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18 April 2007 @ 05:16 am
Benny and Joon  
Who: Benny and Joon Sammie Coleridge and George Byron
When: Monday evening
Where: nearest hospital to Icaria
Rated: G, miraculously enough
Summary: Sammie wrecks Byron's car and manages to land herself in the hospital doing so. Byron worries. A lot. Poor sod.





Sammie is drugged. She is grateful indeed for this, because she suspects, through the comfortable haze of something probably narcotic, that were she not drugged, she would likely not only be in pain, but panicking. As it is, she lies propped up on a stack of pillows, staring at but not actually watching a television on the wall near the ceiling. Everything else around her is an antiseptic white and therefore not worth looking at. It hurts to breathe and so she does so only shallowly, tiny little breaths that give her just enough air to avoid the need to gulp it in. Sammie's upset and frightened and hurting and desperately wants company but at the same time oh god-- anyone who'd come to see her, really, will want explanations. And she doesn't have any, and she's terrified of Byron or her parents being upset with her. And so she doesn't think about it- just watches the talking heads and listens to the soft sound of nurses' voices and feet, and lets everything else fade out of mind.

He stands in the doorway for just a few moments. The expression on his face is one that Sammie has never seen save one time and that was after his fake marriage when he stoned and drunk and terrified to face John. He is absolutely, completely petrified. There was obviously a stop off at the gift shop before he dropped in. He has flowers and a stuffed bear. Byron also has something else, something he wasn't even asked to bring, a bag with her toothbrush, some pajamas, some clean clothes to go home in, etc. This means he broke into her room. After a moment of staring, he manages a very, very quiet greeting, "Hello there, Joon. You're lookin' a little under the weather, baby."

Sammie yelps, startled, and an expression of pain crosses her pale face as her lungs and ribs protest vociferously. She manages a ghastly little smile a moment later, and there is both fear and delight in her eyes when she looks at him, breathing rapidly and shallowly. "Benny!" she whispers-- she's not really capable of much more than that. "Benny- I- I wrecked your car I'm so sorry I can't--" She can't manage more than that at the moment, and the run on apology breaks off in a little gasp.

"I know, sweetie. They told me." Byron moves over and puts the flowers down beside her on a table. They are very bright and bold sunflowers. The teddy bear is dressed for hiking. As he hands it to her he says, "They didn't have mountain climbing bears. So I got hiking." The bag is placed on the floor beside the bed. "And they told me about the car, it's how I found out. The contact info for it is my cell phone. It's...it's totalled." Byron hems and haws and finally, the expression he gives her is pleading. "Tell me you're okay? Tell me that you didn't get seriously fucked up in that goddamn stupid car that I made you take? Please?" A shake of his head. "This is all my fault. I told my parents it was. They don't care. The insurance will pay for the car."

She makes an effort to sit up further-- she'd slipped down a little, even braced on the pillows-- and finally reaches for the bear when she manages it. It's too adorable, and Sammie cuddles it close, watching her boyfriend's face worriedly. " s'not your fault," she whispers, a little exasperatedly. "It- I mean- you weren't driving I was going too fast and the semi was on the wrong-" A little gasp for air- "-side of the road I think I hit a tree-" -and another- "-and they /called you/? Oh, Benny." Her face crumples. He's too sweet-looking, sitting at her bedside and nearly in tears himself over /her/, of all people, and she just can't take it.

Byron sits down on the edge of the bed and reaches out for her hand. "Hey, none of that. I just...I just worry about you, Joon. The car? It's meaningless. It's just a fucking car. But you're precious and I can't replace you." A pause. "Dad's sending me the money to replace it. When you get out of the hospital? We'll go pick out something together, okay? Something safer. Something big that will keep you safe. Not some stupid sports car." He says quiet, "The cops said the truck driver was to blame, not you. That's per the police report. If that helps."

The police report also notes that it was a length of fence she hit and not a tree, but Sammie's unaware of that. She gives Byron a tiny smile, and curls her hand into his, soaking in the contact like it's salvation. "Benny- no, honey- you should-" A breath. It's almost painful to listen to, and she hopes her ribs heal quickly so she can actually suck in a real lungful. "-you should pick out what you want to drive. Dont'-" Breathe. "-worry about me."

That wince as she breathes is proof that it's painful for the listener. "No. It's something I anticipate that you'll be riding in a lot as well as driving. Just until you get your own car." Byron is careful to not say that he's just getting a car so she can drive it. "And I will pick out something I'll like to drive. But there's no harm in you liking to drive it too." He leans in just enough so that he can kiss her forehead before pulling back. "And I do worry about you. If that were me in that bed, you'd be worried too. So don't even." A pause. "I love you. It's all I could think about the whole way over here, was did I tell you I loved you the last time we talked. Because I couldn't remember. And that should've been the last thing you heard me say."

Sammie blushes bright cimson, and smiles down at the bear she's clutching, because for some reason she is suddenly too shy to smile up at him. His concern for her is absolutely relieving. She'd been terrified that he would be uspet with her. The car was an expensive one, she knows. And yet-- gorgeous, bright flowers, and a teddy bear, and his raw worry for her. "You did," she tells him quietly. "You always do when I leave; you say it when I-" Breath. "-go out the door and get in the car. Every time."

"Good. Because..." Byron just stops there and doesn't complete the thought. He doesn't have to really. It's obvious. "What has you blushing, Joon? You don't usually blush that much when I kiss you. At least not above the neck." Just the slightest grin touches his lips as he turns his head to try and get eye contact. It's very like a kid squirming around to get noticed, the only thing missing is the chant of 'Look at me! Look at me!'.

"Dunno." His 'above the neck' comment only makes it worse, and she has to suppress a giggle because she knows that'll hurt, too. After a moment, she lets him have the eye contact he's angling for, the wretched, spoiled boy that he is. "Love you too Benny." Breath. Pause. "Emma and Richard'll be here tomorrow. You can-" Breath. "-meet them.... Don't tell Richard you wear skirts?"

Byron grins at the increased blush and the supressed giggle. "I won't tell them, I promise." A pause. "I will be so well behaved. You'll be amazed. No one has ever seen me be that good. Not ever." His grin fades a little. "They aren't going to stay in a hotel are they? Cause I can put them up at our place. We have an extra bedroom. I mean, it'll mean them meeting Shelley and Hemi. But they're welcome."

"Dunno." His 'above the neck' comment only makes it worse, and she has to suppress a giggle because she knows that'll hurt, too. After a moment, she lets him have the eye contact he's angling for, the wretched, spoiled boy that he is. "Love you too Benny." Breath. Pause. "Emma and Richard'll be here tomorrow. You can-" Breath. "-meet them.... Don't tell Richard you wear skirts?"

Byron grins at the increased blush and the supressed giggle. "I won't tell them, I promise." A pause. "I will be so well behaved. You'll be amazed. No one has ever seen me be that good. Not ever." His grin fades a little. "They aren't going to stay in a hotel are they? Cause I can put them up at our place. We have an extra bedroom. I mean, it'll mean them meeting Shelley and Hemi. But they're welcome."

Sammie is of the opinion that it's probably better for her parents to stay in a local hotel than the quasi-frathouse that is the Byron/Shelley/Hemingway household. She gives Benny another small, slightly painful smile. "Don't be too well behaved." Pause; breath. This, she thinks, is getting old very quickly. "I've already told them-- that you're a miscreant and wholly wretched-- and they'll be suspicious if you're too good." She moves so that she's a little closer to where he's perched on the bedside; she's craving contact and he's not /close/ enough, damnit. "They've already-- booked a room at one of the local-- bed and breakfasts. Nice one. They liked it when they-- came to see the school before I transferred."

He looks from one side to the other, checking to see who is around. "You stay still. One sec." That done, Byron moves around so that he can curl up against her and lay in the bed with her. "Here you go, Joon." A pause. "You told them I was wretched? And Richard isn't going to come after me with a shotgun?" It would be less funny if he didn't look serious as he asks. "And you don't want them staying with me. You'll afraid Shelley and I will get drunk and run around in lingerie again."

Oh, this feels so good, his body firm and warm around hers. She shifts so she can curl against him spoon-fashion, and tries /so hard/ not to giggle at the image of her boyfriend and the admittedly-adorable Shelley prancing around their living room in lacey little numbers from Frederick's. It hurts too much to laugh but it's impossible not to. When she's got her breath again, she nods a little. "No shotguns. Emma said-- she thinks you sound like a free spirit-- which means she approvess. And Richard-- is okay if she's okay. He used to-- be a bartender, you know, in a-- gay club. In college. Saw pageants, so he's-- pretty open. You're fine."

Byron is very happy to curl up with her. He's always happy to curl up with her, but he looks especially pleased to do so now. "When you get out of here? Shelley and I will totally put on a show for you. We'll get the music pumping and make it like the Victoria's Secret fashion show." A grin and he leans in and kisses her forehead. "And I won't be too good then. I'll be just bad enough to keep up my questionable charm." There's a pause and he reaches up to run his fingers through her hair. Gentle. Tentative. Not hesitant, just careful. "How long you going to be in here?"

"Dunno. Couple of days-- probably." She takes a moment to just breathe, breathing in his scent with the shallow air, and closes her eyes. It feels better, the touch of his hand, if her eyes are closed, as though if she can't see it makes it easier to feel. "A show, just for me... that sounds-- nice. Emma might want to watch. Which -- is kind of creepy, actually, now-- that I think about it." A tiny, pained giggle.

He nuzzles her very gently. "Just for you. Emma too if you want." Byron's voice is low. "You have to get better, Joon. It won't be too long until graduation. You need to be all healthy by then." For obvious reasons. "I'd do anything if I thought it would make you feel better. You name it. That's what I'll do. You want a special milkshake that's only available from a restaurant in Arizona? I'll get it for you. Whatever. You just name it and it's yours."

Sammie giggles again, and gives him a weak elbow in the gut-- barely enough even to register. "Quit making me-- laugh, dammit, Benny. It hurts." But there's gratitude in her voice. Laughter /helps/, even if it hurts to actually do it. "I don't-- want anything, really. Just-- you're here and you're not-- mad at me and it helps so much." She burrows back against him, trying to burrow inside him, it seems, even through the thin hospital blanket and the stupid open-in-the-back drapey thing they've made her wear that she hates with a passion.

"You like to laugh, dammit. It's my job." Byron pauses. "I'd rub your sides, your back, your stomach if I thought it would help. But I'm betting you're all bruised and it would hurt you if I did." He's really quiet. "I am so not mad at you. How could I be mad at you, Joon? I love you. I'm just happy that you're okay. How could you even think that I'd give a damn about that car when you were hurt?"

Goddamnit, he's going to make her cry. "I know but it's-- an expensive car and I was supposed-- to take care of it and it's-- you said it's totalled and I feel-- so badly about it--" There are tears in her eyes, stinging the corners of them, and she wipes her face on the pillow to make them go away. "And yeah. I'm pretty bruised--" There is a line of bruising in a band across her chest where the seat belt had snapped against her, and then all over her ribs. Her torso is, essentially, one big black-and-blue mark right now. It'll be pretty when it starts going green. "But will you--" she blushes a little-- "this sounds stupid but it-- feels good. Will you play with my hair?" She does like it. She's wondered more than once if the warm and comfortable suffusion it gives her is what cats feel when they're stroked by a tolerated human.

Byron strokes her hair, plays with it. "No. It isn't stupid, sweetheart. You want affection and it does feel good." His voice is low, conspiratorial. "When I'm sick? I like it too. And if it were you doing it? I'm sure I'd love it any time." There's a lowering of his head to kiss her cheek again. "And don't you cry over my stupid car. It's just a car. And money is irrelevant. I don't care about money and things, Joon. Not one damn bit. But you? You are the rarest, most precious, and most valuable thing I have. If something happened..." He just trails off there.

Sammie nuzzles her head against his hand, very much like a cat. Lying down, she's much sleepier than she had been sitting up, as though just settling down like this has made the drugs in her system that much more potent. "I'm okay, Benny. I'm-- hurt a little but I'm okay I mean it's-- just my ribs and they'll heal and anyway I'm-- a big girl." Made all the more amusing by her petite stature. "So don't worry about me-- okay?"

"I will stop worrying me when you can look me in the eye and tell me that if our positions were reversed that you wouldn't worry." Byron arches a brow. "And I'll know if you're lying, Ms. Coleridge." He continues to stroke her hair, gentle, affectionate. "And just your ribs. How many broken and cracked? You know a broken rib can kill you if it pierces your heart or your lungs."

Sammie couldn't tell him that if she tried. Not worry? Ridiculous sod. And so it's probably ridiculous of her to tell him not to worry over her, but still. "Two," she answers him, voice still light and breathy, and pained-sounding. "Two broken... couple more cracked, I think. I-- think it's on the chart but I don't-- remember; everything's still-- really fuzzy. Am on good drugs."

He grins a little. "What do they have you on, sweetie?" Byron pauses. "I know all about painkillers. I take them every day." And she'd know that. He takes them like other people take aspirin. "I'll talk to John, make sure that they have you on something that works well. He takes care of me and has for years. He knows more about painkillers than most doctors do due to the number of them I've been on since my ankle got fucked up."

"I don't remember; they told me but-- it's all kind of fuzzy. Long sounding words." Sammie yawns, and winces when her ribs protest in the strongest of terms the expansion of her lungs. "John-- scares me a little, Benny, but-- I think he's good people. You take too many drugs." It's a sleepy observation, not a condemnation. Sammie's losing filters rapidly, it seems.

Byron moves his hand from her hair to her face for just a moment, tracing her cheekbones, her jawline with his fingertips. There's a pause and he moves his fingers back into her hair. "I'll check your chart before I leave." A pause. "John isn't good people. But he's good to me." He smiles and leans in for another peck on her forehead. It's like he's doing it to comfort himself. "And I do take too many. But I have to, sweetie. I wouldn't be able to function if I didn't."

Sammie yawns again, carefully, and despite her care, her aching ribs protest again, and the lines of that pain cross her face for a moment. "I know. I'm not-- yelling at you or anything for it, Benny, I just-- worry, you know? Love you. John's scary but as long as he's-- good to you I won't fret over him." She shifts a little, and looks annoyed as the open-backed gown bunches in uncomfortable places. "Hate these things. Wish they didn't-- make me wear them."

"I brought you some pajamas. Maybe after you sleep a little they'll let me help you get changed?" Byron says softly, trying to be soothing. "Because I'm not leaving. I'm staying right here. Well, not in the bed. I'm sure some nurse will be along shortly to boot me out of the bed. But I can get some chairs and sleep there. I'm not leaving the hospital though. Even if I have to sleep in the waiting room. And the food is going to be awful. You'll want someone to go get you something tastier to eat anyway." No more talk of John or drugs.

A smile drifts across her face, and Sammie snuggles, if possible, closer to him. "Hope so. Hate these gowns and no you will not-- sleep on chairs. Make them bring-- another bed up or something." She's not sharing her room with anyone, happily enough, although that may change at some point. For now, though, it's her own. "The food /is/ awful. Fed me some-- already. It's so gross."

There's a chuckle. "Honey, I have to be admitted to get a bed." Byron adds, "Technically, I have to leave when visiting hours are up. I'm not family and we're not married." He pauses a bit and actually leans in to kiss her lips softly. So far it's been all little kisses to her cheeks, her forehead. It's just a light little kiss. "I will have food for you at your next meal time. Promise." He adds, "But in the meantime, love? You need to sleep. It's how you'll get better."

Sammie is half asleep already, and getting sleepier by the second. But she turns over, ignoring how painful it is, although it draws a little gasp from her, and curls her hands tightly into his shirt. "Nope. You stay. Will-- fight the nurses, I can take them. Not scary." Nor is she, although she'd be mortified to hear how absolutely adorable she looks with sleepy fierceness on her narrow face. Her eyes are already closed.

Byron tries really hard to not laugh, and he only mostly succeeds. "You shouldn't have moved, sweetie." But he doesn't stop her. He stays right where he is and lets her cling to him just as much as she wants. "I will stay until they send in the men in white coats to get me. I'm no help to you if they cart me off to the psych ward." There's a pause as he almost tells her just how completely cute she is, but he doesn't. Instead he leans in, curls in just as close as he can without hurting her and hums really quiet. No words. Just a melody. Nothing recognizable. Just something sort of meandering and light.

He's got such a lovely voice, Sammie decides distantly. He should make records. Or he should just stay where he is forever, curled up with her, singing her to sleep. It's so comfortable in the drug-induced twilight she's drifting through, and she could happily linger in it for the rest of time. She's too far into sleep to answer him, but her smile is answer enough, and the hands in his shirt loosen just a little, just enough to be a little less desperate in their clinging. And it's not long before she's out like snuffed candle-flame.