the thin ice [wes]

[wesley]

Wesley was hurting. The only plus side to the whole situation was that he was fairly certain the other guy was hurting just as much. He’d drawn blood, at least, so that was a sign of some kind of victory. Though, if that was truly how he was marking his wins, Luke had gotten the better of him first with his few hits, splitting Wesley’s lip and likely causing a few bruises. Though, that was the easy stuff—that was the stuff that you just dealt with because it had a tendency to happen in bar fights. The major problem at the moment was that he felt like it was impossible to breathe. The only thing that made it worse was that he had, stupidly enough, used his left arm far too much to be good for the previously dislocated shoulder. The last thing he needed was for some permanent damage. He was planning on making this fight quick. Luke was practically passing out just based on his blood alcohol levels, regardless of the beating he was getting. Hell, the alcohol was probably helping him more than it was hurting him at this point, serving as a bit of a pain killer. As Wesley pulled back for another punch, the other guy seemed to get his second wind, managing to push his hand up at the right time to get Wesley off and distracted.

It wasn’t necessarily the hit that got his distracted, though. It was the fact that, as soon as Luke threw him off balance, he hand someone grabbing his arms and pulling him back with more force than he thought necessary—and certainly more force that he cared to feel on his arm. Gritting his teeth quickly, he replied in kind and tried to break free of the hold. Rather than pull, he pushed himself back into whoever it was behind him and then tried to get at Luke again. At this point, it wasn’t even about Luke, or even what had transpired; it was simply about the fight and releasing all the pent up energy he still had in store. Unfortunately, the people around had different ideas. And, the ‘people’ that were around, also happened to be cops. Before he could fully take in the new scene, or realize that his previous bar ‘buddy’ was now getting handcuffed and led out of the bar, he was also being forced to spread out over the counter as an officer handcuffed his hands behind him.

The cop didn’t exactly aim for gentleness, grabbing hold of his arm by his elbow and pulling him roughly along with. Wincing, he did his best to ignore the pain rippling through his shoulder and torso, a mix of pain caused by Luke and by the uncomfortable positioning of his arms. In all his life, he could only remember getting arrested once before. And it certainly wasn’t for something like this. Being too preoccupied with the pain and thinking about how the hell he was going to sort this out, he ignored the cop reading him his rights and simply followed along until he was pushed into the back of one of the police cars.

Once again, he found that his position was not at all helpful for easing the pain. Having your arms forced behind your back was one thing, but then having to sit with them like that was even worse. Dropping his head back against the seat, Wesley grit his teeth and did his best to focus on something else. Sitting in the back of a squad car didn’t really offer him many subjects to ponder that would get his mind off of it, so it didn’t take long for him to give up that plight entirely. Now, he was just praying the drive to the station was short and they’d at least give him a bed and a phone call. It was the least the tax payers dollars could provide him, right? Maybe a cup of coffee and Tylenol, while they were at it.


(Not gonna lie, teared up again with your last paragraph. This is seriously going to be the death of me. But I do have a post started for the party / meet up again thread. c: )

[/size]

[jess1z1]

He was shoved in the back seat of the patrol car much more brusquely than necessary. Luke was complying, not resisting, despite what his balance or lack thereof made it seem like. They slammed the door shut once he was in and, noticing the other felon next to him, Luke leaned against the glass window with every intention of ignoring the man responsible for all this. Even if he had wanted to continue to vent his frustrations on him, both the handcuffs and the sudden exhaustion likely related to his drunken state would have prevented him from going ahead with that. As two cops took their seats on the front and started the engine, Luke stared out the window at the angry bartender and a few spectators watching them being taken away in the vehicle. Then they were out of sight. His thoughts were overlapping because he had not much to do while avoiding his bar brawl partner. It briefly crossed Luke’s mind that may have some unresolved anger issues he didn’t know about. Then he thought about getting a dog, which was probably the best idea he’d had all night; although, compared to his other ideas thus far, it wasn’t that great of an achievement.

The cops weren’t paying attention to them, clearly deeming this type of drunk losers not worthy of their attention. But Luke was alright with not having to give any explanations yet. He really had no good excuse for any of this and in his state it would be hard to make one up. The only truth was he had been looking to both punch something and have an extra excuse to feel like shirt in the morning. As he thought of this, Luke licked his split lip and stole a glance at Wesley. It was then he got a chance to notice just how badly the other man looked. In terms of blood and initial bruising, he didn’t appear much worse than Luke felt. He was a big, tall guy and Luke was pretty sure he had managed to damage his face a lot more than he was capable of feeling at the moment. Luke hadn’t been at his best during the fight either, so really there was no reason he should have been able to make contact with Wesley’s face that many times. And even then, the blows hadn’t been that bad. Luke’s only advantage had been the fact that he was unable to feel as much pain as the other guy. However, Wesley seemed to be having a really awful time; much more than appropriate for a fight as lame and short lived in Luke’s opinion.

“Come on. I barely touched you,” declared Luke scathingly as they reached the station.

[wesley]

Weren’t there rules or something against putting too violent individuals in the same car? Not like the cops seemed to care at the moment. They were too preoccupied with the conversation they were having with one another and their driving. It wasn’t like it really mattered at this point, though. Whether or not the two in the back seat were still pissed, they were in no position to attack. Besides, Wesley was pretty sure moving at all would be enough to remind him that another fight was a stupid ass idea. Hell, it was stupid to begin with… hindsight was always 20/20. Maybe next time he’d actually think about that ahead of time, rather than waiting until he was in the back of a police car getting arrested for it.

Leaning back against the seat as much as he could without putting more pressure on his arms, he let his head fall back. Eventually, the car ride would be over and, hopefully, he’d be able to just lay back and get as comfortable as possible. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d even get to share a cell with his new friend. Didn’t that sound like a blast? Not so much. Trying to relax, he eventually closed his eyes, remaining like that with the occasional wince and gritted teeth when they hit a bump that would knock him around again. Regardless of how much it may or may not have hurt, he couldn’t help but feel like a complete moron for acting like a girl about it. Apparently taking his own advice of ‘sucking it up’ and ‘dealing with it’ applied a lot more when he wasn’t handcuffed and bruised.

It was Luke’s voice that made him sit up a bit and open his eyes, rather than the fact that they were pulling in front of the police station and about to get pulled out of the car again. Side-glancing at the man, he raised an eyebrow slightly, and shook his head. “Yeah, well, the ‘guy’ before you weighed about a ton more, give or take.” Vague? Perhaps. But he really didn’t care. It’s not like he really had to explain anything to him—or that he really had time too, for that matter. As he spoke, the two officers were already getting out and from there, turning to get the two out of the back.

Honestly, Wesley hadn’t seen the inside of a police station in a long time. He hadn’t been trying to, because if he had, he was sure it could’ve happened a lot sooner. But tonight just seemed like the right time, apparently. It was probably the best place for him, if he thought about it. From his previous demonstration with Luke at the bar, he really didn’t think he was all that fit for any more bar scenes. Alcohol would likely just make it worse, and none of it was helping him take his mind off of Junior. By the time he went through the whole booking process and was finally placed into one the cells, he was thinking he was about ready to drop. At some point, he assumed he’d ask for that phone call—but right now, he was far too sore to even contemplate moving another inch. Instead, he just opted for the floor by the wall, as it was the flattest and easiest place to lay down on his back.

As long as no one was trying to start another fight, he’d be good.

[/size]

[jess1z1]

He wouldn’t have asked Wesley to elucidate even if he hadn’t been dragged out of the vehicle and into the station. Once again Luke was unceremoniously left to lean against a desk for support and stopped paying attention to the process, instead making an effort to remain standing and to keep his eyelids from closing so they wouldn’t yell at him for being uninterested. He barely noticed as they took his partner in crime away and led him to the cell designated for male offenders and only sparked back to life when the cops pulled him away from the desk no doubt to join the cowboy.

“I’d like that phone call now, Krupke,” said Luke immediately. He wouldn’t be spending any more time than was necessary behind bars that night and in such company, “If you don’t mind,” added Luke to make his previous comments less offensive, “I know how this works.” He knew they knew from checking his record just now, but Luke just felt the need to point it out. A few unfriendly glances later, he was urgently taken to that hall containing a single payphone. The problem wasn’t getting a quarter as much as it had been inserting it in the moving slot. Then, once he had managed to get that step out of the way, it was a big problem how the numbers danced out of focus. He already had in mind someone to call. It was no one from the hospital. He wasn’t looking forward to anybody giving him worried looks and pretending to psychoanalyze him, ‘oh, Luke is subconsciously trying to punish himself, yadda, yadda.’ Absolutely not. He could do without that. It again crossed his mind calling his ex wife, even if that would probably entail some of the latter. Fortunately, though, he didn’t have her new number. The only number he remembered was the one from their old house, which they had sold two years ago. But everything was under control because there was Mimi, the woman he was sleeping with. It would be inconvenient since it was a weekday, he did think of that, but really, she would be the only one who he could call and only worry about enduring a string of related jokes. That he could handle. If only those stupid numbers would stop shifting in and out of focus. Number 5 was especially rebellious.

“You’re gonna have to dial for me, dude,” he told the cop standing behind him. A few seconds and no phone call later, Luke was being placed in the cell Wesley was lying on the floor of not without a stern warning that if they took up any funny business again, there would be ‘serious consequences.’ The cop had made sure to wave his stick around to make them know he meant it. Silence fell after that. Luke could almost make out the conversation a couple of prostitutes were having in the adjacent cell. He stood holding on the metal bars for a moment before resigning himself and moving to sit down with his back to the wall. His eyes traveled to Wesley. Cowboy really looked like shit. Luke guessed the same could probably be said about him, but he was more inebriated than anything else. Besides, he’d seen enough men in shitty conditions in his career to know when something wasn’t right.

“Krupke!” He called out to the cop who’d put him in the cell. The hall lights had been turned off to signal they didn’t plan on having anything to do with the petty offenders for a while, but Luke continued, “Is there a doctor around here? Sundance Kid seems to need one! …A sober one anyway,” he finished the last sentence in a low voice to himself as he closed his eyes and rested his head back on the cold stone wall. “Hope I’m not the only person you know in town ‘cause… I won’t pick up if you call,” he addressed his cell mate.

[wesley]

Wesley wasn’t sure if the initial injury he’d received had been worse, or the actual recovery process. The more he thought about it, the more he thought that it was the recovery that was the real bitch. It was long, slow, and not necessarily helped by trying to fight strangers in the bar. Everything was screaming at him, lessened just slightly by the comfort he got from laying flat and perfectly still. Even the thought of moving to one of the cots or trying to get up and pace, made him laugh—yeah, like that’d happen. It’d all come at some point. Most likely after they told him he could get out and go home with some large fine. Why leave early? He was perfectly fine—or, as perfect as he could get given his current state—right on the floor of the jail… and he didn’t want to know what else may have been on that floor before him.

If it hadn’t been for the sharp pain every time he tried to take a deep breath and the sound of the cell door opening, he likely would’ve fallen asleep there. Unfortunately, sleep was not something Wesley thought he was going to be getting a lot of. Not that it was anything new—sleep had been difficult the last two weeks with his healing ribs and shoulder. If one position was comfortable for one injury, it hurt the other. Though, he had thought it was getting better. Just two more weeks with the shoulder brace and he’d be good as new. Or close enough, as far as he was concerned. Opening his eyes a moment as he heard the officer’s voice, he noticed that his new bar buddy had been placed in the same cell.

Right, no funny business. They really didn’t have to worry about that—at least, not from Wesley’s side of things. What the other guy was planning on doing was another matter entirely. Despite his current pain, Wesley would certainly not hesitate to retaliate if Luke decided he wasn’t quite done. Pain was just weakness leaving the body, right? That’s what the Marines said. What he wasn’t really expecting was for his new friend to start talking to him. He saw this playing with Luke on one side and Wesley on the other—case closed. Opening his eyes again, his gaze slid towards Luke and he raised an eyebrow. Shaking his head just slightly, he chuckled a bit and closed his eyes. “A doctor won’t be able to do shit.”

It wasn’t necessarily that Wesley had anything against doctors—he didn’t. They were all well and good when you had a problem and, you know, medical issues. But seeing as how there wasn’t much they could do for his injuries aside from just pat him on the back and tell him to suck it up and wait for them to heal, he didn’t see the point in having anyone call any doctor. That, and he was pretty sure the likelihood of any of the officers getting a doctor in there to check him out was slim. Not unless there were organs or something spilling out. Too bad—he supposed that meant he’d just have to suck it up, without getting that advice from a doctor.

Then his cellmate went on to mention calling someone. Really, Wesley hadn’t even thought about calling someone. Who did he even know? His aunt? Right, like he was going to call her. That news would get back home real fast, then he’d have his mother calling him constantly and harassing him about the fact that he was arrested for fighting. Thirty-five years old and his mom was still willing to treat him like he was a ten year old. Hardly seemed desirable to Wesley. So who was left? It wasn’t like he’d really made a whole lot of friends that just handed over their phone number during their first meeting. Most people found a way to communicate over the internet now, anyway. Did people even still use phones? Hell, Wesley still just owned a flip phone. There was nothing special or smart about it.

So who the hell was he supposed to call?

There are moments when things just pop into your mind. Things that you didn’t necessarily know that you knew. Things like a phone number for a girl you met in a grocery store and slept with. He still had the note with her number scribbled on it somewhere, but apparently he didn’t need it, seeing as how he could clearly remember it. Mimi. Would she be willing to bail him out of jail? He wasn’t positive, but hell, worth a shot right? Not like he had numerous options just waiting there for him. Giving himself a moment to mentally prepare himself for actually moving, he finally pushed himself up to a sitting position and leaned back against the wall with a bit of a sigh. Glancing out through the bars, he didn’t see much movement. So now what was he supposed to do. Turning back to Luke, he frowned a bit and grit his teeth. Asking for help went against everything he was currently thinking about the man, but it seemed somewhat necessary, as he wasn’t used to sitting in a jail cell.

“So how the hell do you get them to give you a phone call, then?” Before he even finished, he was looking back out the cell.

[/size]

[jess1z1]

Luke measured Wesley for a moment. He could understand pride, so for the moment he wouldn’t push the issue. Instead he turned to the bars and called, “Krupke!” Immediately his face contorted in regret. He should probably stop calling the cop that. They surely hadn’t even seen West Side Story anyway. And the fact that Luke had wasn’t exactly something to advertise while behind bars either. He sighed. “Um, officer!” If they were actually listening, none of them gave a sign. “My cellmate would like to exercise his right to a phone call here,” said Luke in a sort of lilt. At first there was nothing but silence, but eventually, in the darkness, he heard the clanking of keys and the lazy glide of a chair followed by slow footsteps. Then Luke went back to eyeing Wesley, because now his attention had been sparked and choosing not to comment on his particularly bad shape didn’t also mean he would entirely drop the subject.

As one of the cops opened the cell with such calm you would think he was vacationing in Hawaii in his mind, Luke struggled to force his head to stop swimming. The gate screeched open and he had to suppress a groan.

“Wait…” Said Luke putting up a hand to stop the police officer –as if they had any reason to listen to him- and looking at his cellmate. Drunken epiphanies were not to be ignored. “Are you able to cough? Cough,” he ordered, “No—y’know wh—never mind… rib fracture?” finished Luke. He was looking at Wesley for confirmation, his brow furrowed, although that had a lot to do with the headache that was threatening to move in. There was no need to probe for symptoms. If he was right and this guy had one or more broken ribs, there was no way they could be a product of the evening that wasn’t yet over, therefore Cowboy would have to already be aware of such injury. And if that was the case too… well, then, shit.

“Please tell me you’re not idiotic enough to get into a fight with a rib fracture. Is that it?”

(i actually managed to get this done from my phone while waiting in line. lol. dunno how, but that’s why its crappy. sorry about that.)

[wesley]

As Luke started to yell out the door for the officer to come give Wesley his phone call, he decided it was about time he stood up and actually looked alive enough to make a phone call. Taking a few shallow breaths, ignoring the fact that the doctor had specifically warned him to take deep breaths so he wouldn’t get sick—something that would only complicate matters—he pushed off the wall and to his feet. Rather than trying to cover or mask his wince, he decided it simply felt better to grit his teeth and snarl at the pain for a moment. Besides, he had no reason to hide it at the moment—Luke didn’t seem stupid, even if he was drunk, and he’d likely already noticed. Keeping his gaze on the hallway beyond the bars, he slowly leaned back against the stone wall and let out what little breath he was holding.

For a minute, he thought Luke had gone unnoticed by the men outside and he was tempted to start yelling, too. If they wanted someone to be loud, he could do that… or at least try. Mix in a few expletives and a southern twang and they’d be getting their asses in there in no time. But, before he had to start annoying the hell out of everyone in the vicinity, there was movement from outside and the click of the key unlocking the outer door.

He expected that to be that—the officer would open the cell door, pull him out, and he’d get to call the only person he knew in Capeside. Few minutes later, she’d be showing up and he’d be going home to die in peace. That, or she wouldn’t be showing up and he’d just opt for the floor again, choosing to ignore Luke’s presence. But, as the cop started to open the door to get him out, Luke had to stop him.

Raising an eyebrow quickly and looking back to him, turning mostly his whole body at once so that he didn’t feel the pain that can from twisting. What, was this guy some kind of doctor? Apparently so, seeing as how he was trying to diagnose him. Perfect; just what he needed. His little tirade simply reinforced Wesley’s previous thoughts that Luke was not stupid… maybe missing some common sense, but not stupid. He’d taken about two seconds and pinned down exactly what was wrong with Wesley. He knew where he was going to go when he needed a doctor. If the man could do it when drunk, Wesley could only imagine how good he was when sober.

Of course, not that Luke knew, Wesley couldn’t help but let a smirk slide slowly onto his face. “Three, actually.” He responded slowly when asked if he’d gotten into a fight with a broken rib. Not like it was really his fault—Luke was the one to make contact first, so it couldn’t be helped. “And a recently dislocated shoulder… yet I still managed to kick your ass. You going to do a full physical or can I go make my phone call, now?”

( That is impressive.

Also, when Mimi pops up, do we want to stick with this thread or make a new one in housing or something? )

[/size]

[jess1z1]

Luke clenched his jaw and shook his head slightly, more at himself than the other two men. Then he merely rested his head back and let the annoyed cop do his job so he could get back to playing Angry Birds or whatever it was Wesley’s rights were getting in the middle of. Way to go, Doc. Ever heard of First, Do No Harm? Think you may want to apply that outside the OR also? Next time he wanted to vent it would probably save him some time if he just waltzed into the geriatrics ward or the burn unit and tackle one of them. Well, alright, it’s not as if he went in aware of the circumstances. A man in that condition should have been keeping his movements to a minimum; throwing a punch at a pissed off stranger was certainly out of the question during recovery. He had just been there, looking tall and annoying and game. And he could have said something. But none of these reasonings were serving to ease Luke’s mind, especially now that he had nothing to keep himself inebriated with and he was getting restless sitting on the floor.

“When was this? You could have… punctured your spleen tonight and not even know it,” he impatiently called out to the hallway, “If you go into shock… it’s on you.”

It would probably only mean that his recovery would be set back if he had already been out and about without breathing like a certain Lord Sith. But Luke had to point out what a moron this cowboy was. Of course, under the circumstances, the very same could be said about Luke; they were both sitting on the floor of a cell at the police station with bruises on their faces and Luke couldn’t even dial the phone. He would have to wait until the morning to be woken by a kick to the head and hopefully told he could go home, but at least he’d get the cell all to himself if somebody came by to collect their missing cowboy with a dislocated shoulder.

He didn’t know what time it was. Surely not that late, seeing as the fight hadn’t gone for that long… thankfully. It occurred to Luke that perhaps it was time keep his head leant back against the wall and try to get some sleep, even if that meant speeding up to how lousy he would be feeling the next day. The alcohol was persuading him to do that, but the hollow and uneasy feeling at the pit of his stomach was making it difficult. There was nothing to do at the moment. About anything. He wasn’t walking out of that cell any time soon and if his cell mate did actually go into shock, it would be when he was at home and somebody could take him to Capeside General, where somebody other than Luke, probably Dr. Pacey, would take care of his boot-wearing ribs. Luke forced himself to relax. Sleep didn’t come, though.

(yeah, i was thinking when mimi shows up we could fastplay them elsewhere ‘cause it’ll be three of us and i ‘cause I have a sucky couple of weeks ahead but still wanna squeeze posts in, lol)

[wesley]

Call him crazy, but Wesley actually found that Luke’s ‘scolding’ made him smile. It didn’t necessarily sound like Luke was overly concerned about him as much as he was trying to make a point, but Wesley felt satisfied with that. Satisfied that the other man knew he was injured and still did more damage. Or, rather, more seeable damage. There were more visible bruises on Luke’s face than on Wesley’s, even if Wesley was probably in the greater amount of pain. Something that, as he stood up and went to follow the cop out to the phone, became very clear to him. As soon as he got home, there was some pain meds with his name on it, then likely spreading out on the floor again. Not that a bed seemed like a bad thing, but the hard surface felt a lot better when so much as the slightest movement caused pain.

Hell, maybe he had punctured something. Dying in his sleep wouldn’t be a bad way to go, right? Assuming it was in his sleep, of course. He was probably bleeding internally and didn’t even know it. But, hell, one life to live. Wesley thought he’d lived his pretty well, thus far. The only part that made him actually stop to think about it was what it would do to his parents and sister to find out they’d just lost another son and brother. Not like he was necessarily in control of whether or not he was bleeding, but it did highlight the fact that he was, like Luke had hinted at, a moron.

Too late to go back and change it now.

Ignoring Luke’s comments as he headed out to the phone, he thanked God that he actually remembered Mimi’s numbers. He may not have been good at many things in his life, aside from throwing punches and riding bulls, but he always had a good memory and now he was putting it to good use. Lifting the phone off the receiver, he dialed the ten digits and silently prayed that she would answer. At least Luke and him had gotten into it rather quickly, instead of waiting until one or two in the morning. It gave him a better chance of getting a hold of Mimi. Now, if she decided to show up was another story altogether. It wasn’t like they were the bestest friends in Capeside. They were sleeping together. That kind of counted, though, right?

Thankfully, after two rings, the phone clicked and he heard her voice on the other side. Clearing his throat quickly, he shifted to try and have a semi-comfortable position in front of the payphone and smiled nervously—not like she could see that. Though, knowing her, she was probably fully aware that he would be awkward. “Um… Mimi? Sorry for calling late. I, uh… kinda needed your help.”

At least he couldn’t say he never asked anyone for help.

( So, should we move this to the fastplay thread now? )

[/size]