Rachel Caustello | Clubs (
theunpressuredclub) wrote in
houseofpast_rp2014-10-03 06:35 pm
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Entry tags:
January 1987; what you can't carry
She'd skipped training today, and she was certain she was going to pay for it later, as Pierre was liking paying for it now. But walking to the Spades Castle had had her running into Elliot, and Elliot had clearly been in need of some kind of help. It wasn't until he'd turned away from her and she saw the blood that had seeped through the back of his shirt that she'd even begun to figure out the problem.
Encouraging him back to the Clubs Castle was rough, but he was ultimately in too much agony to argue otherwise. Had half-collapsed onto her bed after shrugging off his shirt with a low groan of pain.
Really, it was impressive that it was only a groan, Rachel had determined once she'd gotten proper look at the obvious lashes across his back. It had turned her stomach more than anything she'd seen yet had-- and there'd been a lot she had seen, now. Had had her asking a Two to call for Edgar when the Spade had passed out-- from the exhaustion or the pain her delicate cleaning of the wounds had been, she couldn't tell-- asking him to come as soon as he was able.
There's worry clear in her features when she answers the door, along with a small bit of uncertainty. By now she knew that Edgar suspected there was more to her 'training' situation than she'd let on, but she wasn't sure he knew to what extent. And even though she was fairly certain Elliot's situation wasn't related to their shared experience, she couldn't help the fretting when she was still so obviously healing from the session that had left bruises all along her arms.
Encouraging him back to the Clubs Castle was rough, but he was ultimately in too much agony to argue otherwise. Had half-collapsed onto her bed after shrugging off his shirt with a low groan of pain.
Really, it was impressive that it was only a groan, Rachel had determined once she'd gotten proper look at the obvious lashes across his back. It had turned her stomach more than anything she'd seen yet had-- and there'd been a lot she had seen, now. Had had her asking a Two to call for Edgar when the Spade had passed out-- from the exhaustion or the pain her delicate cleaning of the wounds had been, she couldn't tell-- asking him to come as soon as he was able.
There's worry clear in her features when she answers the door, along with a small bit of uncertainty. By now she knew that Edgar suspected there was more to her 'training' situation than she'd let on, but she wasn't sure he knew to what extent. And even though she was fairly certain Elliot's situation wasn't related to their shared experience, she couldn't help the fretting when she was still so obviously healing from the session that had left bruises all along her arms.
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"And we'll... we'll figure it out."
Maybe even be able to help him.
Definitely will be able to help the doctor move him onto the stretcher, at least.
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This hurts. This burns. This is all but ruining his heart as he shifts to pull his arms more properly around her. These are his friends. This is one he hasn't kept track of laid out like a rag doll, and this is one he loves more than he should shaking like a leaf for having dragged him here.
"This is going to be okay again."
They'd make it.
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She has to believe it. She has to keep telling it to herself as they help their friend onto the stretcher. As they cling together while the wait at the hospital. As they wait for Elliot to wake up again.
The latter of which being something which happens in fits and starts. Will eventually happen in full with Elliot working his way out of the haze of unconsciousness and immediately trying to push up on his arms to get a better look at things.
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Repeating it in variation happens when movement in the bed startles him out of his haze.
"Elliot." Hopefully his voice is still familiar enough. "Elliot, you're okay. Easy."
It's thoughtless to reach out to try and soothe Elliot down again, but it's the first impulse.
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"Rae?" And then, after another moment and with a hint more confusion, "Edgar?"
"Yeah, Elliot," Rachel says with a trembling smile, "We're here. And you're-- you're safe. Just rest, mm?"
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It doesn't matter that they've been apart. It doesn't matter that Elliot will probably be upset later that they brought him here. It matters that they get him settled now, that he keep healing.
"But you need to keep still, okay? You'll pull out your stitches."
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"Where--?"
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He's not here for that. He's here to help in a different way.
"Hospital in Town." He shifts slightly, lowering his head to catch Elliot's bleary eyes better. "With a Clubs doctor. And it's saved your life, Elliot."
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"Can' be right," he mutters, "'s usually fine with a couple layers 'f bandages."
"You bled through them, Elliot. Twice, even," Rachel tells him, too fretful to even entirely notice the use of the word 'usually.'
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It takes a moment before he can form words again properly. "...just... just rest, okay? This will-- heal up better."
Than if he moves around, yes; but also, presumably, than 'usually.'
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There's something soft in Elliot's eyes when he looks up at her, for all there's also still that lingering hint of disorientation. It has him acquiescing with a slight nod after another moment's hesitation.
"All-- 'll right."
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"Thank you. We'll be here, all right? You just breathe."
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He can do that. He's drifting back more towards unconsciousness again, anyways. He's absolutely starting to relax as Rachel's fingers stay delicately tangled in his hair.
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"...he's lucky."
Not in every way, but in a few of the important ones.
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It takes her a moment to catch Edgar's meaning. She bites down on her lip a moment before she nods.
"Just a little bit."
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His hand settles briefly, lightly on her elbow for just the faintest squeeze.
"And he's lucky he got here in time, mm?"
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"He is," she says with a soft sigh, "Thanks for helping me with him."
She wouldn't have been able to manage it without him. She shudders to think what that would mean.
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"Anything for you two, Rach. You know that."
She must, at least, know that for herself, if not by extension for Elliot. It's more true, after all, for seeing how much she clearly cares for the Spade.
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And she does, at least for herself. She's starting to believe the same about Elliot. They were close friends before, once, after all.
"Still. Thank you."
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He turns, briefly, to press his nose against her temple. He squeezes, briefly, to hold her tighter.
"You should get some rest too, you know. He's safe now."
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"What about you, though?"
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"You first. We'll take turns, okay?"
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"Wake me up when you need me, all right? Promise?"
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And he will. Maybe he'll push himself too far, stay up longer than his body genuinely wants to allow so she can sleep more, but there's no help for that.
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And maybe she'll frown a little when she wakes and finds it later than expected, but she'll shoo him to sleep and keep watch of both him and Elliot.
It's odd, how much her heart tugs to protect both of them. It's strange, feeling this much of a level of love and care.
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