393/Licking One's Wounds

Licking One's Wounds
Date of Scene:	09 March 2020
Location:	Terry O'Neil's Apartment
Synopsis:	Terry plays nurse in order to compensate for the one time when he DIDN'T get injured while facing certain danger, so the hurt was passed on to the nearest available target: Gar Logan.
Cast of Characters:	Terry O'Neil, Gar Logan

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Terry O'Neil has posed:
They were a pair, alright. One, with a bandaged left shoulder and bruises on his face that were fading into the kind of wild color experimentation that New Wave singers' makeup was all about in the eighties, and the other one with stitches in his right leg. Together, they looked like they survived a minor apocaplyse.

"-besides," Terry carries on in the way of someone in the middle of an argument or a discussion that has been going on for a bit already, "You mentioned the tower is mostly deserted. Doesn't it make a lot more sense to just stay where someone can help?"

He's supporting Gar with his right side, which is the good one, while his left hand fumbles for the apartment key and opens the door.

"I figured having me around to talk to while you can't move would be preferable to vegging out with video games and having to flamingo-hop around the place." He has never seen the inside of the Titans' Tower with his own eyes, but he is slightly familiar with how it looks like, from all of the features back in the day when the team was around.

Gar Logan has posed:
While celebrity can bring some perks with it, that either did not apply at the hospital or Gar didn't want to take advantage of who he was just to jump the line. He needed some attention to that leg, but there was nothing life threatening about it. He would survive, and he wouldn't even need amputation.

That was just him being dramatic back at the apartment. He knows he froze up, even said as much right after he got bit, then he went into denial later on.

As Hank Hill was fond of saying, that boy ain't right.

He's getting closer, though. Stitches done, staples not necessary, everything was cleaned and bandaged as well as it could be, but the wraps would need to be checked and changed, and given the placement of the wound it would work better if someone else was there to help. "I was going to ask Raven to play naughty nurse for a few days, but I had a feeling that would leave me in traction instead of just having a leg to heal up. I guess you'll do, but please don't go out and get a nurse costume. I've already been traumatized enough."

They move back into the apartment, the support for each other letting them both favor their wounded areas, and he drops onto the sofa as soon as they're close enough. "We should go by the Tower to pick up a couple things later. If we're quiet enough, she might not notice us. I can definitely veg on video games, though."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"You little shit. Ill have you know I've got great legs for miniskirts. I cycle, like, daily." Terry smirks, but he helps Gar ease into the couch. "I do not see Raven as the naughty nurse type. Then again, I only know her from the press clippings. She seems friendly."

It is unclear whether or not this last part was in jest or in earnest, Terry has a remarkable poker face.

He has to, at this point.

The teen starts pushing things around, bringing an ottoman close to the couch. "This is in case you need to extend your leg I figure we'll be changing bandages this way, too."

He steps back and takes stock of the room, planning in his mind how to change the layout best to benefit 'the patient.'

"I've got consoles and some games, you can play them."

That's the next thing he does- he kneels and starts taking stuff out of the entertainment center, to bring the consoles close to the coffee table next to Gar, if the extension cords will allow, so he doesn't have to get up.

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan levels quite the stare upon Terry, as though trying to look into the depths of his very soul. "I've heard Raven called a lot of things, but friendly?" Suddenly he seems to have developed a cough. "I'll have to make sure you meet her soon."

Nothing threatening there, nope. Nothing at all.

He watches while Terry goes about rearranging things, trying to hold up a hand. "Dude, you don't have to put everything within range of me. I'm not a quadriplegic. I can get up if I have to use the bathroom, too. I don't need a bed pan." Is Terry overdoing it? Then again, it might not be bad to have every whim catered to for a few days.

"On second thought, maybe it /is/ best I don't try to get up and do anything that might tear the stitches. Good looking out, dude. Carry on," he says, flashing a smile. At least the teeth are white.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry raises an eyebrow. "Garfield Logan, the only reason you're getting the royal treatment is that you have a gash, and stitches that could tear. Your calf receives and exerts a lot of weight on verage, you doofus." The redhead sits briefly on the side of the couch, one hand on Gar's knee for emphasis, "Even hopping about on one leg can be bad if overdone. That-" he points to the chair sticking out by the tiny desk where a rickety laptop is propped, right next to the couch, "is a computer chair. You need to go up and down this apartment, you can slide on it and push yourself with your good leg. I've removed the rugs in the bathroom so you can roll over there without, you know, toppling over. Because I will not wake up in the middle of the night if you start yelling 'I've fallen and I can't get up." He grins and pats Gar's knee.

He stands up, "I'm gonna put the kittchen stool in the shower. For obvious reasons."

He goes to the kitchenette and grabs the stool he usually sits at for his modest breakfast, and carries it over to the bathroom. "What do you want to get from the tower, anyway?"

Gar Logan has posed:
"I knooooow this, maaaaaan!" Gar goes into an impromptu Chris Tucker impersonation, probably feeling some of the effects of the painkillers he's on. "We should have got one of those cool little scooters people use after they've had Achilles tendon surgery. Then I could ride in style. And yes, I also know what a computer chair is. I happen to have a very nice gaming one at home. If we swing by there later, I'll even let you borrow it while we do some multiplayer stuff."

He's hamming it up, without the pig to go with it.

"Trust me, you'll wake up if I go on long enough. Don't test me," Gar warns, looking across at the knee patting going on. He turns actually thoughtful as he has to consider what to bring from the Tower. "I've got my music there, some more games, the charger for my phone, the bed I like..."

He's kidding about bringing the bed over. Probably.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry smirks, coming back with pillows after depositing the stool in the bathroom. "You want a bed? You can sleep in my bed and I can sleep out here." He's only half-joking. Even though Gar *did* freeze, he feels a certain level of guilt over what happened. Why, exactly, he isn't sure, but he wonders if his clearly freaking out affected Gar's reaction time.

He hands Gar the pillows so he can adjust them to his liking while he knees and inspects the bandages.

"Ok, so let's see when they should be changed..." he reads the little printout, mouthing it over a couple of times before he nods and puts it away. The painkillers are put on the coffee table, alongside a glass and a pitcher of water.

"Right. Clothes."

Terry comes back from his bedroom with some for Gar to change into when he needs to. "I know you prefer jeans, but it's really not a good idea at least for now." There's several of Terry's running shorts, two cargo shorts that he doesn't wear becaue they became obsolete the instant he bought them, and some loose pajama bottoms. These are accompanied by an assortment of T-shirts that Terry grabbed haphazardly from the botttom drawer. Including, unbeknownst to him, one that features Gar as a cartoon, from several years back. Of course, it's the one that sticks out the most when he tosses the bundle of clothes onto the table.

"You have to keep the bandages dry when you shower. If you think that might be a problem let me know and we can saran-wrap your leg while you shower. That's what my mom did with me when they took out my appendix," he says as he sits down right by Gar's head on the couch.

Gar Logan has posed:
There are things going on that Terry has little to nothing to do with when it comes to Gar freezing up in fight or flight situations. There's something deeper than that going on beneath the surface, but it isn't something he's come to grips with or tried to face yet. It might need to happen soon. "It's your bed, dude, you keep it. I can deal with a couch."

Pillows are arranged so he can prop his top half up better, squinting at the reading of the bandages. "Oh yeah, I'll need to get a few changes of clothes from my place, too. You don't really want me stinking up the place with my B.O. There was one time I fought this dude and he..you know what, I'm just gonna not dig that memory back up, okay? Forget I even said anything." Best not to think of smelly people who don't bathe.

He spaces out a bit when the clothes are shown off, only to raise a brow at the t-shirt of...him? "Wait, what's that from? I've never seen that before. Is it a bootleg? I don't think I ever got any royalties from that!" Scratching his head, he tries to recall. "I bet that loser Galtry signed some single-payment thing just because he wanted as much money as he could get."

Talk of the bandage changing and keeping it dry and all that just draws a distracted nod or two, then he's looking back from his position on the couch. Terry's right there, suddenly.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Yyyyeah. It probably was a bootleg, I didn't know -that- stuff was going on at the time." Terry reaches for the T-shirt and smirks, "But look, I couldn't resist, it's adorable. They made your head look enormous." He holds the T-shirt over Gar's head, as if he were going to apply it as a funereal shroud, before being discarded back onto the pile. His eyes are still going over the room, thinking of anything else he might have left out.

"How's the pain?" he asks, a little absent-mindedly while he wonders if he should bring out the cooler out of the closet and put some ice to keep drinks cool. "And how's the tension?"

He asks because he remembers how tense Gar has been getting, to the point that his neck ached. He moves a thumb down to quickly check for tension on the neck and shoulders.

Gar Logan has posed:
"Meh. It's not like I was going to get rich on t-shirt sales anyway," Gar mildly laments, though he rolls his eyes at the design. "Looks nothing like me, except for the fact he's green. He squints at it being held up close, batting at it prior to it being tossed aside.

The pain? "I'll live. Maybe next time I'll think faster and move in time." Or, just not think and react instead. Thinking can bog down the mind too much. The question of tension is revealed from the feeling around the area in question. Things are as if they're in knots. "I feel coiled up like a spring."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Well, you did almost get bitten to pieces by Gamera. Here..." he silides into the couch, propping up the pillows, and Gar by extension, on his lap. "Just breathe deep and don't force it. Breath from your stomach."

He begins working on the tension in the neck and shoulder, first, displaying a rather surprising level of proficiency. He starts with light, long strokes, using gentle motions along the surface of the muscles, applying focused pressure upon finding a knot.

"I used to do this for my mom all the time. She'd come back home from a tough case and she'd be stiff as a board. It got so bad that some nights she'd have to sleep sitting up in her recliner because her neck was too tense... so I learned how to do this from a neighbor of ours..."

Gar Logan has posed:
"I..wish I knew what caused that. Did you see those spikes in its shell?" Gar asks, eyes shifting upward toward Terry from his spot on the couch. "And something happened the other day up around New York City with another thing in the water too, but that was a lot bigger. I wonder if there's a connection."

What if?

The thought is left to sit there while he initially tightens up as soon as the pressure is felt, a mild grimace crossing his expression. "That's..uhh, yeah. I can tell you've done it before," he murmurs, starting to settle into place, sinking in.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Don't think about that. It's not your business right now," Terry says, his voice as low and as soothing as he can make it, "Your business is getting better. Ass-kicking and monster-hunnting later." He places the ring, middle and index fingertips where the base of Gar's head m eets the neck, applying light but firm pressure. His fingers slide down the sides of his neck, sweeping over onto the shoulders, doing his best to keep the pressure even throughout. He looks down at Gar, meeting his eyes, green to green. "Geez, you're temse," he says quietly. He has good support, since he is basically propped up against the arm of the couch and the back.

A part of him is quite aware of Gar, aware of his eyes, and how close he is. That's the part that makes his cheeks burn, and which he is trying very hard to ignore in favor of the part that is concerned for the green teen, in view of all of the different things that have been adding up.

His fingers take a detour from the neck to the sides of Gar's face, thumbs describing a downward trajectory from the temporalis to the masseter, because he knows that tension can spill into that area and affect the temporomandibular joint, and bring headaches about. Gar didn't need headaches, on top of this. The stroking on the sides of the face were used to divert attention from the neck and shoulders, as well, to addd variety before working the tension there again.

"Just regular breaths. There you go... "he says quietly, "tension is leaving your body with each breath..."

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan grumbles. "I can't help it. Something was wrong with him, and I don't want anyone just tracking him down and killing him because he thought I was food. I was in his territory pretending to be something I'm not." That's even if he is what he turns into at a given moment. His heart's in the right place.

Some of that tension starts to loosen up with enough sustained pressure and massaging, but it might take some time to get to all of it. At least, he's starting to let out slower, deeper breaths that hint at relaxation gaining ground. "That../is/ pretty good," he admits, allowing his eyes to drift closed before long.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Then focus on getting better, and we willl go back to investigate. Prepared, this time." Terry says, noticing he is making progress. He continues his work, breathing audibly and slowly, to encourage Gar to sync with him and take things slow.

Eventually he realizes he has lost track of time, working at the knots the way people work at a delicate problem, slowly and with care. He's made a lot of headway.

He peers over, and notices Gar has closed his eyes.

"Gar?" It's barely above a whisper, because if the titan has become so relaxed as to fall asleep, he doesn't want to wake him.

Gar Logan has posed:
"Mmmhmm." That's the last thing he gets out of Gar for now. Before long, so much of that tension and tightness has left Gar that he is given at least a momentary respite from his troubles and pains. Some more of the medication may also be kicking in, but as Terry checks closer, he'll find the Titan just plain out. Might be a bit of drool to follow given the current position he's in, but he is absolutely gone.

It's a good thing, really. A peaceful slumber has been harder for the green teen to come by lately, so if nothing else this works as a positive, so long as he stays in a position that keeps the leg in a good spot. Terry can tease him about putting him to sleep later.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Ah." Terry remarks simply. And that's why his mother and other assorted family members called him the Sandman. Someone falling asleep mid-massage wasn't new to him.

What was new, however, was having a superhero falling asleep on his lap in the middle of a massage. Like they say, there's a first time for everything.

He takes stock of his position and realizes that he really can't slide out, not without the risk of waking Gar. He looks at him and, without really thinking, finds his hand moving over to stroke his hair. Freezing immediately afterwards, he withraws the hand and waits... but Gar doesn't wake.

What the hell possessed him? He takes a deep breath and, instead, reaches for a book that's on the side table by the couch. He slowly leans back so that he is reclined against the arm, and Gar reclined against him, and opens the book. "THE CAT WHO COULD READ BACKWARDS", the title reads. He settles and starts reading, one hand holding the book and, without really thinking about it, one handd on Gar's shoulder. Later he will rationalize that he put it there to keep Gar from rolling off in his sleep.

He almost believed it, too.