[Milliways]

[mr_gaeta]

It's been barely over a day since Gaeta tumbled through the Milliways door for the last time, and somehow -- despite being dead -- he's already coming down with something.

He can't tell what; it's just a general malaise, a chill that made him ask for a blanket along with his dinner when he went to the bar. Everything just seems...too bright, he guesses. Too loud. And he's starting to ache in a way that means he might've spoke too soon about the pain being gone for good.

Maybe he'll go to the infirmary later. For now, he's going to enjoy his soup.

Comments

[simon_doctor]

"Felix?"

There's startlement almost to the point of shock in Simon's voice, coming from a few feet away from the table.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta looks up, and breaks into a tired smile.

"Hey, Simon," he says. There's a touch of rueful understanding in response to the shock; untangling one hand from the blanket, he waves hello.

[simon_doctor]

"Wei," he responds, half-automatically.

Possibly the most disturbing thing: how much better that smile looks than any expression he's seen on Gaeta's face in months if not years.

"I ..." Lamely: "I got your letter."

[mr_gaeta]

"Oh."

The smile dims a little, leaving even more room for the ruefulness to grow. "I'm, ah...I'm glad." Rubbing at his arm, "I'm sorry I wasn't able to tell you the news in person."

[simon_doctor]

Subdued: "No, it's all right. I can ... I understand it may not have been, ah, feasible, for you to ..."

He rubs a hand across his mouth.

"Réncí de Fózŭ. I'm sorry."

[mr_gaeta]

"It's okay," says Gaeta, and he sounds so gentle as he says it. The tiny quirk to his mouth stays put. "You don't have to be. I'm all right."

[simon_doctor]

Simon can't stop himself from casting a quick look at the blanket Gaeta has wrapped around himself.

[mr_gaeta]

"...Okay, I might be coming down with something, but otherwise I'm all right."

That's a little sheepish, as he pulls the blanket tighter.

[simon_doctor]

It still, every now and then, strikes him as strange that the dead here can get sick.

Not that it's any stranger than the dead being here at all.

"Still." Quietly. "It can't be easy."

[mr_gaeta]

Easier than I've dealt with the last four years, he doesn't say.

"It's...been an adjustment," he hedges instead. The blanket rises and falls around his shoulders. "But I've only been here about a day so far."

[simon_doctor]

He nods.

And, belatedly, indicates the chair across from Gaeta. "May I?"

[mr_gaeta]

" -- Oh, sure," he says, nodding a bit hastily toward the chair. "Please. Go ahead. Um -- do you want anything?"

[simon_doctor]

He seats himself. "I was going to get a cup of tea. I'll order from the next waitrat."

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta nods, absently rubbing his arm again. His hands shake a little; he tucks them closer to try and stop the shivering.

(The worst part is still the pain; after the respite of the past day, the idea that he might have to go back to hurting all the time is abruptly intolerable. He has to head this off at the pass as fast as he can.)

"How've you been?"

[simon_doctor]

"I've been well. Things have been ... actually kind of quiet. Which is nice."

(Quiet, at least, until Felix's letter. He's not going to say that.)

[mr_gaeta]

"Good." He manages another small smile, clasping his hands tighter. "Glad I didn't miss much."

[simon_doctor]

Simon's taken note of the tremor in the other man's hands; he's not sure whether it's a physical complaint or a psychological one.

God knows, there's enough cause for either.

Hesitantly: "Is there, ah ... anything you need?"

[mr_gaeta]

"...Actually, um. I might."

The smile tilts back toward wry.

"I think it may have been too optimistic to expect I wouldn't need morpha anymore. Is there a way I could get some?"

[simon_doctor]

"...Possibly."

Simon's taking another careful look, as unobtrusively as possible, at that tremor in Gaeta's hands.

"How bad is your leg?"

[mr_gaeta]

"Not nearly as bad as it was," he admits. "But it still hurts."

More than just his leg; the latest aches are everywhere.

[simon_doctor]

A sympathetic nod. "And how long has it been since your last dose of morpha?"

[mr_gaeta]

"Um..."

He thinks.

"Maybe thirty-six hours? A little more than? I asked for some a couple hours before the..."

Gaeta still can't quite bring himself to say it so baldly: execution. Instead, he waves a hand vaguely.

[simon_doctor]

"Well," he says, "the good news is, that means I can give you something else for the pain right away. -- If you'd care to come to the infirmary with me?"

He has a few more questions.

[mr_gaeta]

"Okay," he says, "sure, yeah -- "

That sounds promising. Gaeta shrugs off the blanket, draping over the back of his chair before reaching for his crutches. (Unlike the last time Simon saw him, he isn't wearing a prosthesis any longer.)

[simon_doctor]

That startles him, when he sees it.

"Do you want the hoverchair again?" he asks, doing his best to keep it a light question.