lock, stock, and FEELINGS

[dendarii]

WHO: Miles, Rincewind, other Vorsoap members + healers on hand (Ken, Duv, Lucy? etc.)
WHERE: A small hospital in De Chima
WHEN: SUPER DUPER forward-dated to the evening of 4/8. Please tag in at your leisure / as other threads play out.
WHAT: Miles and co. finally sever the magic in Lucifer's mark, courtesy of a cowardly wizard.
WARNINGS: Potentially some gory/medical descriptions.

Comments

WAITING ROOM

[dendarii]

[ After spending almost two weeks as a child, Miles is suddenly very intent on having full control of his body, goddammit. Plus there's the terrifying thought that he might have been bearing that mark all through his child state, for all he knew. If something else pops up to make him vulnerable, then he sure as hell doesn't want that mark in there complicating things. And then on top of everything else, his younger self just had to go plastering all his information over the network where everyone can see. That last shred of protection, gone ... So they'd better move quickly.

Thus the very firm call to Rincewind - be here at this time - and spending a not inconsiderable amount of their nest egg to get a surgeon lined up who can do the procedure.

It should be simple enough. Split Miles' chest open just enough for Rincewind to touch his sternum, sew him back up again, and then have their healers fix him up instantaneously. Miles even has the easiest part of this, given that the only thing he has to do is lie back and go to sleep. A surgery like so many he's had before, and this time with no PT afterwards. Easy. No problem.

... Somehow things never seem to actually go that way, even when he plans them out perfectly. So he's vaguely nervous in the waiting room, and a bit grumpy from not having had anything to eat since the night previous. Surely he's not the only one. ]

[wizzardly]

[Rincewind is late.

There are a number of reasons for this, a list which starts with him not wanting to be here at all, and then takes a long, meandering path through the difficulty of figuring out public transportation. Specifically, the difficulty was that Rincewind's specific instructions to his cab driver were in fact "Take me as far away from the De Chima hospital as this money will get me," which his driver heard as "Take me (something something) the De Chima hospital (something something)," so he'd of course taken Rincewind to the hospital. Predictably, this was followed by an argument over whether the driver would make up for this grievous error by driving someone who not only didn't have the money for an additional fare, but didn't have enough to pay for the fare he'd just racked up. Rincewind was of the opinion that he shouldn't have to pay anything because the driver didn't follow his instructions; the driver was of the opinion that if the wizard didn't get the rest of his goddamn money in the next ten goddamn minutes, he would either beat the shit out of the wizard or call the cops.

To which Rincewind smiled, apologized, and informed the gentleman that he would just need to pick it up from someone inside the hospital, and don't you mind his earlier fussing, they were just words said in the heat of the moment, and he'll be right back.

His plan, rather simply, was to go inside the hospital through one door, assuming that the large building would have ample ways to provide an exit out of a completely different door. One out of view of any cab drivers.

Instead, Rincewind isn't five steps inside the waiting room before he's already locked eyes with one Admiral Naismith.] ...Oh. Here already, are you?

[dendarii]

[ An Admiral Naismith who was getting more and more fidgety the longer it took for Rincewind to show up. He's the key to this, after all. No wizard means going to Plan B, which involves a surgical disruption of the mark ... Insanely tricky, given his weak bones. Miles would really rather not.

He'd been just getting ready to message and/or send Tex to track down the wayward wizard when he strides right in the door. Oh thank god. Miles hops to his feet with obvious relief. Already striding towards the man. There'll be no escape for Rincewind here. ]

I was starting to get worried. Glad you could make it.

[wizzardly]

Somehow I always do.

[said in an even tone, but with a dark, surreptitious look through the glass doors to the cab still waiting in the parking lot. How is it that even on another world his luck is worth less than a meat pie?

When he turns back to Miles Rincewind tries not to let on that he's disappointed not to be two states away, but there is a decided wilt in his skinny shoulders.] You're ready for this, are you? Should I assume everyone else is already here? ...Whoever it is you wanted involved in this, that is.

[which reminds him that the Luggage should be catching up soon; he'd caught sight of it every so often in the cabbie's rear view mirror. He's somewhat sure it caused a traffic accident along the way.]

[dendarii]

[ Miles should probably feel sorry for the wizard. Eh ... later, maybe. Right now he's feeling entirely too selfish to let him escape. ]

Oh, yes. You're the last to arrive, in fact. I'm glad you decided not to run.

[komarran]

[ He's here. He's unsure why they're entrusting him with this matter of life and death for his first healing job, but it's not like he could say no. It's not like this is the Butcher's son and both Count and Countess Vorkosigan and the Emperor of Barrayar are around to witness any mistakes he makes, fatal or otherwise. At least he has back-up for if things go horribly wrong.

It doesn't help that he hasn't had the chance to be fully apprised of the situation. A lot seems to have happened in the months the Vor have been here despite the seeming impossibility of it all.

He's in the waiting room, sitting not too far from Miles and wringing his own hands in a fit of nerves. The rest of him appears composed, that much he's thankful for. For someone that's been bestowed super powers, he doesn't feel very super.

He eyes Miles and clears his throat, deciding to make small talk. Even if this Miles doesn't remember him at all (and is that a good thing or bad?). ] So. How well do you know the team you're assembling today?

[dendarii]

[ Miles had gotten up to pace, as their wizard hasn't shown up at this point (and will, in fact, be late). When Duv speaks, though, he slows himself back down to a halt with obvious reluctance. This man ... this Komarran. His own impressions are colored by his child-self's glee in meeting an obviously exciting complication in his life. His adult-self is skeptical, however. If not for Cordelia's apparent fondness for the man, he'd be downright wary.

But his mother considers him an old friend. And Gregor has a link to him, which ... well, that's something too. Enough for what they're doing today anyway. ]

Honestly, you're the one I know least well. [ A pause. ] You needn't worry. We have another healer on hand.

[komarran]

[ He nods in understanding. He can't blame the man even if it's... strange having these memories that aren't shared. And most of which he can't even share with Countess Vorkosigan's request. ]

A good one, I hope. I'm afraid there hasn't been much to practice on. [ Which is good since it means no injuries, but horrible for him. If only he had his damn papers to review how to even activate this damn power. ]

[dendarii]

[ Miles is having much the same thought. Bad he hasn't gotten practice - but very good that no one's been hurt. Yet. If he serves as a test subject, then really he's quite okay with that. ]

Fortunate that you have the opportunity. Really, it ought to be perfectly safe. The doctor should be able to keep me alive even if all else fails.

[ He decides not to mention the distinct possibility that removing the mark might very well cause his chest to collapse in on itself. ]

SURGERY

[dendarii]

[ Miles is out cold - his consciousness having spiraled away into nothing courtesy of the anesthesia - which just leaves the surgery itself to be done. It goes smoothly enough. No complications thus far, which is all anyone can really hope for with someone as delicate as Miles. Soon enough it's time for Rincewind to step up, with Miles prone and open up to his sternum. The mark is faintly visible in the harsh light of the operating room. Almost beautiful, if also horrifying in its implications. ]

[wizzardly]

[There are few things Rincewind dislikes in this world more than blood.

He's no stranger to the substance (an unfortunate fact in itself) and can stand the sight if he has to (although he prefers to already be at a great speed when he does), but there's never been a time he's seen it outside of a body and thought "Well, would you look at that, I sure am glad this happened today." He finds the sight of his own the most distressing, of course, and that's only right, but seeing it trickle from someone else's body (or in this case, their chest cavity) doesn't make it better, it just makes it less worse.

Rincewind, wearing a surgical gown over his robe, takes a small, reluctant step closer to Miles' prone body, rubbing his hands together. He'd spent the surgery washing them a couple dozen times as an excuse not to have to watch. He can't wear gloves for this, after all, and he'll have to touch the bone directly. With his fingers. His fingers. On Miles' bone. His exposed bone, in his exposed chest, the skin of which is being held back with little metal bits which shine in the light.

Rincewind's stomach flip-flops. He swallows, closing his eyes even as he takes the last required steps forward. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods. What if he presses too hard and breaks him? What if the mark fights its removal, and he has to stand here for an hour? What if it doesn't work at all?

It had better, he thinks, vicious determination suddenly bubbling past his nausea. After all this, it had damn well better. He's not going to fail here only for someone to brightly suggest he return next week, because so-and-so has such-and-such power to amplify magic, and they'll just have to keep trying!

Rincewind carefully extends his right hand towards the mark etched in Miles' sternum, the angelic rune glowing a bright, taunting octarine to the wizard's eyes.

If I get out of this alive, he thinks, I want... I want a potato. A baked one. Loaded - loaded with ham and cheese and things. A little grilled onion, maybe.

His fingers touch the rough, warm texture of bone and he shudders.

And a beer. - TWO beers. Nice ones, very cold.

He furrows his brow, narrowing his eyes at the mark as he concentrates. He wants it open, wants it broken, wants it absolutely gone, and Rincewind forces this intention within its glowing lines like a skeleton key, mentally twisting.

And a sign, he thinks, gritting his teeth now as he feels some intangible resistance. Nothing large, nothing large, it doesn't even need to be metal, wood would be fine. Maybe they could even just write me a letter, some sort of thanks...

The mark peels from Miles' bone like a barnacle from the hull of a ship. While not strong enough to stop it, the mark's magic is strong enough to make its removal a struggle, and Rincewind is certainly struggling. The wizard's lip curls, sweat beading on his brow. Under his breath he mutters an angry "Bugger off." Then, all at once - like a stubborn lid flying off a jar - it's over.

The wizard stumbles back, catches himself on a metal cart, and blinks, dazed, at the unconscious man on the surgical table. Miles' chest is open and exposed, but whole and bare. Lucifer's mark is gone, the magic has dissipated; there's nothing left.]

...I did it? [Rincewind stares. Swallows. Gods, but he... he really did, didn't he? He sniffs, rubs at his nose, and smiles a little, goofy smile to himself. He did it. He, Rincewind the failure, with these fingers, he really - !

Oh, there's a smear of blood on those fingers. His nose must be bleeding. ...Ew. Rincewind makes a face and wipes them against the surgical gown. Well, that sorts out that, at least. Now he can -

There's a brief, brilliant, octarine flash. Magic lights up the room and sizzles in the air, the sudden scent of tin filling Rincewind's nostrils, a tell-tale oily film on his tongue. The octarine has gone completely in the next moment, but he looks around wildly anyway, panicked and hunting for the source. Anyone unable to see magic would think the wizard mad for the question he asks next, and particularly for the wild look in his eyes when he asks it.]

What - what was that? Did you see that? Did anyone see that?

COMING OUT OF ANESTHESIA

[dendarii]

[ And then it's all done. The mark can't be erased without doing serious damage to Miles' ribcage, but the magic link tracking him has been cut. Restitched, healed up, and back to rights, the only thing he needs to do is wake back up again. That ... is going to be a slow process. Miles has always had idiosyncratic reactions to drugs even under the best circumstances, and flat out allergic ones if he's really unlucky. Happily the latter isn't happening here, but it is going to take a long time for the effects to wear off.

He starts to murmur quietly as the first shreds of consciousness return to him. Still half in a daze, unlikely to remember anything. It may even have been the third or fourth time he's gone through this, the previous awakenings having been erased and reset by the drugs. ]

-- awake now. Really awake.

[vorbarra]

[ It's done. It's done. Miles is healed, and nothing had gone wrong, and that goddamned mark is gone.

Gregor hadn't realized how much that was weighing on him until the absence of it makes him light-headed with relief. He's so pleased that, after the doctor's continual reassurance that Miles isn't having any negative drug reactions, this is normal, he sits tolerantly through every iteration of him waking with a small, foolish smile on his face.

He squeezes his hand tightly from where he's sitting in a chair beside the bed. ]

That's what you said last time.

[dendarii]

[ He's a little more coherent each time, at least, as evidenced by his conversation and his slowly strengthening mental presence over the link. It's likely a weird thing to feel in general - from going under to begin with all the way to now. His mind has a wavery sort of feeling to it, like heat rising from hot pavement. Not fully conscious yet, even now ... All of his walls are relaxed too, including that spot he'd portioned off not so long ago. It's all sort of mixing with each other, one thought flickering to the next at random.

He grips Gregor's hand tightly back. A frown crumples his face even as confusion scuds across his mind, far away from the rest of him. ]

I did? [ Trying in vain to remember. It all slides frictionlessly through his mental fingers. ] How long have I been here? Am I alive?

[ Same questions as last time, including that last one. ]

[vorbarra]

[ All of the confusion and muddy feelings of the past two weeks-- from before and including the age change-- are swept aside in the face of this. Gregor is too respectful to take this opportunity to go poking about in that part of Miles he'd had walled off which is now accessible to him. He'd never take advantage like that.

But there is a whole steady stream from him, cool and refreshing, of relief; and hot protectiveness; and steadying patience, Gregor sitting through all of this and having no intention of going anywhere. ]

Yes, hours now, and this is your third time waking. [ His thumb strokes over the back of his hand unconsciously. ] The mark is removed, [ he informs him, happily at that, because Gregor never gets tired of feeling this reaction. ]

[overanalytically]

[ LATER when his family has all met with Miles after Gregor's abrupt departure, there's still a guest waiting to wish Miles well. Spock's been waiting patiently off to the side, reading some book or another he's borrowed from the library at Gregor's recommendation. ]

[dendarii]

[ Eventually Miles is decently coherent enough to get out of his bed and into a wheelchair. With the anesthesia still not quite out of his system, it's not such a good idea for him to be walking yet. At least until he gets to the front of the hospital and someone can help him into the taxi home. He brightens a bit when he's wheeled out by a nurse and spies Spock there in the waiting room as well. ]

Ah. Commander.

[overanalytically]

[ He looks up from his book with a small head movement. ]

Greetings, Lord Vorkosigan. I trust you are well.

[use_everything]

[The first few awakenings he'd left to Gregor, sitting so close to the recovering young man he might as well have been perched on the edge of the bed. It's after Gregor had left, he took his own watch, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, stunner on one hip, Lucifer's sword on the other.

The faces may have changed, but the silent, hyper vigilant vigil over his post surgical hazes might remain familiar.]

[dendarii]

[ Incredibly familiar to Miles, perhaps less so for Aral. As he begins to come back out of his daze for this awakening, something goes utterly still inside his head. The familiarity of that exact silhouette watching over him triggering memories, easing him into a sense of utter safety. No harm could come to him with his father standing guard.

He shifts a bit in bed, his voice a quiet murmur. ]

Da?

[use_everything]

[His head lifts, clearing of his thoughts at the soft voice. It didn't take but a step to cross the distance.

There's a hesitation, and then in some mirror of the easy way he'd done it 5 years older and Miles a decade younger, his fingers brush over Miles' hair.]

Back with us?

FIRST NIGHT (spoilers for Cryoburn and Gentleman Jole & the Red Queen books within)

[keep_nothing]

[ A few hours after Tex takes over the nightwatch duty, which puts it either very late at night or very early in the morning depending on the view, there's a gentle knock on Miles' hospital room door. ]

[failureisntachoice]

[ Danger doesn't bother knocking. Normally. She approaches the door, tense and cautious, until she sees that familiar red hair, bright and long once more. There hadn't been any time to talk since the whole time bullshit followed quickly by a very necessary surgery, so Tex can't say she's upset that Cordelia is here. Even if it is late. ]

Couldn't sleep?

[keep_nothing]

[ Cordelia certainly looks tired, some gray circles under her eyes, hair on the bedraggled side, and her arms folded in front of her as if either hugging herself or just trying to keep the thick, baggy sweater-coat on her shoulders. But she smiles faintly when Tex opens the door. ]

How'd you guess. Is he sleeping?

[failureisntachoice]

[ She stands back to let Cordelia inside and get a better look at her son. ]

Yeah, asleep and doing fine. The doctor and healers did their parts well.