out flew the web and floated wide

[fallasleep]

CHARACTERS: Roy Walker [fallasleep] and anyone who wants to visit him
LOCATION: Medbay
WARNINGS: Suicidal thoughts, depression. The usual with Roy.
SUMMARY: Roy wakes up when he doesn't want to wake up. People visit him.
NOTES: Takes place from 14 Aug to the end of the month. Please put the date down when tagging in, thanks!

[ His eyes are open and he feels cold and he doesn't want either. His throat and chest and stomach ache. Some might think that is a good thing. But pain means he's alive, and that's what Roy doesn't want. He sees the medbay again. He sees his own fingers, curling by his side, and both seem the deepest cruelty anyone can inflict on him.

Roy understands why he lives, though. He hasn't hidden himself well enough. He was too eager. He didn't try his very best to find what he needed. The painkillers should have been stronger. Maybe he should have taken the acid instead of the iodine. Maybe he should have asked for stronger alcohol. Maybe he should have just taken a scalpel instead of... Maybe, maybe, maybe. A thousand of them and no way that he can fix it.

(But he was so desperate. He is still desperate. He will have to try again, as soon as possible. He knows that.)

He stares in front of him. Straight ahead. No matter the sounds, no matter who looks. He simply stares emptily.

His throat hurts. (There's a part of himself that's happy about that.) He can't speak, though he still has his tablet by his side. ]

Comments

Late on the 14th

[sweetbreads]

[ Lecter comes when it's quiet, soft footed, all but silent, as though a cat or a serpent creeping in to smother its prey. He leans across the bed, the red in his eyes catching the low lights, and as he decreases the intensity of the bedside lamp he looks down at Roy, thoughtful.

While he lies here, there is no ending him - too open, too public - but that is what Roy wants. Hannibal can't help but find it rude - selfish - both that Roy would waste the life given to him when it was denied to those who deserved it more, to Mischa, while at once having the indecency to fail, wasting the time and energies of those who come to save his life.

Lecter knew that death was no fitting answer to that kind of rudeness; it would be oblivion, deeply satisfying until Roy's struggling heart realised that it was actually happening this time, and fear would overcome joy. It would be too late by then. No--that couldn't be how it ended. It was far more grim for him to survive it, but it would serve another purpose too. If Doctor Fell could save him, then the proof of his good intentions would be undeniable, and with Will Graham on board, the possibility stood that he might need to prove himself sooner rather than later--one man's word against another's.

He looked down, finding Roy's eyes, and sat close beside him. If others were working in the quiet medbay tonight, he had no intention of them hearing their conversation. ]

Hello, Roy. My name is Doctor Fell.

[fallasleep]

[ It's later that night and Roy has no visitors again. Time passes like heartbeats. He tried counting them, but stopped when he reached over two thousand because there's no possibility of an ending to that soft beating sound.

When the stranger comes in, and though his body wants to flinch away when 'Doctor Fell' sits so close to him, he doesn't allow it to. A part of him still wants to believe that if he stops moving for long enough, he will turn into stone and become nothingness.

It's a stupid thought, he knows, but he stays still for long moments after Fell gave his greeting, staring straight ahead. Like a mannequin, or a doll. But eventually his eyes force him to blink with their dryness, and he finally flickers his gaze sideways. The briefest moment, not even meeting Fell's gaze - simply taking in the look of him before dismissing it entirely. ]

What do you want?

[sweetbreads]

To assess your chances, naturally. It would be a shame to facilitate your recovery, only to see sickbay's hard work frittered away on petulance. A waste of both our time and yours, don't you agree?

[ Forthright and direct, cutting and cold. Roy is lying in recovery, but Hannibal will not lie to him. He finds the young man's attitude distasteful, impossibly rude, but as a practical psychiatrist he also sees an opportunity. On board the Tranquility, nobody has any evidence that he is good at what he does--what better opportunity to prove himself?

First, though, he needs to convince Roy to open up to him. He's studied his network activity. The promise that there might be something more sinister to Hannibal's curiosity would provide potential intrigue, and from there he stood more chance of building a doctor-client relationship than he might if he approached from a pitying standpoint. No... Roy wouldn't respond well to that at all. He had contempt for himself, and he would see anyone that didn't as simply lying about their distaste. It was no platform of trust to begin from. ]

What is it that you think I want? If you were in my shoes, looking down at you now--tell me, should I be feeling disgust or pity? Which would you prefer?

[ Picking up the pad with Roy's notes, Hannibal pretended to read them, eyebrows raised. Not looking directly at Roy was his way of diminishing his presence, while at the same time putting him under no pressure. He could say what he liked, lie if he pleased, Hannibal would be listening intently under the illusion of not particularly caring, and in doing so give him all the space he might need. ]

August 17

[redhotsummers]

You really suck at this whole killing yourself thing.

[Alex is bad at this stuff, sometimes. Hilariously so. But still, he stops by, and pours Roy a glass of water, handing it over, before taking a stop. He had been in, checking on someone else who had been injured on a patrol. No big deal--but seeing Roy here again definitely made him want to stop and talk.]

[fallasleep]

[ Maybe if there's someone who cares about Roy Walker in the room, they would have protested Alex's words. But no one cares, not even Roy Walker himself, and instead of anger he only tilts his head back and sighs. Like Alex's very presence is something that tires him out. As if the effort of not-looking is something that wrings all energy from him.

It's not a particularly wrong assumption to make, really.

He doesn't say a word. Merely leans back hard on the pillows, gaze flickering towards Alex once in a while. ]

[redhotsummers]

...is it really that bad?

[Alex has to ask, after a few moments. He's had a shit go of things, in his earlier life. The whole 'jail' thing was...

...well. But he never once thought about offing himself.

He never really begrudged anyone who did. It was selfish, yeah, but sometimes people just needed to get out of the deep shit.

But what was fucking Roy over, he just couldn't tell.]

Sometime before August 22nd, pick a date. ;)

[throwsdown]

[When Roy is better, at least enough that visitors are allowed, Takeshi will stop in sometime during it — because it's important to make sure that Roy's doing okay, that he's not hurting after whatever accident he had, that he's not in any discomfort. Takeshi thinks maybe he can fluff his pillows for him or maybe ask the doctors there to check his temperature, just in case. That's how you tell if someone's sick or not, right?

He pads over, dragging himself over so that he's leaning on the side of the bed.]

Roy...?

Can I visit? I heard you had'uh accident. I brought some paper and Miffy, if you wanted to read... Everyone sleeps a lot lately. [He frowns deeply.] S'kinda lonely being awake.

august 19, before thranduil?

[fallasleep]

[ An accident, Takeshi says, and Roy almost laugh. There's a harsh, terrible part inside of him that wants to pick the boy up and shake him, to tell him that no, he didn't have an accident. The only accident was that he was found, and if it was up to him, Takeshi would have no one to visit because he would be dead.

But he's not that cruel. He's an absolute bastard, but he's not that cruel, and he won't be towards this child. Instead, he only closes his eyes, his arm wrapping around Takeshi's small shoulders, leaning towards that tiny, warm body, trying to swallow back his tears.

He doesn't speak. He still can't do it properly. Instead, he scrabbles for his tablet (he's been ignoring it) and stabs at some buttons until he sees that blinking line and white background. ]

I don't sleep a lot. You can always find me if you're lonely.

[ He pauses for a moment. ]

What is Miffy?

august 19, sure!

[throwsdown]

He's a rabbit...

[But he just turns to Roy, staring like he's trying to read something deep and dark and beyond the man's face. Eventually, he looks a little sad.]

You hurt your voice bad?

14th

[mindtricks]

[ part of her feels as though she should have known. she had known that he wanted to die, had even known that he was considering suicide (again) — and yet she hadn't expected this. hadn't expected him to do it.

naive, she scolds herself, adds stupid to the list for good measure and holds herself rigidly, head bowed as she stands at the foot of his bed. she should have seen this coming and prevented it, she should have made a difference.

( she knows it isn't her fault. she knows that, cognitively. her emotions are another matter and she feels responsible nevertheless. there's a sense of resentment there, too, that she pushes down: that he'd do this. )

she doesn't understand. ]

Roy.

[fallasleep]

[ He's not surprised to see her here. In fact, there's a small part of him that's been anticipating her presence, the part that's now whispering in his head no matter how much he wants his mind to remain blank.

You didn't think I'd do it, did you? You didn't think I'd have the guts to do it.

Maybe Roy loves to surprise people, once upon the time. Now that urge has turned into something far more sinister. Into a sickeningly sweet sense of triumph at the back of his throat as he looks up at her. His lips twist into a smile. ]

Cassandra.

[ He knows he had always called her Anderson before this, and now he drawls her name, in the mockery of a lover. It doesn't help that his voice is hoarse as all hell - but then again, she should have expected that, right? ]

[mindtricks]

[ that he's expected, anticipated her presence doesn't surprise her. they have certainly spent enough time together that she would not have stayed away. the triumph coating those words, though, his thoughts — she'd known there was a certain darkness in him, but it's never felt quite so vicious and at the forefront.

it's never made her skin crawl. it does now, especially in combination with the way he says her name, the smile on his lips. the mockery of a lover.

this is far from the first time that someone's thoughts have made her uncomfortable, or the first time that someone gains a sense of pleasure from it. she doesn't let herself react to it, though she cannot help the tension in her shoulders, her expression empty. in moments like this, she draws from her training most of all.

( the law is reason, free from passion, she'd read that somewhere once. she doesn't generally agree, but the idea of emotionless rationality helps at times. ) ]

How did you do it? [ she could ask a doctor, she has no doubts they would tell her. she'd rather hear it from him. ]

14th!

[doc_pompous]

[He hadn't been entirely sure when Roy would regain consciousness, if at all, so when he sees the man in some state of awareness, he breathes a sigh of relief and makes his way over to his bed.

Simon has a data pad in hand and a concerned look on his face.]

Good morning. How are you feeling?

[Basically a terrible question.]

ignore my starting log. Simon deserves a new one. I'm sorry about this in advance

[fallasleep]

[ Roy wakes up.

Once he's screamed when he did, when he woke up with a tube down his throat and surrounded by blue. When the felt the cold of the tiles beneath his skin. Now he wakes up again and there's the bed and he knows that he's alive. Half of him is, anyhow, because he still can't feel anything below the waist.

He laughs. A barking, hoarse sound that scrapes at his raw throat. It hurts for him to make a sound. He considers, briefly, screaming again, just to relish in the pain. But he doesn't want to, not really, because screaming did nothing the last time.

And pain is a terrible thing. It proves that he is alive.

He reaches up. There's an IV in his elbow, but he doesn't care as he grabs onto Simon's wrist, tightening his grip as much as he can even though he still feels mostly numb. (Pity, really, that 'mostly'.) ]

You should have left me dead.

[ Flatly. ]

no shhh i love it

[doc_pompous]

[Simon pointedly doesn't pull up a chair--he hasn't been invited to, after all, and he's a surgeon, not a therapist. It's not his place to investigate the hows and whys of why Roy did what he did, only to make sure he's physically healthy and able to function.]

I'd just like to check your vitals.

[Still, he isn't without compassion. You can't be a very good doctor without it, after all, and even though he's not a therapist, he can at least try.]

I know this is...not what you wanted. Someone found you and brought you in.

[He doesn't feel the need to say that he's instructed that all sharp objects be kept away from Roy's bed, that all medications be carefully monitored, that this is a patient officially on suicide watch. Roy knows all that, most likely.]

We do have several counselors on staff, if you'd like to speak with any of them.

aug 18 I guess?

[makalaure]

[ Maglor comes to the Medbay from time to time. Or at least, he is starting to get into that habit. It is in part done out of old habit from when he'd still commanded others and been responsible for their wellbeing. He knows enough of healing to be useful - at least with medicine such as it was in his time and among his people. He knows something of treating the injuries of mortals as well, but that which is in the medbay is unfamiliar to him for the most part. But, he supposes, that does not mean he would be entirely useless here. Sometimes the sick and injured need company, after all. Someone to listen or to help pass the time.

So this day finds him in the Medbay, slipping into a room where he can see a patient is resting. He lingers near the door, simply watching for a few moments, assessing Roy's condition from afar. He pays more attention to Roy's face and expression than anything else - is this one who needs company or needs only rest? ]

[fallasleep]

[ Has he become a sideshow attraction already? Funny what trying to kill yourself will do. Roy hasn't seen any announcements made on the network, but he knows better to think that people only communicate using these machines. Maybe they all know, and they come to stare at him, to think, Oh, look at that idiot who failed to kill himself twice by now!

(He knows it isn't fair to think this way. Knows, too, that most people tend to be kind. But Roy clings onto the darkness of his thoughts like a baby does to his bottle. It's always easier to pretend that he's better and more clear-sighted; better to think that anyone would want to kill themselves if they see the same world as they are.

Easier to believe them blind.)

He doesn't speak. Doesn't even change his expression. Let this stranger stare, Roy thinks viciously. Let him stare. He's not going to do anything about it. ]

August 20th

[elvenking]

[It took him this long to come visit because he's angry as hell.

Tyke had a point after all. His attempts to help have only been thrown in his face and ended in disaster. It's too personal, and yet not as personal as he thought. Roy isn't where Thranduil was after the war--he's well past it. If Thranduil had ever been as far gone as Roy, he would be dead.

He doesn't know what to say when he arrives, so he mostly hesitates at the foot of the bed and looks pissed. What can he say, anyway? That he's furious and insulted that Roy used him to make an attempt on his own life? That he's sorry he was so grossly wrong about him and failed him so deeply?

Goodbye?

So he stares mutely before deciding he really can't say anything at all. Nothing so final as goodbye, at least, not till he can make that choice a little more rationally. He walks to the bedside table and sets down a linen string with a carved wooden pendant--a butterfly. Then, he turns to go.]

[fallasleep]

[ If Roy is honest with himself , he would've admitted that he has started to wonder why Thranduil hasn't come. Wasn't he the one lavishing attention on him, forcing him to live? Wasn't he the one who practically tossed Roy into his wheelchair and dragged him to the gardens?

Wasn't Thranduil the one whose hospitality Roy took advantage of? If he allows himself to think about caring, to stop obsessing over being selfish so he can hate himself for it, he would feel guilty. He would wonder if Thranduil will look at mead the same way again.

But Roy isn't honest with himself, so he thinks stubbornly that he's glad that Thranduil looks angry; that he seems to want to leave without a word. Maybe now he'll be left alone. Maybe that's all he deserves.

But his hand doesn't want to obey. He finds himself reaching out, fingers closing on Thranduil's sleeve. For the briefest moment before he forces himself to let go. Fingers drop back to his side with a dull thud - like a dead fish, like his legs - and he turns away to stare at the wall.

Go, he hopes, desperately.

Don't go, he almost wants to beg, just as desperately. ]

14th

[lordof]

[as soon as the doctor deems him strong enough to see visitors, mairon steps forward to take the seat next to the bed. roy does not know him, perhaps never will, but he should know at least, who saved his life. if saved is the term roy wants to use.

he doesn't speak yet. just waits until his presence is noted or acknowledged.]

after simon, before anyone else

[fallasleep]

[ He looks at the stranger out of the corner of his eyes, especially when he comes over and looks at him. Roy stares back down at his hands. He wishes he had found scalpels. It would've killed him quicker. Even if it didn't, at least he would've scars to stare at, to try to pull open, instead of a raw voice and an aching stomach. Like he is a child with stomach flu.

Slowly, he exhales. Tries to stop himself from breathing. Fails. ]

Either you're here to watch me like a sideshow act, or you expect me to thank you. [ Flatly. ] I don't do either.

Starting around the 20th and then every day after

[bemerry]

[ Merry feels as though he has failed, again. The first time, he did nothing but sit silent vigil over Roy as he slept, and once the man began to wake he fled, unable to face him with his own guilt.

He had seen the signs in Frodo, twice over. He should have known. He should have known.

The second time, he sits and watches, still silent, holding out a glass of water should Roy start to cough to hard, hardly noticing if it was accepted or knocked to the floor. Hardly notices when his own arm pains him and shakes like it is rickety, old and broken.

This time he takes a deep breath, but he has been resolved, enough, that it was time he spoke. ]

I had hoped...

[ He feels so foolish, sounds so foolish. He refuses to acknowledge the hot tears gathering in his eyes, the way his shoulders want to shake, the fact that he cares and can't seem to help it, and Merry damns himself for it. ] ... that you would have at least let me say good bye.

[ He scrubs his eyes a bit, with his forearm, but he can't even bring it in himself to smile. ]

That was silly of me to think so, of course it doesn't matter. [ a sniff ] I keep forgetting that I can't just shut the caring off.

[ Meriadoc takes a deep breath and sobers himself, trying to start again. ]

I am sorry. I'm speaking only of my burdens when you have enough of your own to worry about. Forgive me, I don't mean to burden you further.

[ He turns away to fetch two glasses of water, and sips one himself, while setting the other down on the nearby table. ]

If you need any of the water, I'll help you.

[fallasleep]

[ Roy stares. He looks blankly at this stranger whose name he's not even entirely certain of, sitting by his bedside, crying. And Roy doesn't understand why he cries, because he barely knows him, and yet there he is.

And here is he.

He listens. The words wash over him like the tide. (Tides make him think about walking into the sea, weighed down by a rock- ah, wait, he can't do that, can he? His legs will be the rock themselves.) But he still listens, nonetheless, a part of him unwilling but unable to stop himself.

His gaze flickers downwards, at his hand. When he finally speaks, his voice is very soft, and very rough. (Even though his throat is feeling a little better now.) ]

Why do you care? [ Flatly. ] I don't know you. And you don't know me.

post-cyllene alsfdk forever late

[mindtricks]

[ she's grown up in a mega block, in a mega city, near the radiation wall. gang-related violence and crimes were the norm and there were hardly ever any judges around, not that close to the wall, not when judges can respond to 6% of all major crimes in mega city one only. (that's a number she didn't know until recently.)

she's no stranger to violence. she's no stranger to helplessness, though she's always channeled it into a drive to want to do better in the future, to help, to make a difference. she's seen people skinned and their brains splattered over the concrete floor. she's executed people point blank, carrying out the death sentence. she's fucked with someone's head.

— and still, despite all that, the events on the space station have left her shaken. she's not cynical like riddick who expects trouble and then just shrugs and lets it roll off his back. she's not controlled like dredd for whom the law is everything. she's not like chen and the other corrupt judges who see the city and life as nothing but a meat grinder. she can't close herself off to it and she can't let it make her bitter and cold, she doesn't know how and even if she did, she wouldn't want to.

maybe it's stupid to seek out roy. he isn't stable, he isn't happy or content, chances are that being around him will make her feel worse than she already does. and yet she finds herself walking to the med bay, late after her return, silently settling in the chair by his bed.

maybe he'll tell her a story again. maybe it'll be enough to just not be alone. ]

I AM EVEN LATER. sorry again, darling.

[fallasleep]

[ His attempts to find morphine or a single scalpel has become half-hearted again lately. Maybe it's Takeshi's fault. Maybe it's something else. Roy doesn't know. He doesn't like thinking about it. Isn't the best way to enjoy a story to just read it instead of trying to analyse it, trying to find flaws within what is being told? It's easier to just... go along, really.

Or at least, it's easy to tell himself that.

He's been drowning himself in books again lately- or he should say words, because the tablet he holds in his hands have words but it isn't a book. Roy finds himself missing the smell of musky old paper; the sharp, dark scent of ink; and it's a surprisingly thing, really, to feel like he misses something.

When he hears footsteps near his bed, he doesn't lift his head. He knows who it is - there's only one person who walks like that, and Roy has known how to differentiate footsteps since he was a child. A survivor's technique, maybe, so that he can run away when he hears someone who might harm him. Or he just has a good memory. Or it's simply that he misses the sound. Or he learned it because he wants to be like the warriors he reads about, who knows the identity of a person when they come close even without looking at their face.

All of them. None of them. Roy is sick of making decisions about himself.

Eventually, he looks up, and whatever words he has on his lips to chase Anderson dies immediately. There has always been death in Anderson's eyes - which makes her optimism all the more ridiculous, Roy had thought - but now it's even more present, even darker, and he lets the silence stretch over them. It's funny, really - Anderson has tried to comfort him so many times, but Roy can't think of a single word now.

Eventually: ] What do you want me to do?

[ Really, he's incurably a selfish bastard, isn't he? ]