thisavrou_log | [ closed ] i feel my heart beating; pounding inside my chest

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[ closed ] i feel my heart beating; pounding inside my chest

Who: McCree & Mercy
When: Shortly after this
Where: Angie's room; possibly medbay
What: ex-dad hecked him up
Warnings: blood, sad cowboy noises

[ It's sheer force of will keeping Jesse upright as he staggers away from his encounter with Reaper. The serape, adjusted to drape awkwardly over his right side, covers most of his injuries--the lacerated neck, the mangled mess of his good arm, the wicked claw marks across his chest. But his hair is matted with blood and sweat; he's limping and gasping as he goes. Head down, clutching his right arm with his left, he moves as quickly as he can, speaking to no one. The dim light in the corridors works to his advantage, and no one stops him, no one demands an explanation that he doesn't want to give.

Once he's arrived at Mercy's door, he practically throws himself against it. ]

Angie--doc. I need you. Tell me you're there.

[ His voice is thinner and weaker than he expected. He feels lightheaded. Threads of confusion, of pain and anger, all mix together in his head. Reyes, that was Reyes. A man he had once loved like a father. A man who had just tried to split his skull open. A man who seems keen to try again at the first opportunity.

God damn it.

He presses his forehead against the door, exhaling raggedly. Another minute and he's liable to collapse, right then and there.

Hell of a way to get reacquainted, he thinks vaguely, as his vision starts to blur. ]

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[ It's the weight of a body hitting the door and the metal of his elbow hitting it that jerks her to attention, finally having nodded off in an empty room full of seven other empty beds before the sound scares her awake. But the words— it's faint and muffled through the door, yet she hears the plea in his tone, recognizes his voice. She's at the door in a heartbeat flattening her hand to the opening mechanism with alarm clear on her face, and as it slides open he's likely to stumble right into her with her best attempt at catching and bracing him so he doesn't fall right in. ]

Jesse! I'm here; what happened...? Here, just a few steps more.

[ There's blood everywhere, and the shape of his arm beneath the adjusted serape is too strange even for the metal knuckles to fill it out. The dark red of his collar says plenty for the head wound, getting a glimpse of the gashes in his neck (which she recalls had already been red; now he's bruising and bleeding), and it's an actual struggle for the first time in years to keep her cool. Remain calm, assessing, soothing.

She can see the focus lost in his eyes and all Angie can do is her best to get him over to her bed and get him seated, one hand bracing his shoulder to keep him from listing and the other gentle at his cheek, looking him over before touching or moving anything else. There's no way she'll be able to get him to the medbay clear across the ship, but she'd already taken a stash of supplies back to her room— it's something she'll simply have to gauge from this point forward. Stay with her here, handsome. Don't make her bust out the nicknames to keep your attention.

Oh, Jesse. There's simply no hiding the pinch of her brows, the split second that she seems truly lost in all this. She was doing so well holding it together. ]

Got into a bit of an altercation.

[ He mutters, eyes shut, leaning into the feel of Angie's hand on his cheek. It's cool, soft, the most inviting thing he's ever known. Everything moves at half speed; he's sluggish, his heartbeat reduced to a trudge. He exhales slowly, struggling to stay upright and coherent. ]

Sorry for bargin' in on you like this.

Only a bit? [ Her reply is weak when she tries to tease, falling a little short as concern colors her tone. She keeps the hand at his cheek when he leans into her touch and the other carefully peels away the serape to reveal his neck and arm, nudging it off his shoulders and onto her bed once she's found the end tucked into itself and works it free.

His arm looks worse than she'd thought; already swelling angrily and rolled shirt cuff tight when she tries to work her fingernail under the edge to loosen any slack available— there wasn't. Her fingertips splay at his cheek slip down to press her ring and pinky to the carotid artery, checking his pulse. He hasn't lost too much blood but his body's likely in shock.

Angela presses her brow to his, feeling the cold sweat slick on his skin as her touch leaves his face to put both hands to work reaching around him to work open the buckles on his armor, then the buttons of his shirt. She shoulders up against him to help keep him upright as she turns to gently unroll his sleeve over his broken arm, making it easier to pull off once she's worked his other out and can avoid jostling him further. ]

I'm only glad you made it here, süässli. I'm worried about this head wound; you need to stay awake, all right? Let me fetch some water.

[ Her hands will be on his chest once his shirt crumples on top of the serape and she eases back off of him, making sure he can stay upright before she bustles off to gather her things. Water fills the container she'd kept everything in and dumped on the bed when she comes back a quick few moments later, beginning to clean up the blood at his neck in gentle swipes, towel damp with cold water. ]

[ He sways as Angela attends him, only vaguely aware of what's happening. Now that he's sat down, he finds himself utterly exhausted. He wants nothing more to lie right down on this bed and never wake up. ]

But'm so sleepy, Angie. Feel like I been knocked around six ways to Sunday.

[ He watches her work, feels her gentle hands swipe carefully at the wounds on his neck. He winces--it stings; Reaper's claws left his throat riddled with lacerations. He murmurs, eyes glassy. ]

It was Gabe.

I know you are, Jesse. I'll be as quick as I can and then you can rest, all right? Keep your eyes on mine.

[ She'll give him a little smile as she meets his eyes before her attention shifts back down to where she tidies up his neck, dabbing on antibacterial cream before a few butterfly bandages pull the skin together, placed intermittently between the multiple slashes before winding gauze about him to stem the bleeding and move onto his head.

It's just as she's leaning over him and dabbing at the split in his flesh to get the excess matted in his hair that he murmurs against her chest, stilling in her work only for a split second. It's enough. ]

...Gabriel? Reyes?

[ The disbelief floats to wonder, the barest hint of hope in her voice before it sinks in. No; it wasn't good news. He meant that Gabe had done this to him. To Jesse, who had looked up to him from Day One. ]

[ He struggles to follow instructions, to keep himself together. He winces, hissing through his teeth, as she applies the cream; he digs his fingers into the bedsheets, crumpling them, twisting them up. His stomach churns. He swallows a few times, trying to clear the spit and bile from his throat, to speak clearly. It's a trial. ]

Yeah. He's ...

[ Jesse breathes, shallow and ragged. ]

He ain't right. He's somethin' what clawed right outta hell.

[ She'll keep an arm about his shoulders and keep him as steady as she can while she works, taking on as much of his weight as she can so he can relax. Focus. It takes some work to clean all the blood from his hair to reveal the wound, using a few strands of his own hair to tie some simple "sutures" in; it's enough to bring the split edges of his skin together to help him heal later, and it gives her leverage to disinfect and apply pressure to stop the bleeding.

Even if he's a grown man, she still presses a little kiss to his head and murmurs encouragement, words that came to her lips as habitually as cigarillos did to Jesse's. "You're doing so well", "almost done here", "this will heal up just fine". His throat works over swallowing something and she'll pause to cup his cheek once more and stroke clammy skin, urging him to take his time to find his words. ]

We can talk about it after, all right? For now I need to get you taken care of. Just relax; breathe.

[ She's crushing an ice pack in her hands and reaching for the metal fingers tangled in her bedding, gently working his grip back open to press the wrapped pack in his hand and guide it to the back of his head and press gingerly to the split she'd just cleaned up. The worst is going to be his arm, but she's making sure to stem the bleeding before moving onto that. Next is his chest, making quicker work of his wounds now that she's taken care of the delicate areas, hands running over a broad chest along the marks cut into him.

When did he get so strong? He's thicker with muscle now, more hair. Scars she isn't familiar with and had had no hand in littering tan skin. His shoulders have red creeping over and she's certain it'll turn to bruising within the next few hours. The same treatment is applied to the slices in his chest; cleaned up, disinfected, antibacterial cream and butterfly bandages pulling the flesh together. ]

Let's get you laid down so I can apply some pressure.

[ Angela takes over ice pack duty held to the back of his skull and guides him to her pillow, leaving his right arm on the accessible edge of the bed. Saving the best (worst) for last, then she can grab her staff and hope she can heal up the rest. It wouldn't cure his exhaustion or his blood loss by any stretch, but it should seal up the superficial wounds and help his arm above all else. ]

[ He's barely conscious during all this tender attention, which is unfortunate, because he'd like to enjoy it. He focuses on her instructions: breathe in, breathe out. Try to relax. Not that he has much choice in the latter. He's too drained to do anything but relax, exhausted even of his adrenaline. Anger pulses at the back of his mind, an angry red flash that won't settle or fade, but it's traveling through cotton; it's something he acknowledges but can't fully feel just now.

He lists forward at her little kiss. Memories of his youth bubble up, of how gentle she always was when he came stumbling, bleeding and howling, into her exam room. How she'd hold his hands, brush his blood-stuck hair away from his face. How she'd tell him that it'd be all right. He'd be all right.

The cleaning and creams sting, but he bears it stoically enough. Better than when he was a kid, at least, when he felt free to wail and complain as though the pain was her fault. Presently he just seethes through his gritted teeth, but otherwise says nothing, makes no other noise. When she directs him to lay down, he obeys dutifully, gratefully.

Jesse watches her as she moves around and away from him, a ghost of a smile on his sallow face. ]

Just like old times, huh?

[ It's been such a long time since she's had her hands on him, but all of her old habits and memories of where he liked her touch the most flood right back, nails scraping hair up and off his face with muscle memory, perfectly tracing his hairline. It comes easily when he's moving right into her kisses and she realizes it's as much muscle memory for him as well, smile warming with a quirk of her lips.

Once she gets him laid down with the ice pack coming between her pillow and the split in his head, she can tape up the wounds on his chest; sutures were useless if she's about to heal him, but the more work she can do beforehand means the less she has to heal. The more effective her nanites could work before hitting the tolerance ceiling. Gathering up the remainder of what she'll need as well as her staff now laying on the floor beside her, she returns to a faint smile and his quip. ]

Would that it were the old days, my dear. Things would be very different. [ In a good way; late comrades returned to them, her family still together. No wars being fought except their own to keep the peace, quelling the tiny aftershocks of the Omnic Crisis and any rebellions attempting in faraway places. ] I just need to check and set your arm, all right? Otherwise we're all done. This will be the last, but it's going to hurt. Are you ready?

[ She'll give him a moment before questing with her fingertips, as gentle as she can be while pressing in to feel for breaks, where and how. She had to get it as perfect as she could; the nanites were basically only a glue to fix what she sets. She doesn't have any machinery to do it the proper way, but if it isn't too bad...

...It isn't. She can manage. ]

[ He breathes slow and ragged, perspiring still, feeling hot as a volcano's caldera. Her touch is a cooling balm, and he welcomes any trace of her fingers, any brush of her lips. He'd reach for her if he could. As it stands, he just lies still, inhaling, exhaling. Trying to stay in the moment, to just get through it. When she tells him to brace for pain, he nods. ]

Ready as I'll ever be.

[ She's right: it's a clean break, simple. Military in its effectiveness. As one would expect from Gabriel Reyes. ]

[ There's one more pass over his brow to brush his hair back, clear the sheen of sweat from his skin with the back of her hand to wipe off on one of the cleaner rags before both hands are on his arm. Her fingertips feel out the break, carefully deducing it with eyes closed tight as she feels all the way around, ensuring it's only the one break and that it's clean all around.

She'll trust his muscles and tendons to help align things. ]

All right then. Don't you go grinding those lovely white teeth of yours.

[ With a careful grip on his elbow and his wrist, she pulls in different directions with more strength than one would originally assume just by looking at her, separating the break to re-align and allow his body to ease things back into place. There's only one minor shift before her fingertips are ghosting off swollen flesh and she's grabbing her splint materials to secure his arm in place. ]

There we go süässli, all done. Let's get you healed up.

[ Angela's hand is back on his brow while the other brings her staff up, knuckles resting on the mattress as she triggers the stream of nanites and her thumb soothes over his temple while they do their jobs, watching the slow way his flesh begins to knit back together. ]

[ He seethes with pain as she does what's necessary. A scream sticks in his throat, but he manages not to voice it; instead, he simply groans, his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched. All right, all right, he thinks. That's it, that's the worst of it. He's through, and he's fine. Angela's here, and he's fine.

He exhales, wishing to high heaven that his damn gut would stop churning so bad. Feels like a storm roiling in there, a mix of nausea and nerves and lingering, aching jolts from his bruised up muscles. Lord, he's ready to sleep for a year.

He mutters, voice rough. ]

Thanks, Angie. Can always count on you.

[ The nanites are efficient and fast, and he feels their good effect almost instantly. Some of the tension drains from his body as the healing goes on, as his body spurs itself back to its right shape. ]

That thing is god damn miraculous.

[ Jesse soldiers pain far better than he used to, at least. What used to get a fair amount of yowling and the occasional prick of tears is now bit back behind his teeth, the growl in his throat thick with pain and the clench of his jaw tight enough to see the tendons. Her own relief settles in when she's done, because honestly, even if it was a step toward healing him, she hated to cause pain. Let alone when it's Jesse who's certainly had his fair share of it in life already. She keeps an eye on his wounds to monitor progress, and the moment the healing slows she sets her staff aside.

Any further push and it'd only upset his body further when it began to reject the nanites. They would've prioritized organ damage and bleeding first, then stabilized his broken arm. It's still swollen and the lacerations at his neck had mostly healed, but she'll carefully peel away the tape to bandage him up properly, moving to his chest next. Then checking the set of his bone to ensure it remained properly aligned, removing the splint and leaning over to press a gentle kiss above the location of the break. He's still cut up and the bruises and swelling have scarcely diminished, but given time, it will help immensely.

For now, at least, he has some relief from the pain and she's done as much for him as she can do. His wounds are cared for and bandaged, she's zapped him with some nanites to help with pain relief and disinfection, and he's already laid out on her bed. She'll move about consolidating her mess to clean later and she gathers up a fresh cloth to dampen in the water and soothe over his brow and shoulders, his stomach. Clean him up some and get the sheen of sweat off his skin. ]

I'll always be here to get you taken care of; you know that.

And you're gonna stay right where you are tonight. Here.

[ Angela will just. Help herself to working open his belt buckle and unbutton his jeans before she's pulling off his boots to help him get comfortable, kicking her own shoes off next to them, and climbing right over him. She gathers the blanket up where it's folded at the foot of her bed and she pulls it up over them both, curling right up next to him to run her fingers through his hair. For now, he just needs to catch his breath and steady himself. Relax. Get some rest. ]

We can talk about what happened later.

Edited 2016-09-01 11:26 (UTC)

[ He sighs under her kiss, and he'd like to reach for her, to take a little more. But he's exhausted, empty of all resources. It's not just the fight itself, but what it means, and what it suggests for the future. He doubts that encounter with Gabe will be his last, and he knows it won't be his worst.

He lifts a hand weakly as she wipes him down; the washcloth running over his grimy, gritty skin purifies him, as good as a dip in a freshwater river. He exhales slowly, rumbling low in his chest. He's barely cognizant of her undressing him, though he feels a little shot of gratefulness still, for this and for everything that's come before. ]

No complaints here, doc.

[ He croaks it out, his voice tired and thin. When she curls up close, he fits himself around her, his metal arm resting gently on her waist. He breathes slow and soft, his cheek pressed against her hair.

No complaints at all. ]

[ Angela always has more for Jesse, even if he doesn't have the strength to seek it out. His arm snakes about her waist and they hold each other close, some brief respite from everything that's happened and likely everything that will happen from this point on, because really, it's only beginning. He seems comfortable as she hooks a leg over one of his to anchor him close, and she takes of his presence and the sound of his breathing just as much as he soaks up her touch.

It's a discussion they'll have to have when no one's nearly died, and they aren't exhausted and still trying to find their feet in this place. So when he fits against her and takes her in, feeling the scratch of facial hair against her head, she continues to stroke his hair and hopes he can find rest in her presence, and that he'll wake up without pain.

She may not have seen Jesse in years upon years, but he's still a good man— if not a better one, now that he's found some fraction of calm and peace with his life. Even with all the blank spaces that have opened in his life, pieces of him she no longer knows, he's still her old friend, and she wants nothing more for him. In time she can hope they get to know one another again and be close once more, but for now, she's content simply knowing that he came to her for help and he trusted her. ]

Try to get some sleep, Jesse. I'll be with you.

[ It's scarcely whispered into his neck and she isn't sure he'll even hear her, but she's curled her arm around his head and the other lays along his bionic, lacing her fingers with his, and she'll keep combing her fingers through his hair until he finds sleep. ]

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[ closed ] i feel my heart beating; pounding inside my chest

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IDK IF HE'S GOT THE UNIFORM + SERAPE ON OR JUST HIS REGULAR CLOTHES SO ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

REGULAR CLOTHES DARLIN

GOOD BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT I WROTE

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