She has two implausibly thick sandwiches; one is pastrami on rye, the other, turkey on whole wheat. Claire puts them both on the bed's attached tray, then starts taking things out of a plastic bag over her arm: condiments, two bottles of sweetened green tea, a tupperware container of sliced onions and tomatoes, and so on.
"You know, it's funny, but whenever you're in the hospital, it at least gives me the chance to go to this nice little deli that's not too far from here..." Claire says, and waits for Liz to pick a sandwich.
Liz will take the turkey; the texture of pastrami has always confused and frightened her.
"You should be there often enough for them to know your blood type by now, then." She's only half serious, but still three week-long hospital stays in less than a year approaches powerfully annoying.
"It's not that bad, but it helps me keep Henry from starving to death," Claire says, and puts onions and tomatoes on the pastrami sandwich. "Plus, I don't think you can live in New York and not turn into some kind of deli snob."
She opens one of the bottles of tea.
"...I'm sorry I wasn't there for you before all this happened," she says, like she's getting it over with. "I've been... doing a lousy job of juggling friends and family and work."
Liz eats her sandwich via tearing it into very very small bits; she's still getting used to real food. Hospital food is definitely not the same thing.
"Claire, I wish I could tell you I knew what you were talking about, but the fact is that everything for a really long time before last week is so fuzzy I have no idea. I remember we were going to kill frogs at some point, but don't worry, there's not any shortage of those."
Having acquired clothing that is not drafty and dignity-sapping, John has also irritably shucked the sling which he didn't really need anyway and trudges stiffly along to Liz's room. Perhaps he is here to catch up on the latest with Anathema Hilton-Hussein X%%i!ishiaarr's abortion!
"Hey." Stubborn adherence to casual greetings probably only highlight the mutual protectiveness the family has, but he's not really capable of changing.
At least he's not crying, Liz has definitely had enough of that. For a couple of hours, anyway.
Claire brought some more interesting magazines, so Liz has been occupying herself with an issue of TIME, but most of the 'news' is producing a lot of angry mumbling and page-tearing. She looks pretty happy to put it down.
Outside of Silent Hill, John will fully deny crying at any point and time. Sometimes it's a macho thing, and sometimes it's just another kind of reaction that rarely ever occurs to him. He shuffles over to the bed to claim the chair moved over by various visitors.
"It's the pants." He slumps, leaning his weight on his left elbow against his knee. "They just restore normality after a few days of hospital fashion."
"Pants sound pretty great right now." Liz has bitched her way into scrubs, which is clearly a vast improvement over the paper gowns. Scrubs were designed by someone with a definite cruel streak, but they don't have quite the Nazi sadist flair of two sheets of tissue paper held together by wire.
"If they're letting you out you should probably tell Heather what's going on, I guess." Liz hasn't actually met Heather yet; she's just this mystical construct which has apparently been feeding Christmas.
Comments 44
She has two implausibly thick sandwiches; one is pastrami on rye, the other, turkey on whole wheat. Claire puts them both on the bed's attached tray, then starts taking things out of a plastic bag over her arm: condiments, two bottles of sweetened green tea, a tupperware container of sliced onions and tomatoes, and so on.
"You know, it's funny, but whenever you're in the hospital, it at least gives me the chance to go to this nice little deli that's not too far from here..." Claire says, and waits for Liz to pick a sandwich.
Reply
"You should be there often enough for them to know your blood type by now, then." She's only half serious, but still three week-long hospital stays in less than a year approaches powerfully annoying.
Reply
She opens one of the bottles of tea.
"...I'm sorry I wasn't there for you before all this happened," she says, like she's getting it over with. "I've been... doing a lousy job of juggling friends and family and work."
And homicidal rampages.
Reply
"Claire, I wish I could tell you I knew what you were talking about, but the fact is that everything for a really long time before last week is so fuzzy I have no idea. I remember we were going to kill frogs at some point, but don't worry, there's not any shortage of those."
Reply
"Hey." Stubborn adherence to casual greetings probably only highlight the mutual protectiveness the family has, but he's not really capable of changing.
Reply
Claire brought some more interesting magazines, so Liz has been occupying herself with an issue of TIME, but most of the 'news' is producing a lot of angry mumbling and page-tearing. She looks pretty happy to put it down.
"Hi. You look refreshingly normal."
Reply
"It's the pants." He slumps, leaning his weight on his left elbow against his knee. "They just restore normality after a few days of hospital fashion."
Reply
"If they're letting you out you should probably tell Heather what's going on, I guess." Liz hasn't actually met Heather yet; she's just this mystical construct which has apparently been feeding Christmas.
Reply
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