?”
"Well…" Claire looked up at Jacob from where she was perched on a chair and shrugged, a smile tugging on her lips. "Who else was going to?"
She'd been surprised -- and confused, truthfully -- when Jacob had shown up, insisting on following through on some old traditions for the new year. She hadn't expected any company at all, besides the other poor souls who'd decided to sacrifice their evening with her, and she hadn't expected him to stay long. But he proved her wrong to that end, and they settled into an easy conversation. She liked hearing his stories, and he was a good audience for hers. It wasn't often that people were interested in what she had to say. People tended to gloss over what nurses did, and often treated her like a glorified servant. Not Jacob, though, and Claire appreciated that.
"The holidays are good for a lot of gunshot wounds and blown off fingers from fireworks, a lot of drunk people, but it's the random days you really have to worry about." Claire's mind flicked back to the day the portal had opened up over Manhattan. "You think you're just having a nice, normal day, and then all of a sudden, aliens."
He laughed, shaking his head even as his face scrunched up into polite incredulity. Aliens he’d never had to handle, not in his wildest days. He doubted if Charles Dickens himself had conceived the notion. “See, no, I can imagine a normal day, and then all of a sudden, gatling gun. But aliens? Whole different world.” There’d been rumors, of course, of little green men creating pyramids and technology, but nothing concrete. Nothing falling, no blood and steels crumbling under the weight of the alien attack that Claire had experienced.
Jacob propped his chin up, looking thoughtful. “What was it like? Having something so far beyond it all, having that proof right there?”
Claire looked at him skeptically, amused by his assertion that gatling gun was normal. To Claire, his world was hard to imagine. She wanted to laugh at how easy it'd been for her to fathom aliens invading New York in real life, and how easy it was for her to picture a big green guy smashing half of Midtown's windows and a man who could control other people with his voice, but Jacob's stories seemed so foreign. What Claire counted as normal was constantly changing. She'd go insane if she didn't find a way to adjust, here or back in her own world.
Jacob's question made her expression falter, and she exhaled slowly, thinking it over. "Terrifying," she admitted after a moment. "Helpless. Who the hell am I in the face of that? What chance do we even have against something so… so big?" It turned out they had a pretty good chance, in the end, but Claire remembered thinking none of them would make it out of there alive. "It was satisfying, to finally have proof that there was more out there, but no one really wanted Independence Day to come to life." She paused. "That's a movie… about an alien invasion, and humans working together to fight back. I'll see if someone has it in their files. It's a classic."
A great deal of her references were difficult to parse - he understood ‘Independence Day’ to be an American holiday, not a movie, and when he thought of it, a movie was a film, and a film was a moving set of pictures pressed against sound to tell a story! But for all the confusion, Jacob Frye smiled throughout. He felt a true sense of disgust at being so far behind beneath his grin - wasn’t he at the helm of innovation, back home? No, he would not fall to some notion of good enough and let others handle the technology. “I’d like that,” he said, and he thought he might. Movies seemed fun, as foreign as they were. “We didn’t have much notion of aliens, one way or another. There were always those who peered at the glass at the British Museum and declared the mummies to be proof, not to mention those who believed in Spring-Heel Jack and the like. I believe in anything that’s got something to watch attached to it. I suppose buildings collapsing, monsters attacking - that’d be enough.”
A crooked smile, made somewhat more serious by the observant gaze taking in her details. Jacob was silly when he wanted to be, but he wasn’t stupid. Claire was a solid woman, focused and unshakeable. Whatever she had seen to frighten her must have been as believable as the sun rising in the morning. Jacob’s grin broadened, and he deliberately lightened things: “So you believe in aliens, sure, but I show up with a handful of bread and coal and salt for luck and you’re all, hello, he’s gone ‘round the bend?’ I see how it is.”
For a moment, Claire found herself thinking about how hard it must be for someone like him to adjust to all of the things she took for granted. They didn't have much in the way of technology here -- at least in comparison to what she was used to -- but she referenced things beyond his time. The least she could do would be to help clear things up a bit for him. Watching a movie with someone who was so new to that would be fun. It wouldn't hurt that he was good company, either.
Claire made a mental note to track the movie down. She owed him something nice after all the trouble he'd went through to make her smile.
"I believe in them, but I think we've all gone 'round the bend," she answered with a laugh. "Not just you." She tapped his leg playfully. "You're not that special."
Jacob feigned wounded horror at her accusation, but then grinned. “Not a problem,” he said lightly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know what special’s code for - tragic pasts filled with endless suffering and self-recrimination.” Jutting his chin out, he added: “I’m fine with being merely mad with the rest of you. Leave ‘special’ to the professionals. Oh, that reminds me - my turn for horrifying medical stories, yeah? Here’s a good one then.”
“There was a doctor in the West End whose speciality was amputations. Robert Liston - before Evie’s and my time, but we’d heard of him anyhow. He could take an entire leg off in less than three minutes. Didn’t have anything to numb the pain, obviously, which is why he made a point to do it so fast. Used to perform these surgeries in a theater, you know, one of those round medical ones where the students could peer in.” He gestured with his hands, unknowing if medical theaters were still a thing, glancing at her to see if she was following. “Well, he was demonstrating one day how to amputate an arm, and he wanted to beat his previous record, which was thirty seconds, so he had his assistant hold the fellow down, and - “ another hand gesture- “chop chop chop. Twenty-five seconds later, the arm’s off. Unfortunately...” Jacob’s grin widened, even as his nose wrinkled, “...he’d gotten a bit enthusiastic, and managed to chop off his assistant’s fingers. Both the patient and the assistant got sepsis and died, and then someone in the audience was so horrified by the whole thing that they had a heart attack and died. So not only did he beat his old record, he managed to have the first single surgery with a 300% mortality rate.”
His tale concluded, Jacob bowed.
While Claire knew how far medicine had come since Jacob's time, it was different hearing about it from someone who'd actually lived through it. Reading the words in a book didn't make it seem as real as hearing it straight from the source.
Good God, the things that passed as medicine were practically barbaric.
Her expression shifted from open curiosity and genuine interest to apprehension to outright disgust as he talked, and despite her shock, she couldn't help but laugh at his little bow and at the irony of Robert Liston's situation. "Well that must've been a real show," she mumbled, shaking her head in disbelief. "And people wanted to watch? For entertainment? I gotta hand it to him, he did break his record… although does it really count as a success if the patient died? Seems like that should be a requirement in the first place."
Oblivious to Claire’s horror, Jacob merely made a dismissive gesture and leaned against the wall. “Glass half-full, Claire. In this case, it may be half-full of viscera and body fluid, but dammit, we’re terribly optimistic here.” It hadn’t passed him by the advancements that had been made in the medical field since the last time he and Evie were beating the shite out of people, but it wasn’t something he overly thought about. Not his field, and besides, he reckoned he’d learn what he had to about new treatments when he would inevitably be on the receiving end of them.
“So when did you decide that you wanted to-” He’d been about to ask her about her life, how she’d chosen to become a nurse, when the rumble of sound from the party elsewhere in the mountain began to chant numbers. The New Year’s Eve countdown. He’d nearly forgot; time had passed quite without his knowing. Jacob hadn’t intended to spend that much time in the medical ward bothering Claire; he’d simply been altogether enjoying her company.
“Ah-- shite,” he said, losing most of his previous bluster, his mouth curving against a chagrinned laugh. “It’s nearly midnight; look at that.”
Claire's attention pulled away from Jacob when she heard the noise grow louder. She'd completely lost track of the time. That'd happen when… well, not much was happening in the medical ward that night, when everyone else was off having fun, and when the company was nice. The night probably would have dragged on and on if not for him, she thought. She saw her colleagues every day; she didn't get to see him every day, even in such tight quarters.
"Already?" The observation was obvious, and she grimaced at herself. She shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. "Stupid question."
She stood, then, and held out a hand to him. Most New Year's Eves, she was stuck at work -- voluntarily, but it still meant she didn't get to do the fun things everyone else did. Once, a boyfriend surprised her and they made out to the taunts of the rest of the emergency room staff. Most January firsts, however, she celebrated by going out for breakfast and crashing at noon. She knew how to take an opportunity when she saw it. "You're not going to make it down there before midnight, so we'd better make this count."
“I--er!” He’d taken her hand when she’d offered - habit, of course, to accept the offered hand of a lady - but his expression was venturing something between chagrin and panic. “I wasn’t trying to- I didn’t mean to-- this wasn’t just some ploy to get a kiss at midnight, you know,” Jacob said, words tumbling on top of one another. He was more sensitive to most men in the 1860s to the concept of obligation. He loathed it. Obligation, expectation, the idea that women owed him anything for being friendly - he bloody hated it. Not to mention that Jacob talked a big game but at the end of the day when it came to romance, he was much more standoffish than his loud mouth and carefree attitude would indicate.
All that aside, he then realized that protesting altogether too much would put Claire in the position of thinking that a snog at midnight wasn’t something he was interested in. Which was blatantly false, and had been for some time, he was beginning to understand. Jacob had a weak spot a kilometer wide for brave women that did as they pleased, and he liked Claire very much in all the ways that prompted one of his hands to rest at the small of her back. “Though if you think it’d bring us luck, though, by all means,” he said, laughing, the expression on his face more shy than snarky. “Can’t have enough of that.”
For a moment, Claire thought he might actually turn her down. God, wouldn't that have been embarrassing? It wouldn't have been the first time -- nor the last, she thought. Can't win 'em all. Her emotional connection to Matt had burned bright and strong, and it'd burned out just as quickly as it'd started. Maybe that was why it'd been easier to put that in a box and shut it away. She survived that; Claire never really doubted that she could survive anything, except that kidnapping.
But it would have been embarrassing, to put herself out there again, only to have been misreading some signs. She knew she could have played it off easily as "tradition" and "no big deal." Claire was glad she didn't have to.
"I know it wasn't a ploy, and you can say no too, no harm done" she said gently, reaching up to put her arms around his neck. The countdown was getting closer. "But I'm thinking a little luck would be nice."
Emotional attachments were complicated when one killed people for a living. Hell, his last one - last kiss too, actually, point of fact - had managed to be a two-fer. Jacob forced Maxwell Roth’s triumphant expression from his mind - no, stop that, you don’t get to ruin this too - and focused on the potential challenges that would come from--
Oh sod it, like he ever thought things through. He wanted to kiss her, she wanted him to kiss her, there was really no room for lecture and paranoia even without the countdown swiftly progressing in the background of the Mountain’s ambient echoes. “Can’t hurt,” he agreed, relaxing against her as his free hand plucked his top hat off his head and dropped it carelessly behind him just in time to catch the last few seconds of 2150. “Five! Four! Three! Two! One! And… happy New Year!”
The kiss was a combination of fun and silly; he half-dipped her with ease, every trace of hesitation having vanished. And if he lingered a moment or two after, well, he could hardly be blamed for it. “You know,” he murmured, slowly righting her back on her feet, “I’m feeling more fortunate already.”
Whatever she'd expected, it hadn't been that. She'd hoped for something nice, figured maybe it'd be simple, to the point, if only because he seemed a little nervous about getting stuck there for the countdown.
She had no complaints, though. Maybe it was a bad idea. It probably was. They never knew what might happen next. Then again, was that so different than her life back in New York? Life was unpredictable in general; if she didn't reach out and take a hold of whatever moment was right in front of her, it'd pass her by. Claire was getting tired of letting life pass her by because she was trying to protect herself.
Claire laughed, a little nervously. "That's better than the alternative. I'd be embarrassed if kissing me was that bad." She smiled, feeling the warmth on her cheeks deepen. For a midnight kiss, that one was probably going in the books as one of the better ones. "Happy new year."
“And to you,” Jacob answered in return, his hand sliding to his side as he lowered his chin at her in a nod that might have been gentlemanly had it not been coupled with the grin it was. “We’ll have to do it again some time, lest our luck run out.” Apparently now that he’d kissed her he was once again all easy smiles, and indeed, he’d always done better with “well, I’ve done it now” than “should I do it?”.
“You know,” he said after a moment, “it’s ruddy dead in here, and not the sort of dead you medical ward people have to do anything with. How many hours do you have ‘til you’re off then? We could eat breakfast later, if you’d like. I’m likely to still be up.”
"Six." Claire squinted. It was going to be a long night with so little to do. She'd have to console herself with paperwork in the meantime, and pray she didn't fall asleep for long. Maybe one of the others would let her take a catnap… it wasn't as though they expected a crisis. Claire hoped they could avoid that. The people here needed something good for a change.
She took a step back, reluctantly. "If you'll be up, breakfast would be nice. We can try to inspire more luck after. You never know when we'll need it." With a smile, she nudged him gently. She'd better make him leave before she either skipped out on work entirely, or started second-guessing the promise for a repeat kiss. "Go have fun for me, and I don't want to see your face back in here until my shift's over. Deal?"
Jacob had picked up his top hat, dusted it off, and at her suggestion smiled at tipped it to her. “I’ll see you at six, then, for breakfast.” Another person might’ve assumed it’d be breakfast and more, but Jacob was almost fatally-straightforward. He wouldn’t spend the morning hours between now and six overly-analyzing it - although Evie almost certainly had some more annoyances in her future - but rather enjoy Claire’s company for a fun distraction until something else forced him to evaluate.
And until then? Well, fun was fun.