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Breath out

He had to take a breath, hold it, count, then let it go before answering. Reigning in a temper that had been simmering closer to the surface than was normal for him. Shoving his glasses up, he pinched at the bridge of his nose. A minor headache was beginning to far behind his eyes. "Why wouldn't I be here, Ever?" He sounded tired, a little frustrated himself, but not exactly at him.

Breath out

It wasn't an answer, it was a dismissal. Zeke wanted to be pissed, and for just a second he was. Hands curling at his sides, frustration evident, but just as quickly shoved away. Zeke was tired, cranky didn't even begin to cover his mood at the moment, and it would have been easy to snap back, but completely unhelpful. Ever was pale--more so than usual--shaking, in pain. Very seriously hurt, likely just as, if not more, frustrated, and certainly felt like s**t. It cut him an exceptional amount of slack.

"I do work here," he kept his voice even as he said it, movie to pull the lighter gently from his hand so he could strike up a steady flame and hold it against the end of his cigarette. When it was lit he set the lighter on the table and picked up his book. "Which means I'll have to come back, at some point."

Breath out

At least he was quiet until the cigarette was lit -- but that was, probably out of his own selfish needs. Ever flicked his bucket a look as he smoked, with a touch of a grimace behind it. He had an ash tray, then. Of sorts.

"So come back after they take the stitches out." A beat, and then he finished around his cigarette, "Once I'm not puking anymore."

Passing

"Cute little sex toy shop," she chirped happily. "Looked almost like a ********' Sanrio store until I noticed the Adult on the sign." Both the plush and America beamed down happily at him. "Horsemen are assholes, glad you made it out. Guess Nerd Division doesn't mean you get to skip on getting skewered, though. Are you gonna get a cool scar out of it?"

Breath out

"Can't make that promise." He'd have to stop by during rounds for patient checks. It was his job when he was there. "If im assigned to this hall, then I'm the one looking in on you, and every other person on this floor." But he could keep his distance otherwise.

He was moving towards the door, but paused before he reached it. "If you get nauseous again," and he shouldn't, not for a few hours at least with what Zeke had fed into his IV. "Hit the call button. Vomiting might tear your stitches, inside and out." A faster recovery meant not trying to tough things out.

Breath out

Ever thought about that for a very long moment, smoking his cigarette -- at just a slight angle, so he wouldn't drop ash into the bed in his lap. Then he cleared his throat.

"...I might have done that. Maybe someone should come look." He reached his arm out, slowly, to tap off his cigarette into the bucket. His voice sounded just a little hollow. He just needed a few more days. "It tastes like blood. But maybe that's just in my head."

And, eventually, the smoke would dull it.

Mending

The outer stitches had been removed, or so Zeke had heard from the attending he'd come to relieve. It was good news, meant Ever was on the mend and out of the danger zone where one bad move could mean tearing himself open all over again.

Starting at the end of the hall, the Mist worked his way down, checking patients, administering medications as needed. A quiet afternoon that had the makings of an easy half shift. When he reached Ever's room he was actually in in good spirits, or at least seemed less on edge.

"How's the pain today?" Pages rustled as he grabbed the clipboard off the foot of the bed, looking over the notes from the previous few shifts. "They're not being stingy with the morphine, are they?"