2019-07-24 - Hospital Visit

Alexander has been in and out of consciousness. Roused for an interview with the police, almost certainly, and perhaps another visitor here and there, but mostly? His body has taken the opportunity to force him to get some of the rest he's almost always lacking. The morphine in the IV helps. So right now, he's just starting to drift up out of a dark, dreamless sleep.

He's in a hospital gown, of course. There are some bruises on his arms, but mostly it's his immobilized leg that's warranting all the fuss. It's mercifully hidden beneath a tent, and ugly underneath where the doctors did their best to stitch his flayed flesh back together again. He has not been a good patient - hating being touched, hating hospitals, and easily threatened is not a great combination in these circumstances. But the nurses have been patient and kind, even when he hasn't, and he's fumblingly reaching for water someone put on the small tray next to his bed. The drugs have his mouth dry and swollen.

Ever since finding Alexander in the hospital earlier that day - Isolde had been here. She'd only left to get something from the cafeteria to nibble on. Alternating between talking about how things were on the Farm, talking about the Murray house, and scolding him for getting so badly hurt. A nurse had come in to check on him briefly (and bring the water), but otherwise it had been quiet and she has been sitting here, staring at him. Making sure he didn't disappear. Making sure he didn't die. Making sure she was here when he woke up.

When he started to fumble, Isolde straightened. "Stop moving." Her voice is soft, but insistent as she reached easily for the water and then carefully held it towards him so he could grab it. Not saying anything else just yet, but looking clearly relieved that he's awake again.

There's the faintest uptick of the corners of his mouth. "Isolde. You're here?" This is probably not the first time they've had that conversation, and he sounds surprised every time. Morphine really is one hell of a drug. He reaches for the water, brings it to his lips, lets it trickle down his throat. When he lowers the cup, he says, "Stop moving? Think that's the opposite of what we're shooting for. Here. In general."

This is one of those moments where the onlooker might run a hand through the patient's hair or touch their cheek and reassure them that 'yes, of course I'm here'. Aside from holding his hand earlier when she first got here - Isolde hasn't touched him though. Instead she would summon a smile and nod. Like she does now. "Here I am. Where else would I be?" She makes sure the cup is stable and then leans forward a little. "You know what I mean." A wry little smile. "How are you feeling Alexander?"

Alexander's eyebrows go up. "Like shit," he says, in a tone that suggests that this is a question that should not have to be answered. He softens it, or tries, with a faint smile. "Nice to see you, though." He's probably said that before, too. He takes another sip of water. He's still pale from bloodloss, although they've been feeding transfusions into him most of the day. "Am I under arrest?" He's asked that before, too. The answer remains ambiguous, since the police haven't issued any official declarations, yet.

Of course it's an obvious answer, but Isolde still asks it. Because it's better to hear things than just assume them. "I am glad you're awake." Looking him over briefly again before focusing up back on his face. "I don't think so." Especially since there were no officers standing in the room with them...for the moment. "What were you doing?" She's probably asked this before too but with him being in and out of it so much the chances of getting the full story were slim. It's just been bits and pieces and she's still trying to make sense of it. "I thought you were dead. But it is good you aren't." Giving him a little smile again.

Alexander thinks about that, staring at the ceiling with dark eyes. "Not sure I am. Hate hospitals." He raises the hand not stuck with the IV, and nearly pours his water into his face. There's a surprised grunt, before he turns just a little to put the cup back down, so he can rub at his face. "Chasing people chasing a ring. Thorne. Miss Winslow." A long pause. "Others. That cop's kid. Jones. Two men, too. They're dead." His eyes open a little wider. "Is anyone else? Dead? I dreamed I heard them."

"Hospitals are bad. But they are not bad things all the time." Isolde agreed, stifling a giggle when he almost dumped his water on himself. She adjusts the cup a little so it's definitely not going to fall. Well. It could still get knocked over if one moved the wrong way but there wasn't much that could be done about that. A frown touches her features as he talks about the ring and all the people after it. "...I'm not sure." She admits. "I read in the paper there were two people dead. In the headline. I don't know about any others. I hope not." There were too many dead people popping up. Any more and they might start coming back to life. Which would be much worse.

"They are bad things all the time," Alexander disagrees, quiet but firm. "I need to go home, soon." This has also come up several times, including in a couple of heated exchanges with nurses who are just trying to do their jobs. This time, though, he doesn't try to turn it into an argument, but swallows and looks at her. "Sorry for worrying you, Isolde. Thank you for coming."

"This one is helping you. So it isn't a bad thing." Isolde counters matter-of-factly. She lays her hand on the edge of the bed. "You will come home soon. When you can walk." Or at least get around with crutches? Whenever the doctors said it was okay. If he didn't get arrested. Which Isolde really hoped didn't happen. "Luigi is good. Well a little grumpy...but I think he is worried too." She nodded a bit. "You're welcome. When you are feeling much better though, I'm going to lecture you about being careful." Is she joking? Maybe? It's really hard to tell - even though she still has that light smile.

"It's probably got an evil asylum full of torture underneath it," Alexander tells her, quite seriously. "So don't get attached." At her information, he tries to wiggle his toes. Right leg? Fine. Left leg? He goes stark white again for a moment, taking a few deep breathes as the pain shivers through him. "Walking. Right. Soon." Suuuuure. A smile as Luigi is mentioned. "I like his grumps. I'm glad he's okay. Lectures are okay. If you insist."

Isolde stared at him for a moment, then peered down at the floor. "...Maybe." Like it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Then her focus is on him again. Soon was a very relative term. But she would be here as often as she could through it anyway. "He is cute when he's grumpy." Isolde agreed. "I let him fly around some last night and we watched the Meerkats." Trying to stay up and wait for him to come home. "We will see if a lecture is needed."

"Don't get lost here," Alexander says, quietly. His gaze as turned back to the ceiling. He smiles, though. "You spoil that bird. He's missed you; I keep him on a strict nature documentary quota. So he won't get ideas." It's as playful as he can make it. Then sobers. "I tried to be careful. Tried not to hurt anyone. I did."

"I won't get lost." Isolde assures him. "I missed him too. He's a good bird. " There's a little chuckle. "What ideas do you think he will get?" She shifts a bit, leaning against the bed but being careful not to touch him. "I know you did Alexander. I know you try. " There's a beat of pause. "It will be okay. Whatever happens. Things will get better." At least a little bit. Hopefully? "I am going to get the door fixed. Before you get home." Probably something that most people just wouldn't even speak about, but Isolde didn't want to lie to him about things.

"Good. Good. I don't want you to get lost," Alexander mumbles. "And he's a sneaky one. Plotting world domination. I'm sure of it. Just ask him sometimes. He's a pretty bird and deserves all the treats." Solemn nod. The faintest of smiles, before he says, "Things never get better, Isolde. But that's okay. Survive." He just nods blissfully along with the news about the door. Fixed doors are good. It doesn't occur to him to ask WHICH door and WHY it is broken.

Isolde couldn't help a twitch of a grin as Alexander talked about Luigi world domination. "I will ask him if he has any devious plans for world domination." Isolde didn't volunteer more information about the door. At least she knew when to stop giving information. "I like to think they'll get better. Likely not any time soon - but one day." She gave a little sigh. "Either way. We will get through it together. Because that's what friends do. "

"Just don't sign on to his army. He'll just take advantage," Alexander chides with gentle seriousness. Morphine's great. He makes a soft sound, not an agreement but an acknowledgement to her words, broken by a grimace at the last. "Beginning to think friends are more trouble than they're worth. Not you. You're fine. But too much togetherness. Too much."

"Cross my heart, I won't." Isolde mused. Morphine was great. Her anxieties has quelled a fair bit, but that didn't mean she still didn't have the urge to go play it up for some pills. Tugging at her hair a little to banish the thoughts, "Too much togetherness? Do you think that's what's caused this?" Just sounding a little curious. She's never really had friends besides him and the couple other people she's talked to more frequently lately.

"Better not," Alexander mutters back, but with a nod that says he graciously accepts her promise. Her question draws a groan from him, and he rubs at his face. "I don't know. No. Evil magic ring caused it. That's what caused it. But there are too many people. They want too much, Isolde. I can't...I don't know how to." He sighs. "It frightens me." That confession is one that is probably the morphine speaking; his voice is small and unhappy.

Isolde thinks about his admission. Trying to form her thoughts so she could say them as clearly as she could. "Don't be frightened." She slides her hand forward a little - he could take it if he wanted. "I don't know much about friends. But I know that you are a good one. And that other people are lucky to have you as a friend. I also think you need to stay away from trouble for a little while." A little smile again. "It might help you figure out who are the real friends. And who are just work friends. And If you need help. I will help you."

Alexander does not take the hand, but he notices the movement, and does offer her a smile at the gesture. And her words, even as he shakes his head, turning a little away. "I don't know about being friends. Always fuck it up. But it's a nice thing to say. Thank you." He says nothing about avoiding trouble, but his expression of resignation at the idea says a lot - he's not expecting to look for trouble, but figuring that it will find him, soon enough.

Isolde slides her hand back after a moment. She really wasn't expecting him to take it. "You haven't fucked this one up." Friendship. Shifting, she sat up a little, relaxing back into the seat. "It is a slow thing. I think. Friends. In time. Doesn't have to happen right away." She clasps her hands together, fingers fiddling with her flannel. "What flavor of pudding do you like?" A seemingly random question. Maybe just to drift away from the topic for a moment.

"You're extremely tolerant," Alexander points out, quietly. But there's a smile, there, too. And he doesn't even continue with anything cynical like 'give it time', although the lift of his eyebrows suggests he's thinking it. "But. Maybe. Slow would be nice." The randomness of the question doesn't seem to throw him, and his answer is prompt - "I don't really like pudding, if you mean the kind in cups. Flan is nice, though. Creamy-dense, but not melting on your tongue. What's yours?"

Isolde nods in agreement about the slow and then chuckled. "More of a Jell-O person...Blue Raspberry." Tilting her head. "Banana Pudding is good though. The real stuff, not the cup stuff. I remember that." She says softly. "Mom used to make it. With the Nilla wafers and lots of whipped cream. We should make that sometime. And flan. Or buy flan. I've never had flan." She seems to realize as she talks.

Alexander makes a face. "Ugh. Jell-o. You can have all of that. And the banana pudding. But flan is nice. I don't think we can make it. I think that requires actual skill. Casserole is not skill. Casserole is," a thoughtful pause, "a food storm, with cheese." Yes, this is a thing he has decided. "Chunky, cloudy food storm." His voice grows lower as he talks, drifting off into a mumble. "But we can have flan. There's a good Mexican place..." he never gets a chance to say where, because sleep has crept up on him, and his breathing evens out, becomes soft and regular.

Isolde couldn't help but laugh as he turned his nose up. Standing slowly as his breathing evened out. "Rest well. The more you rest, the sooner you can go home." She murmured, carefully pulling the hospital blanket up a little farther. She refills his cup of water and then would quietly let herself out of the room for now. Another trip to the cafeteria and definitely not snoop around the pharmacy area.