bprd_agent_red (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bprd_agent_red) wrote2012-11-02 09:47 am
bprd_agent_red) wrote2012-11-02 09:47 am
Milliways - Room 4204
Spending a night and day in the infirmary, Hellboy was over the sterile environment, too small bed, and antiseptic smells of the hospital room, and well enough to make the trip upstairs to the room he and Liz share, and so they went up and settled in there for rest and recovery.
Mostly rest.
After making it to the cluttered room and sprawling out on the over-sized mattress, Red closed his eyes and slept on through the next day. Stirring rarely, sometimes moving or mumbling, but otherwise dead to the world.
Now, as evening breaks into night and Liz dozes, Red's side of the bed is empty.
The door to the bathroom is cracked, and from inside comes the hushed sounds of steady sawing.
Mostly rest.
After making it to the cluttered room and sprawling out on the over-sized mattress, Red closed his eyes and slept on through the next day. Stirring rarely, sometimes moving or mumbling, but otherwise dead to the world.
Now, as evening breaks into night and Liz dozes, Red's side of the bed is empty.
The door to the bathroom is cracked, and from inside comes the hushed sounds of steady sawing.
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It's not 'okay'; nothing about any of this is okay. But this specific call is his to make and she's going to do whatever she can to support it, even if it does mean breaking a promise she'd made to herself.
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Before he speaks again he hesitates. In this conversation he's probably measured his words more carefully than any other since the night they spoke after his father died. It's hard to know what to say, and harder to ask some things, but he's putting in the effort to try.
"Are they-- I'm not in trouble, am I, Liz? Are they mad at me?"
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"I don't know," she admits, slowly, with a small shake of her head. "I haven't talked to anybody who saw you."
She doesn't know what he (what not-him) did.
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"But they can't be, right? It wasn't my fault, I didn't mean to... "
Will it matter? They don't know what he did, and as the demon it could be anything. What if it was something that can't be forgiven?
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What would she do if she were put face-to-face with the man who shot her, and was told he'd been possessed?
Feel sympathy, probably, Liz thinks. But then again, she has a lifetime of experience when it comes to her body reacting beyond her control. Can she take herself as a reliable barometer?
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"Yeah, sure. We could explain it."
Lifting his head, he looks at her.
"I wasn't the only one." That has to count for something.
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Trying to bolster something, he says, "The guy's just lucky someone else took care of him, instead of me."
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Having that support, and knowing she'd have set on fire the cause of all this for him, goes a long way to making him feel better.
"Thanks."
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"What do you say we go track down that rat?" she asks.
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That sounds like a great plan to him.
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The last week and a half has been fraught and frightening, even by the standards that Liz's life generally sets, and there are still way too many unanswered sobering questions looming for her to feel precisely relaxed, but -- they're here. They're walking and talking. They can go home. Right now, that's enough for Liz.
She shoves her feet into her boots and glances to Red. "Ready?" she asks.
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"I wanna know what the heck those sticker things were." And maybe who plugged him with them.
Pants and boots come next, and then he nods and joins her when he's ready.
"That rat better be packing plenty of syrup."