Remy LeBeau: Here For Your Entertainment. (mssr_lebeau) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2014-09-22 19:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, d'artagnan, remy lebeau (gambit) |
Who: D’Artagnan & Remy LeBeau
When: September 17th, About 5pm
Where: Newport Bay Hospital
What: D’Art hears about Remy getting hurt and comes to check on him.
Rating/Warnings: PG13 for Language
Status: Completed
Remy had a rather nice day in New York on the fifteenth. He’d come home rather late, he’d slept a few hours and he’d gone back out before any other of the other three living in his home had woken. He had work to get to, he had a few people to see, and he had a girl who needed some socks and underwear.
Well, the crazy girl with no socks and underwear had shot him.
Yes, shot him. From two feet away. In the chest.
He’d been unconscious before he’d hit the ground and the woman responsible had pranced out. Luckily, the guys from the bar knew him and called an ambulance.
Four hours of surgery later, Remy was left in a comfortable bed, but no one was called. He had no next of kin. No family at all, in fact, and by the time they had tried to call New Orleans to get hold of his residence and perhaps someone there, it’d been too late and the calls had gone to voicemail.
So he’d spent his first night in the hospital alone.
And most of the next day.
He wouldn’t have even woken by the time D’Artagnan rushed down, but he’d be a sight. He’d been put up in a private room-- they knew who he was-- and he was shirtless, though his chest was tightly wrapped and the blankets were pulled up to just beneath his arms. An oxygen mask assured he got enough to keep breathing.. a hole in his lung had been repaired and they didn’t want it working too hard to get air. Two saline IVs into one arm and a morphine drip into the other. A pulse monitor kept a steady beep in the background.
When D’Artagnan had shown up and explained he was a friend, they’d been glad to let them into the room, the nurse calmly explaining that he’d been shot, that his surgery had gone well but that he hadn’t woken up yet. She’d asked if she could get anything for the brunette, but had ultimately left him alone.
The poor man would be left there for half an hour before the Cajun in the bed shifted and took in a deep breath-- it made the monitors start beeping like mad. HolyfuckingmotherofGod that had hurt. Hazel eyes widened a little and he was immediately lifting a hand to try and pull the mask away from his face.
Hi, D’Artagnan, thanks for being there for this. It’d be the one chance you got to see Remy LeBeau absolutely and completely in a panic.
**
No matter how calm the nurse had explained it, there was never a good way to tell someone that their friend had been shot. No matter how many people he’d seen injured in the years of police service, it was still never easy to hear. That meant nothing though. It didn’t stop D’Artagnan from wanting to be with him.
He had dropped everything when that notice passed by his desk during his search. He didn’t even know what he had or hadn’t left at work, or if he’d bothered telling anyone where he was going. He didn’t remember. If they were smart enough though, all they’d have to do was look at his computer. He wasn’t exactly a genius when it came to them, or paranoid enough to shut it off because he was going somewhere else. He’d likely left that information all up on his screen.
He didn’t care.
The only thing on his mind was making sure his friend was okay. Hospitals were awful places. Sure they healed and meant to be good, but they could be damn terrifying and he knew it from personal experience. He’d sped his way toward the hospital and arrived in record time.
Remy was still asleep when he opened the door. Or was it unconscious? Sleep sounded better in D’Artagnan’s head. He released a breath he’d been holding unconsciously when he noticed he wasn’t awake yet as he approached and sat down near by.
“How the hell does this kind of thing happen to you so much?” He frowned some. First the ribs, now getting shot. He was convinced Remy had shit luck.
Remy hadn’t stirred at his question, so he got comfortable. As much as he could anyway, and waited. Finlly the sound of the machine’s sudden erratic sounds broke him from his worried trance, and he pushed the nurse call button and stood beside the Cajun.
“Remy? Hey. Hey calm down, it’s okay?’ He didn’t really know how to react to these situations, or if he should just let him peel off the mask, but he reached down to grip his arm in attempt to let him know he wasn’t alone at the least. Maybe that would help somehow. Unless Remy decided to use that power of his in his frantic moment. Who knew. D’Artagnan still took the chance.
***
It wasn’t exactly his choice to use that power-- not all the time. Thankfully, the mask was small enough he didn’t accidentally charge it up and he’d gasp for breath as he looked up at D’Artagnan and finally focused on him.
Two nurses would come rushing in and his mask would be replaced and his arms held down, strapped to the bed with little bits of velcro, to keep him from pulling the mask off again. The oxygen helped to calm him down slightly and he finally relaxed back into the bed. The nurses would linger a few seconds, then quietly leave.
The Cajun broke into a little grin beneath that mask and nodded some at the kid.
He certainly didn’t consider himself to have bad luck-- he had good luck. Nothing ever happened to him. Rogue had attacked him on accident and she could have broken his neck. So that had been good luck.
And this? Shot in the chest from two feet away? That was definitely good luck. He should have been dead.
One of those restrained hands would lift some, but he couldn’t bring it back up to the mask. Shit. So he’d just gesture. Come on, D’Art, help him get this thing off.
God, he felt like he’d just run a marathon, he was exhausted, but nothing hurt.
It was nice.
Why was he here again?
***
Most normal people didn’t get into those situations at all. D’Artagnan considered that as he sat there watching until that horrible moment. He’d never seen him so panicked before, and it worried him watching the nurses be so almost callous about it.
“Is that strictly necessary?” He asked moodily as they restrained him. They seemed to know what they were doing though so he didn’t interfere much. Chances were it was what Rem needed. He wasn’t a doctor after all, he didn’t know these things. Still they could have been less rough on him.
But then they were gone again and he was left alone in the room with the injured man. As he raised his hand D’Artagnan looked at him in confusion. “I think it needs to stay on for a while. Jesus Remy. What the hell happened?”
Not like he could answer with that thing on his face, and yet the question remained. D’Artagnan reached out to give his arm a squeeze in an attempt to be at least mildly comforting even though he didn’t have a clue how to help him here.
***
He’d mutter something beneath that mask, but there was just no way to hear it. He’d shift his fingers again, lifting his arms to try and get to the mask, but it was no use. So he’d just give up and watch the other man with a tired, but sort of bland look. ‘Really?’ that look said.
The monitor had begun to even out again, slow and steady, and the nurse waiting in the doorway would finally leave the two of them alone.
The Cajun glanced at the door, then again at the kid.
***
This wasn’t going to work. Remy without words was just odd, and yet he had to speak somehow. “Hang on.” With that he disappeared from the room for a good ten mintutes to the front desk. He remembered on his way in he saw the nurse the front desk with a white board, and he was going to sweet talk her-or pay her out of it.
Unfortunately for him, it worked a little too well-his sweet talking. Now he felt like he was going to have a crazy stalker nurse on his hands. But hey, he got what he needed. She’d loaned him the white board on the condition that there be a meal of some kind. She didn’t specify when or what, or that it had to be together. Appreciate it Remy, D’Artagnan was using your own tactics to get his way. Maybe he had been paying attention a little too well.
He returned those few minutes later with said white board and handed it to the man. “Just until they remove that?” Now he could talk a little. At the price of starbucks or something for the R.N.
**
He was so very proud of his handsome little protegee.
A smile cracked his face again and he nodded some, accepting the board and scribbling out a question-- then he turned it to face the kid.
Am I going to have a cool scar?
Yes, D’Artagnan, he couldn’t even take this seriously.
Really, he was just trying to make the poor brunette smile. He looked so sad.
***
Of course he was. He would have been the same if it were anyone else he knew too. Hospitals were no joke. Remy in this condition worried him. He’d never seen him so vulnerable looking. D’Artagnan looked over at him while he scribbled some things out on the board, and then he felt himself become more annoyed than likely he should have.
“Is everything a joke to you Remy?” Logically he knew people reacted differently to trauma, but illogically where his brain was at right now he thought his friend was in danger of dying. It was nothing to laugh at. Not to him anyway.
The most frustrating thing was he had to wait patiently as possible for the man to write his responses and he was still grinning.
***
He’d turn that board around and smear his hand over it to erase the words, then he’d write something else out and turn it around to face D’Artagnan.
You’re more handsome when you smile.
He smiled more under that mask, then would turn the board back to write something else, turning it again to face him.
Don’t worry. So simple.
***
D’Artagnan wasn’t known for his patience or his calm demeanor. Those few words caused only more anger to build inside him. “Who the fuck would be smiling when they hear their friend has been shot through secure channels? You realize small injuries don’t come through those lines don’t you?” He couldn’t just sit there anymore, he was pacing now. Too much energy and nowhere to put it.
“I don’t feel like smiling. I feel like..” He didn’t know what he felt like aside from finding the person who did this and putting them behind very solid bars for a very long time. He didn’t care who the shooter was, or why. Maybe he should have, but those thoughts didn’t even cross his mind just yet.
***
Another smear of his hand over the board and he’d write again, then turn it around to face him, eyebrows going up just some. God, he was exhausted. He felt a little like he was going to pass out again.
These drugs were great. He felt fine.
It doesn’t hurt. It couldn’t have been that bad, right? He didn’t feel anything. Something was added to the board. I thought I was dead.
And that, D’Artagnan, was why he seemed so pleased. He didn’t expect to be waking up when she turned that gun on him. But here he was.
It wasn’t that bad, handsome secret agent man.
***
He wondered for a moment if he’d been too irrational, but even if he had that hadn’t stopped him from reacting that way. It was too much to see his friend there like that and manage some kind of control. He didn’t even want to know what things would be like if it had been Athos in that bed, or Aramis or Porthos. If he was already this mixed up who the hell knew.
And then Remy was writing at him again. He wanted to have an actual conversation. One that didn’t end in flirting or mindless gifts. Or distractions. Drugs were probably as close as he was going to get to that.
“Who did this?” If Remy didn’t tell him, he had his ways of finding out, and oh he would find out. “So did I. But you’re not allowed to do that you know.” His expression softened some as he added for Remy’s own amusement. “You’re too pretty to die.” For his sake in attempt to make him smile this time. He wasn’t hundred percent angry, he was worried. It just happened to seem like anger. And maybe only half was.
***
He was definitely drugged out of his mind.
Take advantage if you dared, D’Artagnan.
A woman. Valerie. Came the next bunch of words, erased and then something else to follow. That’s damn right. He wrote out again, smiling tiredly.
The words erased, he’d write for a few long seconds, then turn it around.
Tic-Tac-Toe. He’d put his X in the middle, D’Artagnan.
He didn’t want you looking so miserable.
***
“You’re also too much a pain in the ass to die.” He teased him again. Trying to lighten the mood some, but the worry still existed and the smile didn’t reach his eyes at the words on the white board.
“Valerie huh. “ It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start. Maybe after Remy had rested some he’d be able to get a last name on this ‘Valerie’ person. Orange was a fairly big city after all.
Then his own expression flattened a bit as if to say ‘Really?’ at the game presented, but for the time being he’d indulge the man. He had been hurt, and really there wasn’t much more D’Artagnan could do other than to help him pass the time in the hospital. If this entertained him somehow without endangering him, he had an obligation to do so as a friend.
Though he was awful at these kinds of games, and Remy had taken the best spot. He made grumpy sound at him and played along. Marking a circle in one of the corners.
***
Remy looked amused, at least, and would play out the game with him until he won, then he’d erase it and write out a note, holding it up for him.
You don’t have to stay. I’m not going to die.
Go ahead to your new home and your boyfriend, D’Artagnan, the last thing you needed was this mess. He was fine.
***
D’Artagnan shrugged, he wasn’t terribly crushed Remy had beaten him at the game and he settled back in a chair near by to relax some.
“I know I don’t have to stay, Doesn’t mean I’m not going to though. I’ll see if I can ease your boredom somehow and charm that nurse into letting us hijack one of the tvs or something. I can go pick up some movies at least.” He knew hospitals were boring, and even worse when you were the one bed bound, he was going to try to make this as less boring as he could.
“If I feel like leaving I will.” A lie, he didn’t want to leave Remy but he wasn’t going to make him feel like a charity case either.
**
The Cajun nodded a little. Good. If D’Artagnan felt like leaving, he should.
It was just seconds later that the nurse came back into the room with a little smile at the two of them, coming up alongside the bed and injecting something carefully into the IV. She’d then undo the restraints on his wrists and carefully take the board and marker.
“You need to sleep, Mr. LeBeau.” Insisted with her same reassuring smile. Then she’d hand the board and marker over to the man at his bedside. “I’ll be back to check on you in an hour.” That said, she was leaving the room.
But Remy was quickly beginning to look tired. She’d added just a little something to help him rest and it’d work like a charm. He’d move his fingers some across the sheets of the bed before smiling a little at D’Artagnan and letting his eyes slip shut.
Out like a light.