Phoenix Place, Wednesday evening

[sharp_as_knives]

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!]

Comments

[gunslingerpose]

"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.

[sharp_as_knives]

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."

[gunslingerpose]

"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.

[sharp_as_knives]

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

He had a sinking feeling.

[gunslingerpose]

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."

[sharp_as_knives]

"Some of the hospitals on the mainland are quite competent, you know," Hannibal noted, half in exasperation and half fishing.

[gunslingerpose]

"Too competent," Nick agreed. "That's the problem."

He reached his good arm up to straighten his shades on his face, partly just making sure that they were still there. Of course they were. Hannibal wasn't unconscious on the floor.

"Can't let myself be out of my own damn head at a mainland hospital. I'd leave worse off than I came in, they'd fucking... vivisect me or something. That'd be fun."

[sharp_as_knives]

"Why on earth would they do that?" Hannibal feigned astonishment. He was certain there was something interesting going on here.

[gunslingerpose]

All things considered, that was probably a pretty safe bet, yeah. Nick took stock of the look on Hannibal's face, and met it with a wry grin and a slow shake of his head.

"S'what they do, isn't it? You see it all the time in the goddamn movies. Something fucked-up and new comes around and the... the government gets all paranoid about it and the movie ends with the whole fucking army outside some hazmat area all because of some ugly little wrinkled thing that the kid made friends with..." A beat. "Only I'm not an alien. I don't think. I don't fucking know."

[sharp_as_knives]

"One would think that would be the sort of thing you would know," Hannibal pointed out as he checked for the pulse in Nick's wrist.

[gunslingerpose]

Nick huffed a bit of a chuckle at that.

"Yeah, yeah, you got me, Doc. Not an alien," he replied. "But shit, like I know anyway. It's fucked up enough that I'd rather not have it go on my official medical record off-island, you know? Better to get it looked at by Fandom people. People who see, like, guys with wings or who breathe fire or whatever the fuck else all the time. People on the mainland, they're not gonna get it. At best, I get hurt. At worst, someone else does."

[sharp_as_knives]

"Is there anything I should know before I continue?" Hannibal asked, frowning. "I should hate to put either of us in danger."

[gunslingerpose]

There was a long silence while Nick tried to focus enough to seriously consider an answer to that question.

"You're a doctor. Goes without saying you don't get my blood in you," he noted, careful to pronounce every word clearly, as though his drugged mumbling would somehow make what he was saying any less credible. "One ground rule. Just one. My shades stay on. I pass out or something and they skew, don't look me in the eye. Just don't look me in the goddamn eye."

[sharp_as_knives]

Well, that was certainly interesting. "If you pass out, I doubt your eyes will be open," Hannibal pointed out. "However, I should at least check your pupils; we want to rule out brain damage."

[gunslingerpose]

"No," Nick said firmly, and there was very little of that valium-induced serenity in his tone, then. "If I'm not conscious and you open my eye, you will die. You will look me in the fucking eye, and neither one of us will be able to break that eye contact, and when I come to again, you will still be locked there, stone fucking dead. I'll chance the brain damage, if it's all the same to you."

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal paused. "Perhaps you'd better explain." So much for being subtle, but if Nick was in a mood to talk...

He pressed on each of his fingers, checking the blood flow. "Any numbness or tingling?"

[gunslingerpose]

Nick was rarely in a mood to talk, but given the likelihood that he would pass out here, the idea of waking up to Hannibal's corpse didn't exactly appeal to him, for whatever reason.

"Bit numb," he mumbled, closing his eyes and sighing. Holding his focus for long enough to get that last bit out was exhausting all on its own. "Anyway, doesn't matter so long as you don't try it. Some kind of fucked-up Greek life-energy vampire death-eyes bullshit, hell if I even know what I'm supposed to be, anymore. Gave up trying to figure it out and it's not like I'm rushing back to Kalymnos to ask. I'll come stumbling back with snakes for hair next or something."

[sharp_as_knives]

"I think I can get your vest off myself; may I cut the shirt?" Hannibal asked. Nick's revelation he took in, then cocked his head as he thought about it. "You're referring to the gorgon Medusa. Do you know the story of how Perseus defeated her?"

[gunslingerpose]

"One of the first things I tested once I stopped freaking out and started acknowledging that I was stuck with this, Doc," Nick confirmed. "Looking in a shield won't save you from this. It's a matter of what you can see. Can't see my eyes, you're good. Otherwise? Not worth the risk."

It wasn't a matter of what Nick looked at. It was a matter of what was looking at Nick.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal grimaced. He had been hoping a mirror might help. "Perhaps a camera? Otherwise, I will have to ask you to check yourself in the mirror. I am assuming you are immune to yourself."

[gunslingerpose]

"... Camera might do it," Nick allowed. "Haven't gone waving photos in people's faces, but if I end up knocking you out with a selfie, I probably deserve to sit here with my arm hanging out of joint anyway."

Yes. Yes, that was perfectly sound logic.

[sharp_as_knives]

It worked for Hannibal!

He took out his phone, turned on the camera, and put it in Nick's good hand. "I won't look."

It was probably best he keep his eye on the lidocaine he was injecting into Nick's shoulder, anyway.

[gunslingerpose]

Nick gave a little nod, looking thoughtfully at the phone for a moment before turning his head to face the other way. No sense even risking it, really, after all.

"This is going to go down in history as the shittiest selfie ever," he decided, before shoving his shades up to rest on his forehead and taking a quick photo. A moment later, once he had his eyes covered again, he gave the picture a thoughtful once-over. "Yep."

It was good to know that he'd called it. He set the phone down on the bed while Hannibal worked. On the off chance that his... whatever... his curse extended to pixels (which he doubted), it was probably a good idea to wait until Hannibal didn't have a needle in his arm before potentially stunning him for a moment.

"And I'm not attached to the shirt any. Cut snowflakes out of the damn thing if you want."

[sharp_as_knives]

"Perhaps later, when I'm feeling more artistic," Hannibal answered, deadpan. He put down the needle and picked up the phone. "Not the most photogenic," he admitted, "but a good view of your pupils, thank you. And they seem to be even and responding properly to the light, you will be happy to know."

[gunslingerpose]

"Anything I can walk out of without brain damage," Nick halfheartedly quipped, closing his eyes again and grinning faintly. "Gonna have to remember this for later. The photo thing. You're the first one to see my face without having a nap shortly after in... fuck... a year?"