[ It starts with a grunt, and then a deep, hollow cough as his insides begin β slowly, agonizingly β to stitch themselves back together. He can almost hear the muscle and sinew, each of the bones on his fractured rib cage clicking back into place. He sure as hell can feel it, and Jesusfuck it hurts.
It's a cruel joke, each death followed by consciousness again and the teasing echo of a voice murmuring to him: welcome back, asshole. Ah, yes. Still on this godforsaken planet, still in one piece, still hurt, and j'en ai marre, he could really use a drink.
But this time his feet seem to move on their own accord and there's the firm press of a body against his urging him forward. In the back of his mind, maybe he's grateful that they're getting away from onlookers. He'd done enough without risking exposure (again) of what he can do, of what his family (wherever they are) can do. Better to stay out of sight. Besides, finding a new apartment in this financial climate was a bitch.
He winces rather violently when the last of his ribs comes together, stumbling like he's twelve drinks in (as opposed to the five he'd been at before he blacked out). He has to stop, just for a second, to catch his breath and inspect his rescuer β or kidnapper? ] β I'm fine, I'm fine.
[ It's been a while since he'd spoken anything other than his native tongue, and maybe his accent's gone a little thicker. ]
[ she thinks alien, but nothing comes immediate to mind in regards to a regenerating species, nothing but time lord, but β well, he wouldn't be. in the corner of her eye, she can still see him bearing the same face he'd worn when he'd gotten hint, suggesting that, as much as she grows anxious at the idea of finding another gallifreyan, she doubts he's one.
the important thing is getting him out of sight for now, that much she knows, and her first thought is to carry him to the tardis. except hers has proven a bit trickier to set up in cities without looking incredibly inconspicuous. logic had told her it was probably best not to plant a tardis trapped in the form of an american diner right in the heart of paris, but now that she was in a hurry, she realizes it would have been much more convenient if she'd parked it closer.
(for the first time, she actually realizes that a police phone box isn't the worst idea.)
when he suddenly speaks, she's so startled by it that she almost drops him, still circling the idea that he was very much dead just a few minutes ago. ]
You have a very funny definition of fine. [ she honestly doesn't think they're far enough yet, but the diner is still a few blocks away, so she instead settles on guiding him onto the nearest bench, lowering him carefully. ] You should lay down at least. That was a nasty hit you took.
[ 'Tis but a scratch. See how he doesn't protest against her leading him towards a spot to sit and rest while the last of his cracks and bruises heals, however.
The older he gets and the more impact he sustains, the more time it takes to heal. He'd warned Nile of that not so long ago, and the wound then β a grenade launched in the Guards' direction β had been much larger. But it always heals β and he's still not sure whether that knowledge is a comfort or a curse.
The clarity from the booze wearing off is also less than charming.
He breathes out. ]
Might I ask where you were taking me?
[ The hospital is in the other direction, and no, he won't be going there anyway β clearly. ]
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it's beautiful
It's a cruel joke, each death followed by consciousness again and the teasing echo of a voice murmuring to him: welcome back, asshole. Ah, yes. Still on this godforsaken planet, still in one piece, still hurt, and j'en ai marre, he could really use a drink.
But this time his feet seem to move on their own accord and there's the firm press of a body against his urging him forward. In the back of his mind, maybe he's grateful that they're getting away from onlookers. He'd done enough without risking exposure (again) of what he can do, of what his family (wherever they are) can do. Better to stay out of sight. Besides, finding a new apartment in this financial climate was a bitch.
He winces rather violently when the last of his ribs comes together, stumbling like he's twelve drinks in (as opposed to the five he'd been at before he blacked out). He has to stop, just for a second, to catch his breath and inspect his rescuer β or kidnapper? ] β I'm fine, I'm fine.
[ It's been a while since he'd spoken anything other than his native tongue, and maybe his accent's gone a little thicker. ]
Here will do.
β‘β‘β‘
the important thing is getting him out of sight for now, that much she knows, and her first thought is to carry him to the tardis. except hers has proven a bit trickier to set up in cities without looking incredibly inconspicuous. logic had told her it was probably best not to plant a tardis trapped in the form of an american diner right in the heart of paris, but now that she was in a hurry, she realizes it would have been much more convenient if she'd parked it closer.
(for the first time, she actually realizes that a police phone box isn't the worst idea.)
when he suddenly speaks, she's so startled by it that she almost drops him, still circling the idea that he was very much dead just a few minutes ago. ]
You have a very funny definition of fine. [ she honestly doesn't think they're far enough yet, but the diner is still a few blocks away, so she instead settles on guiding him onto the nearest bench, lowering him carefully. ] You should lay down at least. That was a nasty hit you took.
smooch
[ 'Tis but a scratch. See how he doesn't protest against her leading him towards a spot to sit and rest while the last of his cracks and bruises heals, however.
The older he gets and the more impact he sustains, the more time it takes to heal. He'd warned Nile of that not so long ago, and the wound then β a grenade launched in the Guards' direction β had been much larger. But it always heals β and he's still not sure whether that knowledge is a comfort or a curse.
The clarity from the booze wearing off is also less than charming.
He breathes out. ]
Might I ask where you were taking me?
[ The hospital is in the other direction, and no, he won't be going there anyway β clearly. ]