sharp_as_knives | Phoenix Place, Wednesday evening

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Current Location: Phoenix Place
Current Music: Rob Dougan

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Phoenix Place, Wednesday evening

Hannibal's throat was nearly healed, just a faint shadow of bruising and a very slight hoarseness left. He was feeling much better overall, thanks to friends who insisted upon doing whatever they could. His wrists were still a mess, but only time would heal that.

More importantly, his kitchen was nearly completed! After far too many false starts and reorders of things, all that was left was the center island counter, which was still bare wood. If he was careful and his knives were sharp (they always were), he could finally manage to cook again.

The dining room was still waiting on paneling, plants, and a table, but he wasn't too proud to eat elsewhere.

So he was sitting on the sofa with his plate on one of the end tables, eating and listening to some of the Rob Dougan that Jono had left for him. It wasn't a bad evening.

[OOC: Open post!]

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"Heh. I'm a sucker for punishment, but I'm not a masochist," Nick replied. "Just got a 'rip off the damn band-aid' mindset, I guess. We'll do this however the doctor figures is best."

A beat, and then a hiss between his teeth as the muscles in his shoulder spasmed, and then another shake of his head.

"M' not in any shape to do it any other way, anyhow."

Hannibal smiled. "In that case," he held up the sleeve so Nick could pull his arm free, "we will do this as easily as possible."

He made note of the kevlar vest, but said nothing. Instead he pushed up the sleeve of Nick's t-shirt, wiped down his shoulder, and injected him. "That should begin to take effect shortly. Let me know if you need to lie down." He glanced at Nick's head and went to the en suite bathroom to scrub up and put on gloves. "Any dizziness? Nausea?"

"Both," Nick replied, wrinkling his nose. "I got it good back there, but it's really only starting to kick in now."

Because, again, the half a tier he'd managed to skip up by making eye contact with his assailant was well and truly run through, now. At least his timing was good in that regard.

"Swear to god, this night hasn't been half as interesting as it probably looks."

"It looks as though you went looking for trouble and found some," Hannibal noted. He came back in and parted Nick's hair carefully to find the wound. "I'm going to have to clean this; it will probably sting."

At least for a few minutes.

"Pretty sure a bit of a sting back there is the least of my worries," Nikolai noted, giving a lopsided shrug with his good arm. "Thanks for the heads-up, though."

He sat quietly for a moment, and then added, "Okay, so maybe it was about as interesting as it looks."

Hannibal smiled as he worked. "Interesting is one word for it." He cleaned enough of the blood free to get a good look at the wound and hummed. "You should probably have a couple of stitches here." He reached for the scissors. "I'll be as gentle to your hairstyle as I can," he promised.

"Not too worried about the hairstyle either, for once," Nick offered. "Pretty sure straightening it out after this is going to be a challenge for a few weeks anyway."

Well, unless he asked for help, or did it one-handed. Which he'd probably stubbornly attempt, anyway.

"You might want to get a shorter cut," Hannibal advised. He carefully snipped away just enough to get to the cut, then went for another needle. "A local anesthetic," he explained. "How are you feeling?"

"Not entirely like I need to puke," Nick decided. "I can probably handle sitting up for a few stitches, but that might be about my limit."

He was crashing far harder than he'd hoped. Apparently having a shoulder knocked out of joint and what might or might not be a concussion, on top of a shot of valium, was somehow too much for a guy.

Who would have thought?

Imagine that!

And yes, it was almost certainly a concussion.

Hannibal nodded and unwrapped a suture kit. "I'll try to finish quickly."

Look, Nick liked to dream, here.

"Appreciate it, Doc."

He sat quietly for a few moments more, and then he grinned faintly, closing his eyes. He wasn't sure if that was the valium starting to kick in or just some sort of leftover adrenaline, but at least he had the good sense to keep himself from chuckling.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, morbidly amused. "What is my life, anyway?"

Yes, that was probably the valium. Hannibal tried not to be too amused himself. "Interesting and potentially dangerous," he answered. He took a careful stitch to the head wound. "What were you hit with?"

"A brick," Nick answered easily, his tone pretty light, all things considered. "A fucking brick. And then I went down like a goddamn sack of the things, and the bastard started using his feet, instead."

So, yeah. He'd definitely found himself some trouble tonight.

"It sounds rather unpleasant," Hannibal noted. He took a few more stitches and tied it off, then came back around to the front. "How are you feeling now? Ready to get that coat off?"

Nick considered for a moment, and then gave a small, kind of uncoordinated nod. Yes. Yes, that seemed like a pretty good plan.

"Yeah, I think so, Doc. It's not getting any better the longer I sit here, and I'm... well, not feeling no pain, but pretty damn well on the way there."

Hannibal nodded. "Let me move your arm; don't try to help," he instructed. "We want to keep further damage minimal if at all possible." He thought about it for a moment, assessed Nick's level of coherence, then leaned down to look him in the face. "Stay loose and don't move."

"Don't move," Nick echoed, "stay loose. Pretty sure I can handle that."

Really, Nick could probably handle another kick to the shoulder, at this point. Whatever Hannibal wanted. Bring it.

Which was good, because what he was going to get probably wasn't going to be far off. But first, Hannibal gathered up the folds of the coat and pulled them as far over as he could without jostling Nick's bad arm, then kept one hand on his shoulder to feel the dislocation as he moved it just enough to pull it off.

The coat, not his arm.

Nick appreciated that. He still had high hopes of using that arm again. Fighting crime with it. Lifting weights with it. Et cetera.

"Aaand off it - fff - goes."

Okay, maybe he wasn't quite feeling no pain.

Hannibal folded the coat over a nearby chair and turned back to Nick's shoulder, running his hands along it and pressing just enough to feel where the bones were. "I'm going to administer a local anesthetic and muscle relaxer; those should take care of most of the pain. You can let me know if you need more valium."

"Oh, trust me, I will let you know," Nick said, as though there was any sort of doubt. Really, the verbal filter was starting to drift away, and mostly it was just leaving Nikolai happy and drowsy. Hurting, hell yes, but not terribly concerned about that either way. "Good night for valium. And anestha-an-ana- fuck, painkillers. Goddamn, words should not be this hard."

Concussion. Valium. Dislocated shoulder. Honestly, Nick. Honestly.

Hannibal chuckled as he gave Nick the next two injections. "Better for that than for getting beaten up," he prompted smoothly. "A kevlar vest doesn't protect you from a brick to the head."

"Yeah, an' usually I have my helmet on, but it was too damn hot out tonight for that so I left it with my bike. Not makin' that mistake again."

Whoa there, Nick. Slow down, man.

"Your bike?" Hannibal frowned at him. "And how did you get here?"

He had a sinking feeling.

Even with the valium, Nikolai at least had the good sense to look sheepish.

"I was doing plenty better than I am now," he attempted. "Anyway, couldn't go to one of the hospitals on the mainland. That'd end bad. Figured I'd, you know, I'd get to the clinic, only then there were gremlins."

A beat.

"Little green shitheads."

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