Day 37: Breakfast

[scarletspeedstr.livejournal.com]

[for Sylar, I believe]

At the sound of the intercom, Wally jerked awake and blinked around at the room. He’d fallen asleep. He should have been up and keeping an eye open for ZEX, but he’d fallen asleep waiting on his bed.

“Idiot,” he groaned, ruffling his hair and sighing in annoyance. “Way to help a guy out, hotshot.” Hopefully ZEX hadn’t dropped by and thought he’d left or something, or wouldn’t be too mad at him for just forgetting about it like that. If he was lucky, he’d be able to catch up with the other patient at some point and explain what had happened.

Rolling himself a little awkwardly out of the bed, Wally took the opportunity to stretch his injured leg and test how well it was holding up. It was feeling a bit better, not so much that he could abandon his crutch or that it didn’t pull painfully if he wasn’t careful, but better. Tony had apparently made it through the night in one piece as well, which was a relief. He really didn’t feel comfortable about the thought of his roommate wandering about on his own with an injured arm. Not when Wally himself could relax and fall asleep in the apparent safety of their room.

Yeah, he wasn’t going to let himself forget that one in a hurry.

It was at that moment that the door swung open to admit one of the nurses. She seemed surprised to find him awake and ready to go already, but smiled warmly. “Hungry, are we Mr. West? Well in that case, let’s get you to the cafeteria. The staff have provided some delicious French Toast as well as a range of other foods I’m sure you’ll like. Now will you be needing a hand with your leg, dear?”

“No thanks, I can handle it,” Wally replied, smiling back. After all, it probably wasn’t the nurses’ fault that this place was so messed up, so it wasn’t like picking fights with them would do anything. With a cheery wave goodbye, Wally slowly made his way to the cafeteria, keeping a tight grip on his crutch all the while. Obtaining a plate of food was only slightly less difficult than it had been yesterday – he didn’t have the painkillers to work around this time – but he managed well enough, coming away from the buffet with a tray containing a plate piled high with slices of French Toast and slathered in maple syrup, butter, and sugar, as well as a glass of juice. Not quite as good as some coffee would be right now, but the sugar would hopefully make up for it. And, with how few people were here at the moment, he could afford to take more food than might have been considered ‘normal’ – he’d have most of it gone by the time anyone came to keep him company, then he could just worry about how many extra serves would be allowed before he aroused suspicion.

Feeling pretty happy with how things were looking so far, Wally hummed faintly to himself as he dug in to his breakfast.

Comments

[ol-canucklehead.livejournal.com]

"Alrigh', fine." Was the mutant's initial answer as he withdrew the proffered hand. "I c'n understan' yer...reservations. An' yer righ'. ain' easy ta trus' nobody in this place. They're playin' wit' us like toys, an' we ain' got no control over it. Guess it's easier ta jus' look after yersel'. Bu' wha' goo's tha' gonna really do? Only way we're gettin' outta here is if we work ta'gether." He met Sanzo's eye's this time, his one good eye burning into the monk's, shining brightly with fierce intensity.

"Lissen, kid. I am sorry fer wha' I done. An' God, or whoever else, knows I done worse. Bu' think o' it like this. Yer still alive. Ya killed me. Ain' no reason ta be gettin' all pissy 'bou' tha details. S'over. Wha' we gotta do now is..." Logan paused, coughed, tried to surreptitiously wipe the blood away before Sanzo noticed, but doubted he'd succeded. Still, perhaps it would add more credence to his argument. "We gotta focus on wha' we can do. There're people in here, even patien's, who're more keen ta cause harm than ta help people. Ya don' look, don' seem like no fool, an' I'm askin' ya...ta do wha' ya c'n ta help. I know I go' no righ' ta, don' know fer sure tha ya will, bu'...there's people here who need helpin'. You gotta gun. Now ya gotta ask yersel', ya gonna use it ta hur' people, or ta help people?" He coughed again, worse than before, cursing himself for his own helplessness. He used to be among the most powerful mutants on the planet, before he came to this place. Perhaps one day, he would be again, but for now, he was just a seriously cut-up mortal.

[31st-of-china.livejournal.com]

Sanzo lifted an eyebrow at the glimpse of blood. Logan had been quick, but the monk's eye caught a flash of red. What the hell was he even doing out of his cell if he was this badly hurt? What did he even really hope to accomplish?

Then the gun came up.

So that was the root of it. At least now there was a definite ulterior reason to come up to him. Sanzo'd half-expected the memory of what went on that night to be hazy for those who got brainwashed, but apparently some remembered it pretty clearly. Then again, he'd had that pistol jammed against the patient's head. It'd be pretty hard not to remember it.

"So what if I have one? I don't have unlimited bullets," he pointed out. The gun wasn't a free pass just because he had one, nor could it guarantee that he'd save lives with it. He wasn't about to become Gojyo or Goku and start getting sidetracked. "It's for self-defense. That's it. I'm not interested in getting involved in other's bullshit."