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entrancelogs2018-03-21 09:08 pm
thecourier) wrote in entrancelogs2018-03-21 09:08 pm
Entry tags:
[CLOSED]
Who: Dan Palmer & Evelyn O'Connell
Where: Clinic
When: March 21
Rating: G, possible PG
Summary: After Evie comes back from the dead - again - and Frank finally lets her go free, at least one person has very mixed feelings about how he's going to deal with seeing her again.
The Story:
---
['Left you a present in there, Danny-boy. Hope y' like it. Tastes sweet as I thought it would.'
He'd met his doppelganger on the way out of the Hall of Mirrors, and it was the smile on his face that sent more of a chill up the courier's spine than the blood spattering his shirt, his skin, and dripping from the knife still held loosely in his hand. Danyael had cast his gaze idly back over his shoulder, that smile never leaving his face.
And Dan? Dan had felt a cold weight settle into the pit of his stomach as he read everything in that smile that his Mirror wanted him to.
He hadn't come out of it the winner. When a certain mercenary had found them both he was barely breathing, and perhaps it was that same stubbornness that had kept him alive through being shot in the head that kept him going through the stab wounds his Mirror inflicted on him both while they fought, and after he was no longer capable of fighting. He'd meant to kill him, Dan was sure, but in the end he'd only scored one out of two.
Dan hadn't been happy about what Frank had told him, when he was finally conscious enough to understand it. He hadn't been happy at all, but there was nothing he could do about it. He'd said no to any magic beyond what would keep him alive, no to much more except stitching the wounds up and leaving him be, and he wasn't sure how much he'd missed while he was alternating between sleeping and watching the clinic ceiling.
By the fifth day, he knows she'll be back... but he feels a twist in his gut every time he thinks about seeing her again. How could she trust him now, how could she even look at him when his Mirror had so convincingly pretended to be him? And how could he even look at her, when he'd told her he'd do anything to keep her safe, and he couldn't even do that.
But there's no running away from it. Not this time. No miles of wasteland to wander into while the horizon smoulders behind him. Nowhere to run.
It's evening when he finally decides he's wasted enough of the nurses time. He pushes himself up from the bed with a wince and a soft grunt, a hand curled around his middle and maybe he can just leave before they realise he's made a run for it. He's never been one for sitting still. On his feet, he's gathering himself together when he hears the door open. He turns warily, bracing himself for a lecture, a where do you think you're going, Mr. Palmer?, but it's not a nurse. He... might have preferred it if it was.]
... Evie. [He breathes out. His chest clenches up, like there's a vice around it. It hurts. It's worse than the first time, when he hadn't been the one to find her. When he hadn't pulled himself to her side feeling like he had to hold his insides in and figured that he was just fine with dying right next to her.
Dan leans his weight back onto the bed, and it's a fight to look her in the eyes but he won't do her the discourtesy of not doing so. He grasps blindly for what to say next, then just shakes his head.]
'm so sorry.
Where: Clinic
When: March 21
Rating: G, possible PG
Summary: After Evie comes back from the dead - again - and Frank finally lets her go free, at least one person has very mixed feelings about how he's going to deal with seeing her again.
The Story:
---
['Left you a present in there, Danny-boy. Hope y' like it. Tastes sweet as I thought it would.'
He'd met his doppelganger on the way out of the Hall of Mirrors, and it was the smile on his face that sent more of a chill up the courier's spine than the blood spattering his shirt, his skin, and dripping from the knife still held loosely in his hand. Danyael had cast his gaze idly back over his shoulder, that smile never leaving his face.
And Dan? Dan had felt a cold weight settle into the pit of his stomach as he read everything in that smile that his Mirror wanted him to.
He hadn't come out of it the winner. When a certain mercenary had found them both he was barely breathing, and perhaps it was that same stubbornness that had kept him alive through being shot in the head that kept him going through the stab wounds his Mirror inflicted on him both while they fought, and after he was no longer capable of fighting. He'd meant to kill him, Dan was sure, but in the end he'd only scored one out of two.
Dan hadn't been happy about what Frank had told him, when he was finally conscious enough to understand it. He hadn't been happy at all, but there was nothing he could do about it. He'd said no to any magic beyond what would keep him alive, no to much more except stitching the wounds up and leaving him be, and he wasn't sure how much he'd missed while he was alternating between sleeping and watching the clinic ceiling.
By the fifth day, he knows she'll be back... but he feels a twist in his gut every time he thinks about seeing her again. How could she trust him now, how could she even look at him when his Mirror had so convincingly pretended to be him? And how could he even look at her, when he'd told her he'd do anything to keep her safe, and he couldn't even do that.
But there's no running away from it. Not this time. No miles of wasteland to wander into while the horizon smoulders behind him. Nowhere to run.
It's evening when he finally decides he's wasted enough of the nurses time. He pushes himself up from the bed with a wince and a soft grunt, a hand curled around his middle and maybe he can just leave before they realise he's made a run for it. He's never been one for sitting still. On his feet, he's gathering himself together when he hears the door open. He turns warily, bracing himself for a lecture, a where do you think you're going, Mr. Palmer?, but it's not a nurse. He... might have preferred it if it was.]
... Evie. [He breathes out. His chest clenches up, like there's a vice around it. It hurts. It's worse than the first time, when he hadn't been the one to find her. When he hadn't pulled himself to her side feeling like he had to hold his insides in and figured that he was just fine with dying right next to her.
Dan leans his weight back onto the bed, and it's a fight to look her in the eyes but he won't do her the discourtesy of not doing so. He grasps blindly for what to say next, then just shakes his head.]
'm so sorry.
no subject
She knocks quietly, and enters.
What Evelyn finds is worse than what Frank described as the light from the corridor seeps into the little room: Dan sags against the edge of the bed in loose linen pyjama pants, his chest bare and wrapped with gauze and tape, skin mottled with fresh purples that ease into the sickly yellow of healing bruises. His arms are scoured with cuts, his face a mess of swollen flesh that only just seems to have begun to lessen, gashes across his cheek and jaw and brow, a split lip.
Her stomach lurches that she was the cause of this misery and she immediately crosses the distance between them, moving into his space, carefully backing him up to the mattress for she does not know the state of the rest of him.]
Oh, Dan.
[She murmurs with a weak catch of agony in her voice, reaching up to cradle his face in her hands. Here she is as good as new and he, so close to the edge, did not fall over it so much as he clung with white-knuckled hands. It wouldn't be the first time for him.]
What did he do to you?
no subject
Dan's fingertips brush her jawline in turn, and there's something like a wry, rueful smile pulling at his lips as his forehead gently presses to hers. His heart is pounding, the pit of his stomach twisted into hot nausea, and he isn't sure how much of it is caused by her presence and how much is simply his efforts to leave when he should never have been on his feet.]
'M fine. [He tells her quietly, the soft tone he adopts doing nothing to disguise the way his voice catches his his throat. His hands lift to grip hers, pulling them down, but only to move them out of the way for him to wrap both arms around her and pull her gently against his chest. With her ear lightly pressed over his racing heart he presses a kiss into her hair and draws in a shuddering, tremulous breath.]
He jus' g-- [His voice hitches again, and he clears his throat softly.] Jus' got a lucky shot.
no subject
Don't move too much.
[She says softly, curls catching on rough fingers as Dan's knuckles drag across her jaw. He's a mess, it's a miracle he survived at all, the marks on his forearms jagged and red. Bruised flesh cobbled together into a person as weak as he knees. His breath is a huff of hot air, the only warmth in the room outside of the hands that pry her grip free and clutch her close.
Carefully, delicately, her arms move around his middle. Conscious of the bandages and less aware of the extent of the damage beneath them Evelyn allows herself to sag against him and the bed, still sturdy in spite of his state. Part of her worries the shock might have him collapse and she isn't strong enough to get him back to the mattress.]
You could have died. [She is aware of the irony.] Why did you come to find me?