Clint Zéphyr Chevalier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
privateinvestigations) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2015-12-31 01:35 am
privateinvestigations) wrote in muserevival2015-12-31 01:35 am
Entry tags:
111.7. Misc/Random
"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I ended up where I intended to be."
Time felt like it had no value right now. All the seconds, minutes, hours, days were meshing into one big vortex of nothingness. The one thing Clint wanted to happen just wasn't. No matter how long he sat there for, Lincoln just looked exactly the same as he did the first time Clint saw him in this room after the surgery. About three times a day, some sort of therapist would come in. They would move him, massage his hands or feet, move pillows to put under his arms or legs. The nurses would change his gowns, change his sheets, mess about with the IV machines. But he always ended up back in that one vaguely similar place every time, unmoving except for the rise and fall of his chest in rhythm with the ventilation pumps.
Clint, on the other hand, looked like a homeless bum. He hadn't shaved in days, the seat he took residence in probably had a groove the shape of his ass. He went home and he showered and changed his clothes. He would lay in bed and pretend to sleep long enough that no one would question why he was back at the hospital again so soon, and then he would go back. He would shove something unexciting in his mouth like an Egg McMuffin or a bagel without tasting it, and he would wash it down with strong coffee that was never hot enough for his liking. It had been a week now. A week without any change. Was every day proving less and less hope?
Sometimes, he would have company. Emily, Angela, Lorenzo, Lewis, Richie, Jude. It was as predictable as a wash cycle. Wash, rinse, repeat. That evening, it was Lorenzo with Holly. Lewis was busy at work so Lorenzo brought Clint something decent along for dinner. He was on autopilot with eating so someone could literally shove a kale fucking superfood pile of shit in front of him and he would eat it without question. Just so long as it was accompanied by coffee. He would take the coffee out to the allocated smoking area and down it while going through three or four smokes in one go.
Clint had Holly in his arms, cuddled into him. She was settled, but she was trying to grab his face while she was saying something over and over again. Over the months since he discovered Lorenzo had become a dad, he had become more and more used to his baby daughter. Generally, he wasn't a fan of kids, but Holly was the exception. His nerves were just shattered right now, and he was getting frustrated not knowing what she was saying to him. "What is she trying to say? I swear to fucking Satan if she's baby bitchpls'ing me about something, I don't want to know. It's bad enough when you fully grown pains in the ass do it."
"It's 'Unc'. She's trying to say Uncle, twatface. Does it remotely sound like 'Your face looks like a gorilla's anus and you should shave it ASAP'?" Lorenzo asked with a sigh and a shake of his head as he packed up the meal Clint had barely touched. "Do you want us to go? It's okay if you want to be alone, dude. I get it, we won't be upset or offended."
Clint blinked and looked down at the baby girl. Fuck, she looked so much like Lorenzo, it was scary. Even if he wasn't actually her uncle, it was how Lorenzo had been addressing him all along. She was trying to get his attention. He did have the decency to feel bad for not realising that, but he was just worn thin. "Are you sure you don't mind? I'm sorry, Renz. Just not dealing at the moment."
Lorenzo shook his head and stood to scoop Holly up in is arms. He leaned over a little and gave Clint a lingering hug, patting his back. "Call me if you need me, okay? Lewis finishes in about an hour and half, so he'll be home. I can come right back if anything changes..." The way they all said that now, it was becoming less and less convincing that they actually believed there would be change. "Try and get some sleep."
Clint just nodded and gave them a weak wave when they left. He got up, feeling more stiff and sore than he ever had in his life, and dimmed the lights in the room. They were never allowed to go very low in case there was an emergency, but it was better than nothing. He went back to Lincoln's bedside and, like every other night, he pulled the chair right up to the side of the bed so he could carefully slip his fingers into Lincoln's limp hand. Harley said to try to maintain the physical contact. The advice had stuck with him.
He couldn't try to talk to him, though. It didn't feel right. He didn't know what the fuck to say. There was nothing there to say it to. Maybe that was therapeutic for some people, but it would bring him no peace. It would just stress him out more trying to find the right words. He had to will himself not to count the beeps of the cardiac monitor or the compressions of the ventilator. He had caught himself doing that a few times and it nearly had him jumping out of his skin with anxiety, losing his shit at a nurse who came to give Lincoln a bed bath.
Settling in for the long haul again, Clint rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. His elbow was resting on the arm of the chair and for a little while, it propped his head up. Reading, surfing the net on his iPad, listening to music to pass the time... none of it worked. He didn't have the focus to sink into any one thing but sitting there waiting for time to tick over.
He dropped his hand back down with a small groan. It felt like it was going to be another long night. This time, though, when he looked back to Lincoln, Lincoln's eyes were half open and he seemed to be looking at him. Clint jumped and very nearly shat himself because the sight gave him such a fucking fright. Probably not unlike going to the morgue one of the first times in his early career and rigor mortis causing the cadaver's arm to jump. He had nearly keeled over from a heart attack then and now. Weird for a guy who usually didn't spook easily.
"...Linc?" he squeaked, now standing but still holding Lincoln's hand. He was admittedly standing a bit back, waiting for those machines to fucking flatline again. Lincoln's eyes just slipped closed again. "No, no. Wait! Fuck. Squeeze my hand?" he begged, though Harley's words reminding him that people didn't just wake from a coma and start discussing the weather were coming back to him.
Lincoln didn't squeeze his hand. Clint just panicked at this. He hit the emergency button and had a nurse come running. "He opened his fucking eyes!" Clint cried, his heart racing. "What's happening? Is something happening? Is he going to be okay? He just closed them again. You believe me, right?" What if he was just imagining it? He might have been. It had happened so quickly, but nothing else happened, so was it just his mind playing tricks on him.
A couple more staff came running in quickly and Lincoln was being seen to, while another stood with Clint and tried to reassure him that they believed him. Sometimes patients could have reflexes but it didn't always mean anything. A patient opening their eyes could just be a function, not necessarily indicative of any change. "Well, that's fucking stupid," was tumbling out of Clint's mouth before he could stop it. He was on edge, he was never polite when he was on edge.
"He's moving his hand! He's moving his fucking hand!" he was practically screaming at the nurse then, accidentally grabbing her arm while he gestured wildly to Lincoln's fingers that were curling just slightly into the blanket. That was when he found himself whisked out of the way and ushered into the corridor, having nothing more at his disposal than to stand at the glass wall with his face pressed up against it trying to see what the fuck was happening.
It just didn't matter what was happening, though, so long as it was something. Reflexes, fucking demon possession or anal alien probing, he didn't care. It was better than just lying there looking dead. He would take it, and in the process, he was going to try not to burst into tears and start abusing more staff just trying to do their job and help his lover. However long it took, he would wait, because this was the only fucking place he needed to be right now.
clint chevalier
original character
Time felt like it had no value right now. All the seconds, minutes, hours, days were meshing into one big vortex of nothingness. The one thing Clint wanted to happen just wasn't. No matter how long he sat there for, Lincoln just looked exactly the same as he did the first time Clint saw him in this room after the surgery. About three times a day, some sort of therapist would come in. They would move him, massage his hands or feet, move pillows to put under his arms or legs. The nurses would change his gowns, change his sheets, mess about with the IV machines. But he always ended up back in that one vaguely similar place every time, unmoving except for the rise and fall of his chest in rhythm with the ventilation pumps.
Clint, on the other hand, looked like a homeless bum. He hadn't shaved in days, the seat he took residence in probably had a groove the shape of his ass. He went home and he showered and changed his clothes. He would lay in bed and pretend to sleep long enough that no one would question why he was back at the hospital again so soon, and then he would go back. He would shove something unexciting in his mouth like an Egg McMuffin or a bagel without tasting it, and he would wash it down with strong coffee that was never hot enough for his liking. It had been a week now. A week without any change. Was every day proving less and less hope?
Sometimes, he would have company. Emily, Angela, Lorenzo, Lewis, Richie, Jude. It was as predictable as a wash cycle. Wash, rinse, repeat. That evening, it was Lorenzo with Holly. Lewis was busy at work so Lorenzo brought Clint something decent along for dinner. He was on autopilot with eating so someone could literally shove a kale fucking superfood pile of shit in front of him and he would eat it without question. Just so long as it was accompanied by coffee. He would take the coffee out to the allocated smoking area and down it while going through three or four smokes in one go.
Clint had Holly in his arms, cuddled into him. She was settled, but she was trying to grab his face while she was saying something over and over again. Over the months since he discovered Lorenzo had become a dad, he had become more and more used to his baby daughter. Generally, he wasn't a fan of kids, but Holly was the exception. His nerves were just shattered right now, and he was getting frustrated not knowing what she was saying to him. "What is she trying to say? I swear to fucking Satan if she's baby bitchpls'ing me about something, I don't want to know. It's bad enough when you fully grown pains in the ass do it."
"It's 'Unc'. She's trying to say Uncle, twatface. Does it remotely sound like 'Your face looks like a gorilla's anus and you should shave it ASAP'?" Lorenzo asked with a sigh and a shake of his head as he packed up the meal Clint had barely touched. "Do you want us to go? It's okay if you want to be alone, dude. I get it, we won't be upset or offended."
Clint blinked and looked down at the baby girl. Fuck, she looked so much like Lorenzo, it was scary. Even if he wasn't actually her uncle, it was how Lorenzo had been addressing him all along. She was trying to get his attention. He did have the decency to feel bad for not realising that, but he was just worn thin. "Are you sure you don't mind? I'm sorry, Renz. Just not dealing at the moment."
Lorenzo shook his head and stood to scoop Holly up in is arms. He leaned over a little and gave Clint a lingering hug, patting his back. "Call me if you need me, okay? Lewis finishes in about an hour and half, so he'll be home. I can come right back if anything changes..." The way they all said that now, it was becoming less and less convincing that they actually believed there would be change. "Try and get some sleep."
Clint just nodded and gave them a weak wave when they left. He got up, feeling more stiff and sore than he ever had in his life, and dimmed the lights in the room. They were never allowed to go very low in case there was an emergency, but it was better than nothing. He went back to Lincoln's bedside and, like every other night, he pulled the chair right up to the side of the bed so he could carefully slip his fingers into Lincoln's limp hand. Harley said to try to maintain the physical contact. The advice had stuck with him.
He couldn't try to talk to him, though. It didn't feel right. He didn't know what the fuck to say. There was nothing there to say it to. Maybe that was therapeutic for some people, but it would bring him no peace. It would just stress him out more trying to find the right words. He had to will himself not to count the beeps of the cardiac monitor or the compressions of the ventilator. He had caught himself doing that a few times and it nearly had him jumping out of his skin with anxiety, losing his shit at a nurse who came to give Lincoln a bed bath.
Settling in for the long haul again, Clint rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. His elbow was resting on the arm of the chair and for a little while, it propped his head up. Reading, surfing the net on his iPad, listening to music to pass the time... none of it worked. He didn't have the focus to sink into any one thing but sitting there waiting for time to tick over.
He dropped his hand back down with a small groan. It felt like it was going to be another long night. This time, though, when he looked back to Lincoln, Lincoln's eyes were half open and he seemed to be looking at him. Clint jumped and very nearly shat himself because the sight gave him such a fucking fright. Probably not unlike going to the morgue one of the first times in his early career and rigor mortis causing the cadaver's arm to jump. He had nearly keeled over from a heart attack then and now. Weird for a guy who usually didn't spook easily.
"...Linc?" he squeaked, now standing but still holding Lincoln's hand. He was admittedly standing a bit back, waiting for those machines to fucking flatline again. Lincoln's eyes just slipped closed again. "No, no. Wait! Fuck. Squeeze my hand?" he begged, though Harley's words reminding him that people didn't just wake from a coma and start discussing the weather were coming back to him.
Lincoln didn't squeeze his hand. Clint just panicked at this. He hit the emergency button and had a nurse come running. "He opened his fucking eyes!" Clint cried, his heart racing. "What's happening? Is something happening? Is he going to be okay? He just closed them again. You believe me, right?" What if he was just imagining it? He might have been. It had happened so quickly, but nothing else happened, so was it just his mind playing tricks on him.
A couple more staff came running in quickly and Lincoln was being seen to, while another stood with Clint and tried to reassure him that they believed him. Sometimes patients could have reflexes but it didn't always mean anything. A patient opening their eyes could just be a function, not necessarily indicative of any change. "Well, that's fucking stupid," was tumbling out of Clint's mouth before he could stop it. He was on edge, he was never polite when he was on edge.
"He's moving his hand! He's moving his fucking hand!" he was practically screaming at the nurse then, accidentally grabbing her arm while he gestured wildly to Lincoln's fingers that were curling just slightly into the blanket. That was when he found himself whisked out of the way and ushered into the corridor, having nothing more at his disposal than to stand at the glass wall with his face pressed up against it trying to see what the fuck was happening.
It just didn't matter what was happening, though, so long as it was something. Reflexes, fucking demon possession or anal alien probing, he didn't care. It was better than just lying there looking dead. He would take it, and in the process, he was going to try not to burst into tears and start abusing more staff just trying to do their job and help his lover. However long it took, he would wait, because this was the only fucking place he needed to be right now.
original character