ataraxionlogs | But You / My brother in arms

CHARACTERS: Mattie Ross, Jack Kelly
LOCATION: Jack's room!
WARNINGS: None!
SUMMARY: Jack Kelly's a MAN, and so, despite the fact he's injured, totally isn't in the medical ward. Instead, he's toughing it out in his room. And Mattie's all like, "Woah, Jack, are you dead? DID YOU SURVIVE THIS PLAGUE? Let me check!" And so she did.

[There are always drawings and pencils and pens scattered around Jack's room, creating a giant mess, but there's typically some reason to the chaos. Not a lot, admittedly, but there's some order. They're cared for, his drawings, and it shows, even if it takes a while to see.

Now, though, things are even messier than before. Papers are scattered over the floors, and there are old bloody bandages discarded by the side of Jack's bed. The boy himself lies down, propping his communicator up on his chest, holding it with his left hand. His right arm lies useless, bandaged from upper arm to shoulder and across his chest-- and there's blood there, though only a few drops.

He ought to change it soon, but he won't, not for a while, because good medical care is something utterly foreign to Jack Kelly.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Mattie knew that Jack was planning to go into the maze, but in the days she spent in Medbay, sick with the illness that seemed poised to overtake the entire ship, she was aware of very little that went on further away than her own bed.

Now that she's feeling better -- still a little weak, but nothing she not able to manage -- she realizes how much time has passed since she last spoke with Jack. And that she has no idea how he is. Being fully aware of the proclivity of men to lie about their condition and swear to having never been fitter no matter how bad their health, she doesn't waste time in calling him first. She simply packs up her extra blanket, fetches a container of soup from the kitchen, and shows up at his door.

"Jack Kelly, if you are in there, I intend to let myself in if you do not open the door yourself immediately!"

The small, firm voice coming from outside his door isn't entirely a surprise, and Jack snorts as he hears it. He should have figured he'd be hearing from her soon-- and really, he should have called her first, but he's been so busy fussing about his shoulder and Miles and Sirius and Ros that Mattie has sort of slipped his mind. She's been safe enough in the Medbay, and that's all that matters.

"What if I don't got no clothes on?" he calls back, grinning.

"Then you had best pull up a sheet," she retorts, giving him to the count of five to do so, just in case, before opening the door. She's relieved to see that he is clothed, though she expected that to be the case, but that relief is replaced immediately by a jolt of concern when she spies the bandages.

"What happened? Are you very badly hurt?" Setting the soup and blanket down, she moves quickly to his side. When her feet nearly touch the wad of bloody bandages on the floor, she gapes wide-eyed at him. "Jack! Why are not with the doctors? Or- or somewhere that someone can be looking after you?"

"I-- I'm fine," he says hastily, the grin gone from his face. Shit. It's been only a few days since he's gotten the injury, but it's long enough that he's forgotten not everyone knows about it. Sitting up more firmly, he grabs her shoulder with his left hand, trying to get her steady. "Fine," he says again. "I promise. I already went to a doctor--" sort of, he adds mentally, excusing the lie, "--and now I just gotta wait it out and change my bandages every so often."

Mattie continues to look worried, but she lets his reassurances mollify her enough to turn the panic into a more useful stubborn concern. "Then I am glad I came. I brought soup, for I was not certain if you had been sick at all, so you must eat it and I will put things to rights here while you do."

She's seen his room before, and so is aware of his somewhat untidy nature, but it's obvious he's in no state to look after himself properly right now.

"I'm all right," he says again, but he smiles a little, because he's fond of Mattie and the thought she bothered to make him soup and deliver it is a heartwarming one. "And thin's is to rights. It's-- I mean, it's messy, a bit, but. Nothin' wrong with mess."

He nods at the bed. "Come on, sit down with me. You're all better, then? No more sickness?"

"All right, but only if you promise you will eat. I am well enough, only somewhat more tired than usual, but that is to be expected and does not keep me from doing what I like." She should stand her ground and insist on cleaning up while he eats -- of course he thinks there's nothing wrong with mess, all men think so regardless of their age. But she can do that later, it certainly isn't going anywhere.

Eying Jack's bandaged arm worriedly, she sits on the edge of the bed, bowl of soup in her hands. "I shall hold it for you if you like, and handle the spoon for you. I did so for Mister LaBeouf when he was shot in the arm and could not use it properly."

"Nobody," he informs her pointedly, "has had to spoon feed me since I was a baby. And we ain't gonna start now." He shifts, curling his legs until he could-- with some effort-- hold the bowl in his lap. Probably. He eyes his lap a little speculatively before nodding toward Mattie. "Right, give it here."

Mattie knows better than to argue with that kind of statement, but she can also picture the disaster that would be a lapful of hot soup. "I will agree to meet you in the middle, and hold the bowl so it does not spill while you eat. Though there is nothing wrong with allowing someone to help you when you need it."

Granted, this is not exactly a horse trade, but the skill set can be useful in many situations.

He raises an eyebrow at her for a few seconds before nodding grudgingly. Truth be told, that's probably for the best-- and, as a bonus, this compromise will let him have a bit of dignity. So that's not so bad, even if he feels kind of like an idiot for being mothered by a fourteen year old.

"All right," he says, and takes the spoon. Carefully he puts it in the bowl and scoops a bit. "It's been a while since I had any soup," he adds, almost to himself, and blows on the spoonful.

Mattie has no compunction against mothering men three times her age, someone as near to it as Jack doesn't even make her blink. She nods back at him, obviously far more pleased that he is about the compromise, but then she is mostly getting her way, which is something she tends to set great store by.

"I thought it the safest thing to try, as I do not really know much about most of the tinned and boxed food here, nor how to work most of the gadgets in the kitchen. And everyone likes soup." She holds the bowl very steady, and close enough that there should be little risk of dripping on himself.

It's actually a fantastic arrangement, though Jack won't do something so grand as to actually admit that out loud. But he can eat, and eat well, without having to worry about spilling all over himself, so well done, Mattie. Jack scrapes up another spoonful and smiles as she speaks.

"We oughta," he says, and then remembers it's rude to speak with your mouth half-full. He swallows, grins sheepishly at her, and continues, "We oughta take a look at em sometime. I bet we could figure em out. And I probably know more about tinned and boxed food then you-- that's how most food is in New York."

But You / My brother in arms

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject