“I will, right away,” he nods, as he bit by bit manages to sluggishly wriggle the coat on. Then the scarf, then the mask—ah, it even smells like him. “Thank you, Hawkeye. Truly. I know this is difficult.”
His eyes squinch in that way he does when he smiles from behind a mask. “Of course.”
—
There’s a rush of cold air from downstairs as the clinic’s front door opens, and the slow plod of Mulcahy’s footsteps as he makes his way back up to the apartment. He’s shivering, hands white even as they’re tucked beneath his armpits.
“Hawkeye?” he calls, following by coughing from the strain.
“Fine! Oh, quite fine, in fact,” he answers cheerily, even as his lungs wheeze. He doesn’t even have to wonder whether Hawk was waiting for him the whole time, he knows the answer. “Just chilly, that’s all—oh, here.” He takes a bottle of honey from the coat. “There’s a hole in the pocket, by the way. I nearly lost my change.”
“For a moment, so I sat down, but it went away quickly.”
Speaking of, he’s sitting down again. That walk took a lot out of him.
“They were hosting a—well, it was advertised as an open mic, at the Empty Pockets performing bar. But some rather strange characters showed up to play and magically swept the whole place up in some sort of… terrible, terrible grief. They were infernal beings, I think. No one was hurt, just an awful lot of tears.”
“No,” he says, his voice suddenly a few tones firmer. “No, it’s all right. I was very happy to come home to you.”
He’s sick to his stomach of seeing Hawkeye in pain.
“From what I understand, grief is a domain they draw power from. There may—“ a hand goes to his forehead, which goes into crossing himself, “—there may have been some bargaining by some as well, but I’m not sure. I wasn’t… I didn’t quite know what was happening, really.”
And he brightens again: “However, I met Degas, the local priest, and Rov Morgenshtern, the rabbi! Perhaps it wasn’t the best place or time, but I’ve been meaning to speak with them, and now I have. It’s all very exciting.”
A beat. “I hope I didn’t make too terrible of an impression, being sick. Ah, well. At least it’s only uphill from here.”
"And what if you hadn't come home, huh? Or if they hadn't just wanted to jerk a few tears."
His hand tightens on the tin, and he forces himself to relax it. When did he become such a worrywart, huh? He's so jumpy that he's half a mind to quit and go join a flea circus.
"Anyway. Lev is great, I hear Degas is great, I'm glad you got to meet them."
… This is the downside, he reminds himself. A Hawkeye who hasn’t seen everything Mulcahy’s seen is one who hasn’t tread the arguments they’ve already had; the near screaming matches fought over how much they cannot help but love each other and all the others. How much they just cannot stand to watch the other go into the fire without them, nor watch the other come with.
He stills for an uneasy moment, the ghost of another time ringing in his ears.
“Yes, they’re…” He’s suddenly lost all appetite, not that he had much to begin with. What is he doing here? What is he saying, being so fond? How can he possibly help it? God, wasn’t that always the problem?
“Yes. I’m quite looking forward to collaborating with or learning from them. I’ll reach out again as soon as I’m well.”
This Hawkeye, innocent of all those screaming matches, of the tangled depths which their shared roots reach down into, just hears Mulcahy freeze and looks over, brow creasing in further worry.
He pushes a tin mug of hot chocolate into Mulcahy's hands and nurses his own, adding-
"Must be nice not being the only resident holy man. You won't have to pull double duty with the Jewish rites now."
He has no idea what he’s going to do when the dragon comes for them. He has the gift of knowing where it ends up, and he still can’t imagine doing anything different than what he’d done. Maybe it’s inevitable. Maybe all he can do is brace for impact.
“It is.” He’s still quiet as he takes the mug, staring down into it as he warms his hands. “Although I wish I’d brought my homework to share notes with them.”
"They're nice enough, I'm sure they'll let you copy theirs."
He taps his fingers on the mug, falling uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. He makes a couple of false starts, almost brings it up- what 'it', that he's worried for Mulcahy? The reason he's both terrified of and drawn to Lev?- but it's like an engine that can't quite turn over. For once, Hawkeye can't make his mouth go.
Hawk stands, says-
"Stay warm up there- if you get cold, get the stove going. You know where I'll be if you need anything."
The day after, Mulcahy coughs into his elbow like a dying lawnmower; it brings him to sitting up off the couch, and after a moment, he lies back down to catch his breath.
"What did I say? What's the first thing I said," he's got a little pot on the stove where he's warming up a tincture to make it go down easier, "I said 'don't go out in this weather, you'll catch your death' and now look- I feel like Julie Caeser's wife over here. I told him Julie don't go, beware the ides already-"
His annoyance is a solid 60% theatrics in the hopes of getting a laugh out of Mulcahy.
He does, although the chuckle is a wet-sounding thing that leads into another cough from deep in the chest.
“You’ll be disappointed to know I still don’t regret it,” he chirps, pleased as punch with himself. “I’m quite satisfied, and at least you can sleep at night knowing there won’t be any escape attempts.”
"That's a shame, I always wanted to go after someone's trail with a set of dogs and a searchlight. Don't have a siren but I'm probably loud enough to do that myself."
A sigh, and Hawk carefully gets it into a cup for Mulcahy to drink. At this rate he feels more like a village hag than a doctor. He'd kill for some vicks.
"Here," he offers the cup, "block your nose for this one, it's not as bad as the mess hall coffee, but it's not good either."
Another hoarse chuckle. Mulcahy does as he’s told, takes the cup, plugs his nose, down the hatch it goes—it’s not the worst, really, but oh does he feel that going the whole way down.
Mulcahy blinks and shakes his head. “My, that was something. I suppose that must mean it works.”
"That's why I gargle diesel whenever I get sick," he jokes, taking the cup back.
"I'm a little worried at how persistent this bug is, but I guess if you haven't been sick for a couple of years it makes sense. I might move you to my bed, see if getting more even sleep won't help."
"Isn't it enough that I'm fouling up the middle of your house?" he sighs gently, with a resignation that he's almost certain there's no changing his mind but feels the need to protest nonetheless. "Must I be sick in your bedroom too? It's alright, truly."
Hawkeye gets to escape a more fervent protest at getting moved out, if only because he's fever's back and he can't concentrate on forming a proper argument that doesn't sound like he's simply dragging his feet in the mud.
"All right, all right," he grumbles, relenting. "If you really insist. But I won't be happy about it, you can't make me."
"I could make you the happiest man in the whole Marrow Isles but I don't think we're ready to take that step yet," he jokes, patting Mulcahy on the shoulder before picking up his water and the couple of clean hankies Hawk has for him on the side table.
"I'll go set up in there. Wander over when you feel up to it, alright?"
Well, he was trying to be very cool about it all, but if that isn’t the swiftest possible way Hawkeye could get him to mentally back up into a corner. It’s a good thing he hasn’t eaten much lately.
“… I’m afraid I’m already engaged to another,” he parries weakly. “You’d have to get past my vows first.”
Mulcahy pushes himself to sitting but doesn’t stand yet, instead taking a moment to hack up half a lung into his arm and catch his breath now that he’s changed position so dramatically. He’ll get up in just a second, yes, just…
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-03-29 10:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-03-29 10:14 am (UTC)...
"Actually, if you're up to it, grab us some honey too, we're running low."
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Date: 2024-03-29 10:40 am (UTC)—
There’s a rush of cold air from downstairs as the clinic’s front door opens, and the slow plod of Mulcahy’s footsteps as he makes his way back up to the apartment. He’s shivering, hands white even as they’re tucked beneath his armpits.
“Hawkeye?” he calls, following by coughing from the strain.
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Date: 2024-03-29 10:49 am (UTC)"Are you alright? I told you it was cold out there- let's get you back upstairs-"
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Date: 2024-03-29 10:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-03-29 11:08 am (UTC)He gently pets Mulcahy's shoulder, ushering him into the warmer clinic proper.
"Thanks for that. All alright? No lightheadedness?"
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Date: 2024-03-29 11:18 am (UTC)Speaking of, he’s sitting down again. That walk took a lot out of him.
“They were hosting a—well, it was advertised as an open mic, at the Empty Pockets performing bar. But some rather strange characters showed up to play and magically swept the whole place up in some sort of… terrible, terrible grief. They were infernal beings, I think. No one was hurt, just an awful lot of tears.”
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Date: 2024-03-29 11:30 am (UTC)"I hate this damn town," he grumbles, "so what- some demons showed up to make people cry? Did they take people's candy too? I don't-"
He huffs, rummaging around for some hot cocoa to go with the honey.
"I should've gone with you."
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Date: 2024-03-29 11:44 am (UTC)He’s sick to his stomach of seeing Hawkeye in pain.
“From what I understand, grief is a domain they draw power from. There may—“ a hand goes to his forehead, which goes into crossing himself, “—there may have been some bargaining by some as well, but I’m not sure. I wasn’t… I didn’t quite know what was happening, really.”
And he brightens again: “However, I met Degas, the local priest, and Rov Morgenshtern, the rabbi! Perhaps it wasn’t the best place or time, but I’ve been meaning to speak with them, and now I have. It’s all very exciting.”
A beat. “I hope I didn’t make too terrible of an impression, being sick. Ah, well. At least it’s only uphill from here.”
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Date: 2024-03-29 12:34 pm (UTC)His hand tightens on the tin, and he forces himself to relax it. When did he become such a worrywart, huh? He's so jumpy that he's half a mind to quit and go join a flea circus.
"Anyway. Lev is great, I hear Degas is great, I'm glad you got to meet them."
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Date: 2024-03-29 12:47 pm (UTC)He stills for an uneasy moment, the ghost of another time ringing in his ears.
“Yes, they’re…” He’s suddenly lost all appetite, not that he had much to begin with. What is he doing here? What is he saying, being so fond? How can he possibly help it? God, wasn’t that always the problem?
“Yes. I’m quite looking forward to collaborating with or learning from them. I’ll reach out again as soon as I’m well.”
no subject
Date: 2024-03-29 12:58 pm (UTC)He pushes a tin mug of hot chocolate into Mulcahy's hands and nurses his own, adding-
"Must be nice not being the only resident holy man. You won't have to pull double duty with the Jewish rites now."
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Date: 2024-03-29 01:27 pm (UTC)“It is.” He’s still quiet as he takes the mug, staring down into it as he warms his hands. “Although I wish I’d brought my homework to share notes with them.”
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Date: 2024-03-30 10:56 pm (UTC)He taps his fingers on the mug, falling uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. He makes a couple of false starts, almost brings it up- what 'it', that he's worried for Mulcahy? The reason he's both terrified of and drawn to Lev?- but it's like an engine that can't quite turn over. For once, Hawkeye can't make his mouth go.
Hawk stands, says-
"Stay warm up there- if you get cold, get the stove going. You know where I'll be if you need anything."
no subject
Date: 2024-03-31 11:56 am (UTC)—
The day after, Mulcahy coughs into his elbow like a dying lawnmower; it brings him to sitting up off the couch, and after a moment, he lies back down to catch his breath.
“Hoo,” he sighs.
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Date: 2024-03-31 12:02 pm (UTC)His annoyance is a solid 60% theatrics in the hopes of getting a laugh out of Mulcahy.
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Date: 2024-03-31 12:15 pm (UTC)“You’ll be disappointed to know I still don’t regret it,” he chirps, pleased as punch with himself. “I’m quite satisfied, and at least you can sleep at night knowing there won’t be any escape attempts.”
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Date: 2024-03-31 12:23 pm (UTC)A sigh, and Hawk carefully gets it into a cup for Mulcahy to drink. At this rate he feels more like a village hag than a doctor. He'd kill for some vicks.
"Here," he offers the cup, "block your nose for this one, it's not as bad as the mess hall coffee, but it's not good either."
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Date: 2024-03-31 03:36 pm (UTC)Mulcahy blinks and shakes his head. “My, that was something. I suppose that must mean it works.”
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Date: 2024-04-04 12:32 am (UTC)"I'm a little worried at how persistent this bug is, but I guess if you haven't been sick for a couple of years it makes sense. I might move you to my bed, see if getting more even sleep won't help."
no subject
Date: 2024-04-06 11:29 am (UTC)"Isn't it enough that I'm fouling up the middle of your house?" he sighs gently, with a resignation that he's almost certain there's no changing his mind but feels the need to protest nonetheless. "Must I be sick in your bedroom too? It's alright, truly."
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Date: 2024-04-06 08:40 pm (UTC)He stands from the couch,
"The faster you get better, the faster you get to escape my fussing. Alright? Work with me here."
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Date: 2024-04-07 01:02 am (UTC)"All right, all right," he grumbles, relenting. "If you really insist. But I won't be happy about it, you can't make me."
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Date: 2024-04-07 08:58 am (UTC)"I'll go set up in there. Wander over when you feel up to it, alright?"
no subject
Date: 2024-04-07 09:24 am (UTC)“… I’m afraid I’m already engaged to another,” he parries weakly. “You’d have to get past my vows first.”
Mulcahy pushes himself to sitting but doesn’t stand yet, instead taking a moment to hack up half a lung into his arm and catch his breath now that he’s changed position so dramatically. He’ll get up in just a second, yes, just…
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