2019-08-08 - Visiting Hours & Violin Music

The hospital room was meant for two people because Isolde wasn't really injured severely enough to warrant her own room. However, for the moment, she didn't have a roommate. There was a half eaten sandwich and an empty Jell-O cup on the lunch tray attached to the bed, currently pushed off to the side. She had bandages around her chest and on her head, which probably made her look worse than she felt. She was awake, alert. Semi-paying attention to the I Love Lucy reruns that were on now.

Her fingers were toying with a charm bracelet on her wrist. A variety of different frog charms were on it and she was counting them silently. Her eyes betrayed the fact that she'd been crying off and on but crying hurt, just like laughing did right now. So she was trying not to do any of it.

Knock knock on the doorframe. Itzhak looks in; he's got his carbon-fiber violin case slung over one shoulder and an expression he's struggling to dial back from desperately worried. "Hey. Can I come in?"

Blue eyes lift up at the knocking and her expression brightens a bit. Seeing Itzhak. "You came to see me." As if she wasn't really sure if he would or not. But her smile falters, seeing him worried. "I am okay." Trying to assure him. "Of course you can come in. Look was Alexander gave me." Lifting her arm a bit so he could see the bracelet. "I'm glad you're here."

Itzhak is not reassured. Not at all. He comes in, walking quiet, and pulls up a chair at the bedside, setting down his violin case. He's even wearing Converses instead of workboots, for maximizing quiet.

"Aww, look at that," he says, smiling a little in a not-terribly-sincere way over the frog bracelet. "I bet that helps." He can't help it; the eyebrows go way up. "Hey. Glad you're awake. Alexander said he'd try to get you out of here soon."

Isolde watches Itzhak carefully, looking to the volin and then back up to him. She reaches out her hand as if saying she wants to hold his hand. "I hope he can. I don't like hospitals." If he takes her hand, her thumb runs over his knuckles gently. "And I would rather be home to rest." Carefully relaxing back into the bed. "How has your day been?"

Calloused warm fingers twine with Isolde's. STAY on this hand. "Awful, until Alexander texted me. Now it's worse." Always honest, this Itzhak. "I don't like hospitals so much either," he admits. "The nurses here are startin' to know me. We'll get ya home soon, okay?"

"I'm sorry I made your day worse." Isolde seems sincere in this. "The ghost bullets left real wounds unfortunately." She uses her free fingers to toy with a few strands of hair. "But they didn't go deep. It will just be bruised and hurt for a little while." Giving his hand a squeeze. "They remind me of bad times...but, yes. Home soon. I'm looking forward to it."

"Listen, you didn't make my day worse. Whoever put a bullet in you did." Itzhak rubs his roughened thumb gently over the back of Izzy's hand. "I shoulda thought to bring you your frog. Want me to go get it?"

Bad times in hospitals; he grimaces. "Yeah. Know a lot about those too."

"No no. I will snuggle with it when I am home." Isolde gives him another smile. "I feel a little better having you right here." Looking down towards the violin again. "Will you play me something?" It might make them both feel better. "Anything you want."

"Sure I will. You know, my sister's had to spend a lotta time in hospitals. I played for her too. Nothin' too exciting, the nurses complained if I did." Itzhak's tiny smile is more sincere this time. "Soothing stuff, at least mostly. Sometimes I just hadda play some bluegrass."

He bends over to open the case. This means he has to untwine with Isolde's hand, aww. He lays the fiddle on the bed next to her, while he messes with the bow and rosin and the tuner. "How about some nice 'Blue Danube', everybody likes that one. I'm out of practice for classical, but nobody's gonna notice."

"Is your sister okay now?" Isolde lets his hand slip away, lacing her fingers together so her hands could rest in her lap. "That sounds good." Blue Danube. And honestly, she would probably love it even if it sounded terrible. Because it was the thought behind the actions that really mattered at the end of the day. Well, most of the time. In most situations. Fixated on watching him get ready and resisting the urge to touch the fiddle.

"You can touch her if you want," Itzhak says absently, but he's done with the bow and picks up the fiddle himself. Tuning it takes him a minute, then he plucks the strings in pairs. The resulting sound is, funny enough, exactly what an orchestra tuning up sounds like.

Before he sets the fiddle under his chin, though, he pauses, and shakes his head. "She's still in treatment."

Then he strokes the bow across the strings and the first few bars of 'Blue Danube' float out. dunnn-dun-dun-DUN, DUN dun, DUN dun...

Isolde will keep the fact that she can touch the fiddle in mind for future reference! For now, she relaxes into the bed as he prepares. A little nod about his sister but doesn't press on about it. Not the time, nor the place. Instead, she closes her eyes as he begins to play, Humming softly as the pretty music fills the room. Her fingers tapping in time now and again. She can feel a few tears escaping from her closed eyes, trailing down the side of her cheek but she's trying hard to keep herself in check. A hand is brought up to wipe away the stray tears and to wipe at her eyes as she opens them, focusing on Itzhak and his playing.

Itzhak's eyes are mostly closed, frowning in concentration. He's messing it up a little, but like he said, it's impossible to tell. The notes he gets wrong, he's excellent at just blending in and pretending like he meant to do that. Only someone quite familiar with the waltz would catch his mistakes. To make up for them, he plays 'big', running up and sliding down the notes with exaggerated expression.

While he plays, outright fumbling it once or twice and muttering, "Dammit," before he picks the melody back up, nurses cycle through to poke their heads in. Visitors too. A couple people linger just past the doorway, listening. Itzhak has his back to the door and doesn't notice.

He finishes in a swoopy flourish, being dramatic for the hell of it, and lowers his violin to grin at Isolde. The grin instantly fades as he sees she's weeping. "Aww, hey. Hey, don't cry. I'm not that bad." Teasing her a little to get her to smile again.

Isolde notices the people once her eyes are open, but she doesn't say anything. She's happy to let them enjoy the music. Her attention is solely on Itzhak and his playing. As he finishes, she wipes her eyes again and gives him that smile. "It was beautiful." Her voice has a little tremor to it, drawing in a deep breath and brightening a little more.

"I love listening to you play. Thank you Itzhak." Wiping at her eyes a little more. "It has just been a very long night and day. I'll be okay. This is making me feel better. You're making me feel better."

"Okay. Thanks. I messed it up," Itzhak says, candidly. His eyebrows quirk, his expression soulful. "Lemme play you some more, huh? You don't gotta do anything except rest. Maybe you'll feel even better."

But the next thing he picks to play, setting his violin under his chin again, is Pachelbel' s Canon in D Minor. He's chosen it because it's easy and he remembers it, but it's a sweetly melancholy melody.

"I would like that." Him playing some more sounded wonderful. Isolde reaches over to pick up the remote and finally turn off the TV. Quiet as it was anyhow, she just wants silence aside for the music. She adores Itzhak, and it's written all over her face as he plays this next song. She closes her eyes again, letting him play uninterrupted. That barely audible humming now and again throughout. She will have to repay him sometime soon, it's an idle, far away thought.

Itzhak slips from the Canon to other beautiful and well-known classical pieces (but nothing too difficult, because he meant it when he said he's out of practice). He plays for a while. People find excuses to hang out nearby. Someone else starts crying softly and their friend escorts them away. Itzhak doesn't notice, just keeps going, concentrating on his technique, frowning when he messes up but pushing through.

Eventually a nurse comes in to check on Izzy, and apologetically tell Itzhak he can't tire Izzy out anymore.

"You can play her all the violin you want when we discharge her," she says, smiling. "That was beautiful though, thank you."

"Yeah, sure," Itzhak says, a little embarrassed. "I'm not a classical guy mostly." Hanging the violin and bow from one hand, he leans over, one elbow on the bed, to tell Izzy, "They're throwin' me out. I'll see ya soon when you're home, okay?"

The music has been wonderful, and admittedly she did doze off a time or two - being put at ease by his playing. Isolde opens her eyes slowly only when Itzhak speaks to her. A smile on her lips. She tilts her head up to catch his cheek in a gentle kiss. "Thank you for coming to see me Itzhak. And playing. I'll see you soon. Say hi to Iris and Lemondrop for me." Her voice soft as she settles back down, closing her eyes again.