Aching Ribs

<November 25, 2014>: Gar checks in on Keith's injuries.

The Titans' Castle

Have fun storming the castle!



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Mood Music:
Give A Little Bit

It's been about four years since Keith's really noticed the holidays. Well, not exactly true: it is hard to notice the holidays, especially when Christmas seems to come earlier and earlier each year, but they weren't marked in his own book of days as something important and noteworthy- just a day off.

That was then, and this was now. He was out of the box, back among the living and made to notice their ways once again. A year ago he couldn't think of anything to be grateful about.

Currently, the redhead is lying down shirtless on one of the couches in the living room/games room, under the more manageable influence of painkillers that do not take him completely out of the picture, one hand resting on his chest. He's watching television. Or, rather, he's just woken up from falling asleep from watching television. He blinks at the deepening gloom- the sun was still up when he decided to 'rest his eyes'.

That makes it about 5:30, give or take a half hour; Gar's arrived and is making his way up from the Down Below, by way of the hidden stair. He opens the door from the garden into the library — it says library on the plans, even if it works as an Everything Room — and closes it behind when the wind is a bit chilly, and then he ferrets his way over to Keith's Couch of Pain.

"Chirp!" … yes, he said that. Gar is being Cute. Something must be going on.

Keith looks over at Gar and smiles, looking slightly tired as one does when sleeping in the middle of the day. "Good evening, chirpy, had a good day?" He pushes himself up to sit, and winces slightly and lies down again. Right, rolling is better. He decides to stay lying down for just a little bit longer because the couch is warm and cozy. He stretches his legs, fighting back a yawn.

"As good as I hoped. All the grades are in for my classes and I've got four glorious days in a row to nurse you back to health," Gar says, pulling on a little ferret-sized nurse's cap. Too damn cute for words.

"Now, first I need to take your temperature."

The ferret-nose goes into Keith's ear.

Keith laughs and squirms a little, pulling away a little. "Hey, I don't know where that nose has been," he says, winking at the ferret and reaching over to give him a scratch. "Where on earth did you get…" he looks at the cap, and shrugs. With Gar, you never knew. He reaches out to pick him up and put him on his chest, if he can get a hold of the little squirmer.

It's not terribly difficult to get a grip on the green house weasel, since he's not dodging. He settles onto the redhead's chest.

"Hold still now, I have to check your pulse and blood pressure," Gar chirp-squeaks, laying his head against the redhead's chest in a 'listening' pose. He puts up a paw before Keith can speak, and says, "five, six, seven, eight, ok, that's 75 beats per minute. He reaches out and grabs an earlobe, and squeezes… not hard enough to be painful.

"And 100 over 65, not bad considering."

Nurse Gar scuttles across to peer into Keith's eye. "Not coated, no unusual halitosis, no spots before his eyes…"

"Wait…unusual halitosis? What are you implying there, slinky?" one red eyebrow shoots up and the young man smirks. "Careful, just because I'm injured, it doesn't mean I can't give you a noogie for being a wise-ass." He pets the ferret, though, and sticks out his tongue to continue with the farce.

The tongue. Gar-frit grabs the tongue and holds onto it, watching an imaginary watch on his wrist, before letting it go.

"You're definitely still injured. I prescribe 250 CCs of chicken soup stat."

The green ferrit undulates down Keith's side, doing that progressive-change thing until it's Gar-Human heading for the kitchen, where there should still be a stock pot with chicken soup bones and soup in it, simmering on low.

"Want anything else? Toast? Steak? Healing potions?"

Keith laughs, touching his tongue for a few seconds before slowly rolling to a sitting position and then a standing one, following Gar into the kitchen. He yawns a little, trying to shake sleep off. "Hmmm, are you on the menu?" he quips, sitting down at the table. "I'm surprised you're still here, I thought you would've gone back to, you know… for the holiday break and all."

He sniffs, and hmmms, "That smells delicious, by the way. I'm suddenly very, very hungry."

"Nobody there this year," Gar says. "Stepdad will come by for turkey sandwiches and uncomfortable and awkward conversation on Thursday afternoon though."

He looks at the things in the kitchen — hmm. A couple baguettes, some cooked noodles to put soup on, some of the chicken meat from the chickens before the bones were removed to do stock; he slices and starts toasting sections of the baguette.

"When did you eat last?" Gar asks, a bit concerned. "And have you been drinking enough water?"

"Eat? That's that thing I have to do, right?" Keith answers truthfully, "I think I've spent more time sleeping than eating… So… this morning." He gets up from the table, slowly, and heads over to Gar, hugging him from behind. "Sorry, I guess the drugs hit me hard. Didn't use to be like that, must be part of the rewiring thing. Either that or my feline side really likes to sleep…"

"And you're healing. How much does that hurt, scale of one to ten where ten is dying and one is mild owie," Gar asks, because the doctor wants him to track that on the take-home medical homework sheet. It has all sorts of intrusive things like 'trips to the loo' and 'bowel movements'… because there's morphine in the drugs they gave him and that stuff has a rather terrifying side effect.

Once Keith lets go for a moment, Gar pulls the baguettes out of the toaster and starts putting together a bowl of chicken noodle soup with garlic and ginger and lemon grass… dice dice dice, dump dump, scoop, serve.

"I'd say a three. Then again I think the drugs are wearing off because I probably missed my dosage while sleeping." He heads over to the refrigerator to make his side of dinner, too. "Get yourself a bowl too, hon, don't feed me and forget to feed yourself. Passion fruit tea sounds good? I've got a packet… hey, if I'm not completely out of it, I could make us dinner on Thanksgiving. Just the two of us, what do you say?"

A pause. "And Bunker. Since, you know."

"Passion fruit with chicken and garlic? You ARE a sick little kitty," Gar says. "Regular black or green tea for me please."

There are many things that Gar will do for Keef, but some things are just Wrong.

"If you want to, that would be cool. I'm making a bowl for me too," Gar says, quickly putting together a second bowl because, well, he wasn't going to.

"I think it would be cool to have people here but I don't think you should have to cook. I can get a smoked turkey from the chinese place near campus, I actually ordered one."

Green tea for the green boy, and passionfruit tea for Keith. He notices Gar reachig for another bowl and smirks a little. He had to watch out for his boyfriend, after all.

"Heh, are you afraid I'll cook something atrocious while half-high? It could be amusing. You'll have a funny story to tell people." He brings the two mugs over to the table. "But smoked turkey will be fine by me."

Keith sits down slowly on one of the chairs and pulls the other one out for Gar. "How long do you think I'm going to be out of action?"

"No, I think you'll hurt yourself by pushing too hard. It's a lot of work making even a simple turkey-day dinner. I was thinking we could do the charity thing, work a soup kitchen, but I'm not gonna stick you in a serving line for ten hours," Gar says to Keith. "The doctor doesn't know how fast you heal, being a metahuman. You MIGHT have faster healing, or you might not. So we have to watch the signs and see how you're doing. But normally this would be about a month, including a week of physical therapy."

"Oh god…" Keith mutters, looking at Gar as he prepares the food. "A month… I'm going to go stir crazy." The redhead rubs his forehead and exhales. "Not to mention that the club let me go due to extended leaves of absence. It's ok, I knew it was going to happen… but geez. I feel like a total idiot now, letting myself get punched like that."

"They'll probably hire you back when you're less broken," Gar says. "They seemed to like you. I kinda suspect they don't want you working while injured is most of it."

The green guy places the bowls, and floats one piece of baguette each, and sits at the chair that Keith pulled out.

"Bon apetit. Don't feel like you have to eat it all, but you do."

"Aye aye, captain." Keith smiles and pulls the bowl over, and then he leans over and gives Gar's cheek a kiss, and then rests his head on his shoulder. "Thanks for dinner, by the way. You're a prince."

"Maybe I could find someone to heal me with magic? Like Zatanna… if I can get a hold of her. Then I wouldn't have to be out of it for that long… and I could help you look for the druids."

"The Zees might be having some scheduling issues for the next month or so," Gar says, having read Variety on the train into New York. "Something about the Magic Castle and a contest and some extended runs."

He rubs his head. "We had this kind of thing all the time in the old days too. It's nothing special, it's just one of the reasons to have a caretaker.

"Right, I should put up an ad for a caretaker, since I'm the one with ample spare time now." Keith smiles and closes his eyes at the touch, sighing softly. "So… when the doctor said no strenuous activity… did he also mean?" expressive eyebrows, and the young man gives Gar's ear a nibble before settling back on his seat. "Just asking, because… well."

Gar nods. "For a week. We can cuddle if I don't jolt you very hard."

Broken. Ribs. Suck. They are the death of romance and the bane of sleep.

"I'm sorry hon. But I'll make it up to you when I'm better, promised." Keith sips his soup, his mind briefly goes to a little box he brought with him from Los Angeles. It is a small box and it is hidden very well in his dresser. About a month would be right about that time.

"In fact, I've already got something in mind." He grins, "And if you think I'm going to give up on snuggles, you're dreaming. I'm made of sturdier stuff than that!"

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