trigger_man | (no subject)

"Yeah, I am."

Feet planted on the floor, he pushes himself off the bed. He's glad of the fact that he's facing away from Jack -- the other man won't be able to see him wince as he straightens and stands up.

"Remind me that getting that close to a grenade is something I never want to do again."

(Only in their line of work would it be a possibility that it would even occur a second time.)

"Yeah, I don't particularly want you to, either. Mind if I take a piss before you get in there?" Jack asks, not sure he can hold out until Carl's finished his shower.

Carl waves his hand towards the bathroom. "Nah. It'll probably be a minute before I remember how to walk in a straight line again."

Jack hauls himself to his feet and stumbles over to the bathroom, fighting to stay vertical despite the pain in his head. A couple minutes and he's back out with an empty bladder and two aspirin in his stomach, heading straight for the bed.

"All yours," he says, flopping down on the bed. "Let me know when you need my help with your arm."

If Carl doesn't need him right away, he's going to be trying to stay as still as possible, as moving didn't do his stomach any favours.

"Will do."

Carl tosses Jack a mock-salute as he picks this way across the floor to the bathroom. Stripping is difficult when you can't balance, but he manages to get rid of his clothes, relieve himself, and get the shower going without falling over.

He washes the scent of alcohol off his skin, taking stock of his scrapes and bruises in the process -- making certain not to soak his elbow under the spray.

After a slightly-longer-than-normal (for him) shower, he's out and redressed in his jeans. He wanders out into the bedroom with the first aid kit he'd found stashed under the counter tucked under one arm, feeling marginally more human.

Aspirin helps with that. Quite a bit.

Jack reluctantly sits up as Carl walks back into the room.

"Okay, take a seat and let's take a look at this," he says, holding out his hand for the first aid kit.

Carl passes the kit over as he sits back on the bed, extending his left arm to make it easier on Jack to reach the part that needs to be bandaged.

He looks over the skin -- a handful of lacerations crisscross the area near his elbow. Smaller ones simply glued shut, and larger ones stitched closed. It's sore, but he can still move his arm and flex all his fingers, so he'll take what he can get.

"Could have been worse. Rather taken it in the arm than in the face."

"True. Still looks pretty bad, though. Do you need to keep taking any antibiotics?" Jack asks.

The sight of the sutures and wounds isn't helping Jack's stomach any, but he still forces himself to pick up a tube of antibiotic ointment and start slathering it on.

"I've got a bottle back at my place."

The corner of Carl's mouth twitches at the contact of the ointment to his skin, but he doesn't wince outright.

"When are you planning to go back?" It's not going to do Carl much good back at his place if he's not planning to go back anytime soon.

"Not sure. I haven't decided."

Part of him wants to go and get the briefings and questions over with. The other part of him doesn't want to go back at all.

"Does Bar give out medication, do you know?" Jack asks. Considering aspirin and things just appear in his medicine cabinet, he'd think she'd give out something like antibiotics.

He hasn't asked her about other kinds of drugs, as much as he's been tempted.

Edited 2010-04-21 03:16 (UTC)

"If I couldn't get it from her, I'm sure I could get some in the infirmary."

He's watching the progress being made on his arm, as Jack places the gauze pad against the skin. His eyes are still a little distant.

"Kind of just want to get it done with."

"Yeah. I can't really say what your best option is."

On the one hand, he's not sure Carl's in the best frame of mind to do a debriefing, particularly one about this type of situation. On the other hand, putting it off isn't going to help.

He scrubs his other hand over his face.

"Probably could use some time to get my thoughts together. Put things down so I've got the story solid before I head in."

"Yeah, especially if they're going to have questions," Jack says, tearing off a strip of adhesive tape.

Carl laughs, sarcastically.

"If they didn't have any questions, I'd wonder what the fuck was wrong."

"Yeah. Some of the questions might be pretty pointed, though. Maybe it's better if you stay in here a while, then."

"A break won't kill me."

What happens when he goes back, might.

He exhales sharply as Jack tightens the bandage around his arm, wishing he had another drink -- no, painkillers -- to take the edge off.

Jack makes sure the bandage is secure, then moves back.

"Okay, you're done, unless there's some other injury I don't know about," he says, starting to pack up the first aid supplies.

Carl shakes his head.

"No, just that. My hearing is better than it was yesterday, too."

There's less of a static threatening to steal the words away, now.

"Thanks," he adds.

"Any time. You know that," Jack says, keeping his head down.

He scrubs his free hand over his eyes.

"You feel like you've been hit by a truck too, yeah? It's not just me?"

"Fuck yes. Think it's been a while since I drank that much."

Usually because he didn't have the excuse of being with someone else, and because he still had to get himself up to his room. Not that he hadn't been waking up with a hell of a lot of hangovers since he came into the bar.

"Good."

Carl bows his head and wills the throbbing behind his eyelids to disappear. He doubts it's going to anytime soon, but it's worth a shot.

"Been...long time since I've had to do that. Wanted to do that...drink that much, I mean. Christ. I don't want to know what my tab looks like right now."

He also doesn't give a shit.