Sister Morphine

Rating: PG
Category: AU
Pairing(s): Nathan/Charles
Warnings: Spoilers for the season II finale.
Summary: Charlie has a visitor.
Notes:

Here I lie in my hospital bed.
Tell me, sister morphine, when are you coming round again?
Oh, I don’t think I can wait that long,
Oh, you see that I’m not that strong.

The scream of the ambulance is sounding in my ears.
Tell me, sister morphine, how long have I been lying here?
What am I doing in this place?
Why does the doctor have no face?

He’d never been this badly hurt. Never. He had no idea who had done this to him, or how he came to be in the hospital. He just knew he was in pain.

He couldn’t see, and when he tried to open his mouth he found his jaw was broken and wired shut. He was in the hospital, he knew that much, though the days passed for the most part in a quiet blur of morphine. They had him attached to a pump, so he knew he was badly hurt. It seemed like the upper half of his face was in a cast of some kind, but every time he began to feel lucid enough to check it out, the pump would activate, and he would be gone once more. He didn’t mind. The pain was all through his head like a thousand flaming knives. The morphine made it bearable. Made it easy to sleep. Made the pain go.

Occasionally he heard boots outside of his room. They would pace, as if the wearer was uncertain if he was welcome. Sometimes there was more than one pair, prowling nervously. But no one ever came in, and no one ever said anything. Charles didn’t blame them; no one had ever show compassion or sympathy towards them, small wonder they had no idea how to give it to others. But they came. They paced. They worried. That was something. At least… they were trying. He wished they would come in, but they didn’t. It was all right. Charles understood. They didn’t know how to comfort him. So the morphine kept him company, soothed his feelings, held his hand when he was in pain, and when he cried. The pump would kick in and he would just drift off and have strange dreams about fire and violence… and bright green eyes.

When Charles awoke from his latest dream, it was to the sound of boots quietly echoing on a stone floor, coming to pause outside the door. He’d heard the sound a dozen times before. It was either Nathan or Murderface. Pickles wore sneakers, and the only sound he made was quiet little squeaks. Toki walked with a gentle tread, and Skwisgaar walked like a race horse – long, light, delicate steps. This had to be either Nathan or Murderface. They were both big boned, heavy guys and they moved like it. There was a long pause, then… the boots came into the room, slowly, cautiously; a nervous animal approaching uncertainly, not sure if it was welcome.

“Charles?” said a low, rough voice.

“Nathan?” Charles was surprised at how weak and whispering his own voice sounded.

“Yeah. I… uh… just came to see how you were.”

“I have a headache.”

There was a quiet laugh. “Yeah I’m not surprised.” The bed sank appreciably as Nathan sat down on it. “I saw you. I… actually carried you to the Hatredcopter.”

Charles vaguely recalled that, but it was so hard to think… damned morphine made everything like an eternal dream.

“I brought you a present,” said Nathan. “Some of that organic chocolate you like so much.”

Charles felt a familiar twinge of irritation cut through the drugs. “Nathan, I’m lying here with my face in pieces and my jaw wired shut.”

“I know.”

“That chocolate is really hard.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Charles waited for the two thoughts to connect. “Nathan?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you expect me to eat it?”

Something touched his lips. “I broke it into really tiny pieces for you. So… you don’t have to chew. You can just let the bits melt.”

Well good grief, if that wasn’t one of the warning signs of the apocalypse then Charles did not know what was. Nathan Explosion did something compassionate that made actual sense. Charles parted his lips and allowed himself to be fed a crumb of chocolate.

“How are you boys?” asked Charles.

“Better than you. We’re all okay. Y’know Charles you really need to be more careful, getting yourself shot with an arrow and then having your face smashed in really isn’t healthy.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” he said dryly.

“Because we… well… we would have been really sad without you.”

Charles managed a faint smile. “Thank you, Nathan, that’s really very sweet.”

“Yeah because you’re the only one who can read your handwriting and the ledgers look like we have an alien for an accountant.”

There was that twinge of irritation again. He willed the morphine pump to kick in. It, like everybody else around this place, ignored him. “Yes, well… that would be tragic if I died and you boys couldn’t read my ledgers. What were you doing in my ledgers anyway?”

“I don’t remember. We were drunk.” Nathan fed him another crumb of chocolate.

Charles sighed quietly. “Well… thank you for saving my life, even if it was just so you could read the ledgers.”

“Oh that’s not why I did it.”

“No?”

“No.”

One of Charles’ eyebrows crept from beneath the bandage around his face. “Then… why did you do it?”

“Because I wanted to do this.”

Charles lay, puzzled, as he felt something warm press carefully against his lips. What the hell was that? It felt sort of like…

Was Nathan kissing him?

Charles felt his lower lip being nibbled, then the soft moist touch of a tongue. Yes Nathan was definitely kissing him. Then the kiss ended, and Nathan drew back.

“Hope you don’t mind that… I did that. I mean… you’re kinda helpless right now.”

Charles cleared his throat quietly. “No. I don’t mind,” he said quietly.

“Good. Okay. Um… is it all right if I just… lie beside you a while and feed you chocolate?”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

Charles felt the huge body settle beside him, and accepted a bit of chocolate. Then there was another soft, gentle kiss. Charles did not have much strength, but he managed to slip his hand into Nathan’s and squeeze lightly.

“This is so totally not metal,” said Nathan quietly.

Charles grinned. “Fuck metal,” he said softly.

“You’re sick so I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“It’s the morphine.”

“Sure. Blame the morphine.” Nathan kissed him softly and gave him another bit of chocolate. “You okay?”

“Perfect. Just perfect.”

“Good. Um… you think maybe when you’re… you know… feeling better… you might wanna…?”

Oh sure, now the morphine pump kicks in.