(no subject)

[lastgunslinger]

Roland has been awake for some time.

His coughing has yet to stop.

His eyes are bright and glassy.

He's really tired of looking at the ceiling.

Welcome to hell, he thinks. You deserve it.

Comments

[boy-not-lost.livejournal.com]

"For-" not telling you. For being here.

"That you had to learn it from Joe."

[lastgunslinger]

"It's not your fault he's a son of a bitch."

Roland's voice, though soft, though hoarse, is calm.

[boy-not-lost.livejournal.com]

"I didn't want you to know. Especially not that way."

[lastgunslinger]

"I didn't want you to tell me."

The pattern on the bedcover is simple. Roland traces part of it with the thumb of his right hand.

[boy-not-lost.livejournal.com]

Jake hands him the orange juice and the pills once he's halfway finished with the soup.

"Here. For the fever."

[lastgunslinger]

Roland looks down at the pills.

"Astin?"

[boy-not-lost.livejournal.com]

He nods. "Yeah. A waitrat gave them to me. They seem to know what everyone needs."

[lastgunslinger]

He spends a bit more time staring at them. Then he pops them in his mouth, follows them up with the juice -- and freezes.

His throat hurts like hell.

It's a fight to get them down. He does. He's trembling again.

Roland hates being sick.

[boy-not-lost.livejournal.com]

Jake is well aware of this; getting Roland to do anything that he doesn't want to do - accepting aid foremost on the list - is like trying to persuade a feral, deaf, blind and dumb cat into a very large bathtub.

So he sighs.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland closes his eyes. He will stop trembling. He will.

Carefully, he sets first the glass of orange juice and then the bowl of soup on the nightstand.

Then he eases back down into the bedclothes and draws the blankets around his shoulders.

For perhaps five seconds, all is well. Roland allows himself to get his hopes up. Then: coughing.

"Fuck."

[boy-not-lost.livejournal.com]

Jake puts a hand on his head before Roland can stop him and frowns.

"Okay. Here is what is going to happen."

"You are going to stay in bed," he says firmly, glaring down at his dinh. "I am going to go get Peter. He is going to do what he can - without using magic. And you are not going to complain or say no."

[lastgunslinger]

Already glassy eyes glitter at Jake. "What happens if I do?"

[boy-not-lost.livejournal.com]

"It is going to happen anyway."

[lastgunslinger]

"I'll be fine in a few days." And Roland rolls over in bed, turning his back to Jake.

[boy-not-lost.livejournal.com]

"If you die here what happens to us? What happens to the Tower? You may be stuck here for now but there's a chance that you could get back, at least into my reality," he snaps suddenly.

"Stop being so fucking stubborn."

[lastgunslinger]

Silence.

Then, even quieter: "Go get him."

Roland sounds utterly defeated.

[boy-not-lost.livejournal.com]

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he says curtly.

[lastgunslinger]

It's not like Roland's going anywhere.

Joe's voice is in his head again: What happens to the Tower if you die of pneumonia?

Roland doesn't say anything.

[boy-not-lost.livejournal.com]

Jake reappears after some time has gone by, not bothering to knock this time.

"Are you awake?" he asks, opening the door wide enough for Peter to come inside.

[lastgunslinger]

"Yes."

Roland hasn't moved.

[pjpettigrew.livejournal.com]

Peter walks over to Roland's bed. It would be the work of an instant to check what's wrong with the man by means of a diagnostic spell, but Peter knows how little Jake and his ka-tet like magic--for good reason.

Instead, he does as doctors have done for years--noting the smell of illness, listening to Roland's heart and lungs with a stethoscope and surprising Roland with a digital thermometer that's designed to be inserted into the ear.

"101.8," he reads aloud. "Fairly high. And you have fluid in your lungs. You're in the early stages of bacterial pneumonia. You need rest, food, antibiotics and something to open those airways so that you can breathe more easily.

"First, the expectorant." Peter gets the spray from his case and places it on the table next to Roland. "This is to open up your lungs and throat, and to let you breathe. These"--he places several blue and white boxes beside the spray--"are Keflex. They'll help clear up the infection in your lungs and bring your fever down.

"And this"--he concludes, hooking up an IV--"is to make sure that you get fluids and nutrients, because your body needs those as badly as it needs medicine.

"And no getting out of bed till I say so," he adds sternly. "Not even if you feel fine. I know you don't like it and you're probably gnashing your teeth, but if you push yourself too hard too fast--as I think you're inclined to do--you'll get worse. Much worse."

He is tempted to add Please, sai?, but does not. It would be too much like begging.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland feels like a piece of meat to be poked and prodded at leisure.

He doesn't do anything about it. Even when the needle goes in his hand.

He doesn't look at Jake, but: Is what he's doing accepted practice in New York?

The Cheflet reassures him slightly, but it's best to make sure.

[boy-not-lost.livejournal.com]

Jake does not miss the fever but it is stored in the archive of 19 at the back of his mind for reflection later on.

Common medical practice. I went through it many times when I was younger.

[lastgunslinger]

All right.

He turns his face to the wall.

[pjpettigrew.livejournal.com]

"Sai." Peter's voice is calm. "I don't know what's usual in your world. If you have any questions, please ask. And if I'm hurting you, please tell me. I promised Jake that I would help him and his ka-tet any way I could, to the best of my abilities. If you're upset or hurt, I'm not helping to the best of my abilities. And I'd like to keep my promise."