Milliways infirmary, with Dejah

[2goodarms]

He counts the doors they pass through en route to the infirmary: only three, all of them unlocked. The first one leads to a room more like the party at the front of the train than the crowding at the tail -- but even that's not the right comparison, he thinks. It's crowded, yes, and noisy, but all Curtis can think is there's so much room.

People can stretch out their arms. When he and Dejah cross the floor, they can move without bumping into anyone.

The second door leads to an empty hallway, quiet but for the hum of the overhead lights. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, and with each step, thinks of anything but Wilford's voice in his ear. Take as much time as you need.

The third leads to a place so clean and white as to look alien, like the view from the Snowpiercer's windows. By then, he's leaning far more of his weight on Dejah than when they started.

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[dejah_thoris]

She steps away, not far. He can see her opening a cabinet, retrieving a basin and some clean towels. He can hear the sound of fresh water being drawn. She uses a separate basin for the towels, and the dermal regenerator. She's never used it before, but she's never had an issue figuring out technology.

She returns and sets the dry basin down on a small table, before tugging it over close to where he's sitting. Only then does she set the water down. She pulls over another chair and sits down with him, knee to knee. She wets a cloth and wrings it dry, and turns to him.

She doesn't start with the shoulder. One hand rises to cup his cheek, her movements slow and careful, like he's a wounded animal who might snap and remove her fingers. Gently, she starts to wipe away the soot and grime from his face.

[2goodarms]

The lakewater softened some of the dirt, and most of the blood that isn't his own. Curtis holds himself preternaturally still, as if concerned he might snap at her, too.

Little by little, as if imitating the shed layers of clothing, the grime starts to come away. Some of it is ground so deep into his skin that it seems to be a permanent stain. One patch of blood above his right eyebrow turns out to be a recent wound; when Dejah's cloth touches it, he hisses a short, involuntary breath through his teeth.

He lost his whole goddamn arm and he's wincing at having a cut cleaned. Because that makes sense.

(About as much sense as Milliways itself has made so far.)

[dejah_thoris]

She speaks as she works, her voice quiet as she rinses and wrings out the towel again.

"Sorry about that. Almost done. Any other cuts I should know about?"

[2goodarms]

"It's okay."

It's so quiet. So bright.

"There's..." In lieu of words, he holds up his hand to show her the gash along its back.

[dejah_thoris]

Now it's her turn to draw air over her teeth. She glances up into his face again, her blue eyes flaring bright for a moment. One hand reaches out to take up a clean towel, and she drapes it over her knee.

She takes his hand at the wrist, wiping his palm clean before turning it over and resting it on her knee. "I've seen wounds like this before. Usually from hand-to-hand combat with short, heavy blades." She takes up a new cloth and wets it from the fresh water, leaving it a little wet. She lays it carefully over the gash, letting the water soak away some of the grime and dried blood.

"Your arm looks -- like it was bitten off."

Where she's from, that's not an unlikely possibility.

[2goodarms]

Curtis expects it this time: he doesn't wince again, doesn't twitch at the touch of the cloth.

"Close enough," he says. "I caught it in some machinery."

Such a simple explanation, for something that carried so much weight.

[dejah_thoris]

"Mmm." She can hear the weight in his tone, and respects it. The story will come, in time, if he so desires. She kept working carefully, her expression intent. She's being very careful not to injure him any further, or cause him any undo pain.

"When I get you cleaned up, the infirmary has a device called a dermal regenerator. For surface wounds. It's not from my world, but I've seen it used, and it's painless and very effective."

[2goodarms]

He breathes out, watching her work. "It'll just fix up the cuts?"

Yes. For his own health -- by whatever measure of health you can apply to a dead man -- Curtis can allow that much.

[dejah_thoris]

"Yes, well, everything here seems to be superficial. Can you flex your fingers for me?"

[2goodarms]

Obligingly, Curtis closes his hand into a loose fist, then opens it again. The protective cushion of shock has begun to deflate. It's harder for him to bite back the wince as the gash shifts, sending a quick burst of pain up his hand.

It's going to fucking suck when my arm gets in on this, too, he thinks, with only the barest hint of concern.

[dejah_thoris]

She sees the tension shift in his body as he reacts to the pain.

"Okay. No loss of functionality. That's good." She sets the wet cloth aside and then dries the cut with a clean, fresh one. They're amassing a little pile beside the bowl. When the cut is dry, she takes up the regenerator and shows it to him, talking her way through everything she's doing. "This is the business end, and this is the on switch. It should tingle a little bit and you should feel relief almost immediately. It sounds like this."

She turns it on and a pale green light plays over her palm.

[2goodarms]

The sound it makes blends with the nearly subaudible hum of the overhead lights. Any sound is a balm, equal to the water on his face, the cloths on his injuries. Curtis watches the glow shift over Dejah's hand.

"Anybody can just come in here and use this," he whispers, unable to lift his gaze away.

There has to be a catch. There has to be.

[dejah_thoris]

"Well, technically," Dejah cocks an eyebrow at him, taking his hand back on her knee, "we should wait and have an infirmary attendant help us, but I've had medical training, so I don't think they'll frown too hard."

She works the regenerator over the wound on the back of his hand in steady even lines. The pain washes away instantaneously, leaving behind a tingling sensation.

"But yes, anyone can come in here and receive medical treatment, free of charge. I have seen people repay the debt by volunteering to help in other ways."

[2goodarms]

All of the pain erased, just like that. As if it were nothing.

Dejah's voice seems to recede, swallowed by a ringing in Curtis' ears. He doesn't respond to what she's saying, but, subtly, his breath starts to speed up.

[dejah_thoris]

She hears it, but so long as he doesn't pull away, she keeps going. After a moment, all that's left of the gash is a patch of thin red skin. It's still got some normal healing to do.

"Ready to start on your shoulder?"

[2goodarms]

He swallows, trying to push down the emotion threatening to rise like a tsunami, crashing over him, drowning him again.

"Yeah," he croaks, and shuts his eyes.




"How is this possible?"

[dejah_thoris]

She rests her hand gently on the back of his, a simple touch, meant to only to comfort and connect him to the here and now.

"I'm afraid I don't understand the question," she says, her tone gentle.

[2goodarms]

"What's the catch?"

Wilford smiling, Yona scrabbling at the floor, Mason bearing her overlarge false teeth, Gilliam, fuck, Gilliam --

"How -- " and his voice breaks as he draws his hand away, pressing it to his face: even now, trying to contain the grief.

[dejah_thoris]

She doesn't resist, letting him pull away, but she doesn't retreat.

"It's all right." She knows it isn't, won't be, not for awhile. But sometimes hearing the words help. "Curtis..."

She doesn't have the right to ask. All she can do is be here for him.

[2goodarms]

Curtis shakes his head, struggling not to let his quick, uneven breaths turn into something worse.

There's no possible way this can be different from the train. The resources have to come from somewhere; there have to be people who can't access them; just by being here, with a woman who's caring for his injuries with devices he can't comprehend -- and with a gentleness nobody from the front would ever show somebody from the tail --

He turns his hand over to wipe it across his eyes. In spite of his best efforts, he sniffles.

It's all wrong.

[dejah_thoris]

That does it. Dejah shifts to sit beside him, putting her arms around him and guiding his head to her shoulder. She doesn't speak, doesn't offer him false promises, doesn't crow on about happy things like that he's alive and he's here and he's safe, despite that these things are all true.

She knows this sorrow and this grief. She recognizes herself in him, and in her darkest moments, all she ever wanted was someone to lean on. Just for a few minutes, just until she got her feet under her again.

So she pulls him close, crooning under her breath, meaningless sounds meant only to comfort. She caresses his head, presses her cheek against his stubbled hair, and grips him tight. Some healing takes time, and she has all the time in the world here.

[2goodarms]

It would be easier to pull away. To reject all of this, including Dejah's embrace, and get the fuck out of here somehow. But the exhaustion, and the pain, and the memory of that near-silent engine open up a chasm inside him. It frightens Curtis, how needy and selfish it is.

(TRAIN, said that tiny slip of red paper.)

He sags into the touch, staying as quiet as he can, eyes stinging like all hell as the tears flow faster.

[dejah_thoris]

She holds him, her grip fierce for all she's not very strong, and she doesn't let go. After awhile, she speaks to him in a low, matter-of-fact voice.

"There is no shame in tears, Curtis. It is a good thing, to be able to shed them. It shows us that we still have our hearts, battered and bloodied as they are. It means we are not as broken as we might fear. Every wound must bleed, even the ones we cannot see. So please, do not be ashamed. Your loss is great, and deserves to be honored thus."

[2goodarms]

He has no idea how much of what she says is true. The part that does stick: he can still grieve; can still be horrified.

He got off the train -- and took everybody else with it -- before he could lose that much.

Curtis drags his hand across his eyes again. This time, no fresh tears replace what's been wiped away, and he breathes out shakily before managing a nod.

[dejah_thoris]

She feels the nod and sits back, not very far. She keeps a hand on his good arm, firm and solid.

"Let me clean this shoulder up. It'll take just a few minutes. And then you need to decide if you'd rather have a hot shower and a bit of sleep, or if you'd rather have a hot meal. We can have the meal upstairs in a room if you'd prefer, or we can sit in the bar."

She puts a hand on his cheek and pulls his gaze up to meet hers. "I'm not going anywhere, all right?"