Post by thelori24 on Feb 15, 2017 3:59:55 GMT
The last three days had been a long, torturous blur for Ian, he could barely remember how they even got back to the house, but he remembered in vivid detail arguing with the doctor they called, the man already dismissing Harley as too far gone, Ian arguing that he also had medical training and he wasn't just giving up that easily...Ian was hardly acting like a rational man, but he managed to convince the doctor to help him, and together they painstakingly pieced the wounds back together.
And for the next three days Ian waited. And watched. Obsessively caring over the injured man, keeping his wounds clean, checking them for any sign of infection, doing what he could to get at least a little water or broth into him, working to keep him cool when his temperature suddenly spiked. There was more than one point where it seemed he had gone, his breathing and heartbeat too shallow to immediately pick up, only to wheeze and rasp his way back to some semblance of life, clinging to it by some bare, stubborn thread, refusing to let go and slip away. And Ian stayed with him, only leaving his side to barely care for his most basic needs, and even then hurrying back, so afraid that even a few minutes away might be a few too many. He downed a few cups of tea and some soup but didn't really eat otherwise, he nodded off to sleep a few times, then snapped awake guiltily each time.
It was at this point that he had dozed off again, exhausted and worn down from the last week's events, but he startled awake at the sound of Harley moving, the sounds he made...and then he spoke. And Ian could have wept in that moment, he was not out of the woods yet, but if he'd managed to wake enough to speak...it was a start. He stood from the arm chair that he'd been resting in and came to the side of the bed, taking one of his hands.
"Don't move too much. You'll tear your stitches." he chided gently, resting his other hand on the man's forehead. "How are you feeling?" He tried, but was not entirely able to keep the waver out of his voice as he spoke.
And for the next three days Ian waited. And watched. Obsessively caring over the injured man, keeping his wounds clean, checking them for any sign of infection, doing what he could to get at least a little water or broth into him, working to keep him cool when his temperature suddenly spiked. There was more than one point where it seemed he had gone, his breathing and heartbeat too shallow to immediately pick up, only to wheeze and rasp his way back to some semblance of life, clinging to it by some bare, stubborn thread, refusing to let go and slip away. And Ian stayed with him, only leaving his side to barely care for his most basic needs, and even then hurrying back, so afraid that even a few minutes away might be a few too many. He downed a few cups of tea and some soup but didn't really eat otherwise, he nodded off to sleep a few times, then snapped awake guiltily each time.
It was at this point that he had dozed off again, exhausted and worn down from the last week's events, but he startled awake at the sound of Harley moving, the sounds he made...and then he spoke. And Ian could have wept in that moment, he was not out of the woods yet, but if he'd managed to wake enough to speak...it was a start. He stood from the arm chair that he'd been resting in and came to the side of the bed, taking one of his hands.
"Don't move too much. You'll tear your stitches." he chided gently, resting his other hand on the man's forehead. "How are you feeling?" He tried, but was not entirely able to keep the waver out of his voice as he spoke.
