lastgunslinger

"Well, say thankya. This is for you," he says, holding a tube of paper out to him.

"And these." The Eliot book and the Browning book.

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Ted looks down at the books, then looks up at Jake. "Thank you, Jake." And his smile grows a bit...easier. "I'd missed poetry, you know. And I had an interesting conversation with Joe about The Waste Land, the other day -- made me want to reread it."

Ted unrolls the paper, and his own face stares back at him.

Somehow -- Ted doesn't know how -- Jake managed to capture the young boy still there, deep down, inside the old man. Vaguely, Ted wonders if that's what he really looks like when he's reading a book, as he is in Jake's drawing.

He looks back up at Jake again. "Jake. Thank you."

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Jake nods and then leans forward to hug Ted carefully.

"I enjoyed the Browning very well. I think you'll like it."

The gesture, however, says a little more than his casual speech.

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There's a part of Jake that's still a boy, then. A part that's not all gunslinger. Maybe. Ted relaxes a bit, and hugs him back.

Casually, Ted says, "My degree from Harvard -- it's in English, you know."

Ted's rather familiar with Robert Browning. Ahem.

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Jake smiles. "Then you'll know more about it than I could. And I may have a few questions for you at some point."

His eyes are drawn back to the sleeping gunslinger and he sits down on the floor. "How is he?"

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"Ask when you're ready. If it's the poem I think you're thinking about." Ted's had a lot of time to think about 'Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came', over the years.

Simply, Ted says, "He's recovering. It'll take a while." A pause. "You beat him up pretty good."

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Jake stares at Roland for a long moment before turning his attention back to Ted.

His gaze is calm and composed. "He would have done the same to me had I not."

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"I know."

And he sighs, and then it's his turn to look at Roland.

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Jake smiles faintly.

"You understand better than most."

And leaves it at that.

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There's silence for a while, then Ted says, "It's Christmas Eve, isn't it?"

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Jake nods. "Have you seen the bar?" Faint amusement.

"People seem to enjoy it here."

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"I have." Ted doesn't sound amused, though. Not really. "Do you enjoy it? Or -- did you? Before you...met Roland?"

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"Not really," he says easily. "It was just another day. Still is."

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"Never went skating at Rockefeller Center? Never walked down Fifth Avenue and just stared at it all while snow fell?"

Ted smiles. It's wistful.

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"Did it every year, actually. I used to go skating on Fridays after school. I was good at it."

"And the snow used to bother me a little until the year before."

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"What happened?"

The chair is really comfortable, and if it weren't for the unconscious gunslinger lying on the bed Ted might actually call himself...content.

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"It was cold and wet and got in the way until I died the first time."

"After I got back and before the mind split, there was a period where I actually liked it."

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He nods, thoughtfully...and then stands. "Jake, I want to get a few things from the Calla -- there are things I can use to tend Roland that Rosalita's got, I know. I'll be half an hour or so -- will you stay with him?"

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"Of course. Stay as long as you want or need," he replies.

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Ted smiles at him, puts Roland's copy of A Christmas Carol on top of the Eliot and Browning books, and leaves the room.

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No doubt Ted meant to close the door softly, but Roland's been hearing their voices, and the click of the door makes him stir.

Moving hurts.

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Jake's eyes snap back to the bed and he gets up to take Ted's chair.

"Roland. Can you hear me?"

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"Yar." His voice is little more than a croak. "How long have I been asleep?"

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"Day and a half. Maybe two."

"Good to see you awake."

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Roland lets out something near a snort. "It's good to be awake."

A pause.

"I spoke with Lady Death, did I not?"

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"Briefly. She was there to watch. And she offered but I believe you said no."

That's something he's not going to think about at the moment.

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Roland's eyes are still closed.

And he's smiling.

"There are still things to do."

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Any smile, however small, changes the familiar face so remarkably that it still takes him a moment to recover.

"I would hope so." No amusement in there. Nope.

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"We're hers." Simply. He's still smiling. "It was good to speak with her. After all this time."

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Jake is silent for a moment, remembering the pale face. Knowing.

"We are," he repeats. Fully.

Somehow it doesn't bother him as much as he thought it would.

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"Where's Brautigan?"

Roland's been floating in and out of consciousness, but he knows it's Ted who's been here.

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"Back in the Calla getting some supplies from Rosalita."

And Jake Does Not Smile. He's gotten better at doing that.

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He learned it from the master.

The master isn't smiling, either. The master is actually kind of thirsty. "Brautigan had a glass of water sitting on the nightstand. Is it still there?" Roland still hasn't opened his right eye.

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Jake retrieves it. "Can you sit up at all?"

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His eye opens, now, and he slides his right arm back. Roland pushes himself up, inhaling sharply -- he's got a few bruised ribs from where Jake whacked him with the flat of the blade.

He turns his head to Jake, looking pleased with himself. "Yar."

He doesn't mention that Ted is likely to be very irritated with him, if he finds out that Roland's been sitting up.

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Master or not, Roland is currently not fooling the pupil.

Jake pushes him back down again.

"Nice try." And holds the glass up to his lips.

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And Roland drinks. Sharing khef.

"Say thankya." Roland looks up at Jake. "Did you have hurts that needed to be seen to, after?"

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