011.

[brokenweapon]

I'm curious - could anyone recommend some music to me? If you can't think of anything I might like, just tell me something you enjoy. I'm open to any and all suggestions.

The same goes for books, fiction or nonfiction.

[Private to Armand.]
Come to the Infirmary. I need to talk to you.

[Private to Costigan.]
I really don't like being here. Can you walk me to my room so I can get something? With this leg, no way they're letting me out unaccompanied.

[Private to the Admiral, March 29]
Armand's learned his lesson, I think. Bring him back.

Comments

Private - Backdated to minutes after his beatdown on Armand

[brokenweapon.livejournal.com]

[His handwriting's just shaky enough for Costigan to tell something's not quite right - a bit of a tremor in the staffs of the letter Ds, perhaps.]

Now. Now would be good.

Private

[lostundercover]

You okay?

I'll be there as soon as I can.

Private

[brokenweapon.livejournal.com]

Yes No N [Scribbles.] I don't know.

I'm outside the infirmary. On crutches.

Spam

[lostundercover]

[Costigan considered replying, but he knew it wasn't worth the effort it would take to when he had already broken out in a fast-paced jog. Bourne was obviously having trouble with something and he wasn't certain what to do about it, but he knew the faster he got there the sooner he could figure out what was going on. Though the warden staying with he and Henrietta was not ideal in any way, he didn't feel comfortable letting him stay alone unless it was a nearby room and he wouldn't kick Henrietta out. What choice did he have?

Approaching the infirmary, and catching sight of Bourne, he slowed to a jog and then a walk, beginning to speak before he had even stopped.] "What the hell's goin' on here?"

Spam

[brokenweapon.livejournal.com]

[Bourne's hands were shaking. He gripped the crossbar of his crutches tightly, trying to keep them from moving, but the crutches began to rattle. He released them and simply dug his nails into his palms, waiting for it to go away.

All of that aggression hadn't just been for Armand, he knew, and that was what had scared him. It was days of looking at the doctor and seeing the assassin, the nearly unbearable stress of wanting nothing more than to kill the man who was tending to your leg. Somehow he'd managed to keep it under control. Not anymore. Today, seeing Armand, had been when his patience had snapped. It didn't hurt that Armand had killed a warden, but as soon as the crutch crashed down on his inmate twice and thrice, he knew he'd gone too far. And he couldn't apologize. He'd known animals like Armand before - establish yourself as the alpha through violence. Alphas did not show remorse.]

"I'm PNG in there," [he said, the jargon sounding easy, practiced. Costigan ought to know what it meant. Persona non grata. An unwelcome person. The Latin came easy, too.] "My inmate came to visit."

Spam

[lostundercover]

[Costigan noticed Bourne's tremors and ran over, in his mind, the long list of things that might have caused it, from medications to anger. By the way the warden coped with it, he could tell that they were certainly bad and potentially increasing. The inmate was tragically oblivious to what had happened in there but could tell the extent of Bourne's anger. Though he had been in similar circumstances, Costigan's hands never shook. It was something he had noticed about himself.]

"Out of the kindness of his heart or because you asked him to?" [He muttered, obviously figuring the latter. Costigan wasn't hunched over to catch his breath or anything, but he appreciated the moment to get back to an even place before they began walking again. Just in case they ran into something or someone.] "What happened, Bourne?"

Spam

[brokenweapon.livejournal.com]

[Bourne would have laughed if he'd found it remotely funny. If there was a shred of kindness in Armand, it was buried deep within the vampire's heart - or what passed for his heart.]

"He killed someone. Another warden. I had to teach him a lesson." [A beat.] "I wasn't kidding about beating him with crutches, you know."

[His attempt to lighten the mood rang horribly false even to his own ears, so he dropped the pretense. Try as he might, he couldn't keep from mulling over McCoy's resemblance to the bastard who'd killed Marie. This close. He'd been thisclose to throttling the life from the man, and only his better angels had held him back. The fact that he'd gotten that close at all, knowing that McCoy was a doctor and that people here sometimes looked like who they weren't, had scared him more than he cared to admit.

"It's what you are, Jason, a killer! You always will be." Abbot's words seemed to mock him now more than they had before. He didn't particularly want to volunteer the information, but he figured that Costigan was going to ask, he'd get guarded, and they'd have a minor squabble about trust before getting to the stairs, so he decided to save both of them five minutes and a whole lot of trouble.]

"About earlier..." [Bourne started, then stopped, trying to gather his words.] "When I told you to make sure I stayed down."

Spam

[lostundercover]

[Costigan stared at Bourne with his eyebrows knitted in obvious disapproval. No matter how evil or bad Armand was, he was still Bourne's inmate, and Costigan wasn't fond of the idea of someone in the other man's position beating the shit out of him; it was something Queenan would never do. And Bourne was no Dignam. He wasn't nearly so honest or transparent as his Staff Sergeant had been.

They walked along together and the inmate didn't bother to reply to that dry humor, sensing the subtle change in the warden's expression as his thoughts seemed to move on. He nodded when Bourne began the change of subject. Costigan craved a cigarette something fierce, but he'd been out for nearly a day now.] "Yeah, I was wondering."

Spam - He might like crutches less than I do.

[brokenweapon.livejournal.com]

[Bourne was getting around okay on the crutches. He must have done this before, maybe with a broken ankle. Using them wasn't pleasant at all, but it was doable. He found it easier to walk with them if he kept a steady rhythm. Step-thump. Step-thump.

He took another breath. It was important that he remember the incident without reliving it.] "I didn't notice it before, but the doctor - McCoy - he's--" [No. He wasn't. There seemed to only be a set number of faces in the universe and he just had the bad luck to share his with a killer. A few seconds' pause, then he tried again.] "He looks like the man who killed Marie."

[A crash of glass, a blaring horn, and--stop it! Reliving it, beating himself up about it, wasn't helping. Hadn't helped. Wasn't going to. Stop it.]

Spam

[lostundercover]

[Costigan glanced sideways with an expression one could interpret for concern when Bourne cut off, slowing down to be beside the warden in case he had to catch the cripple. When he continued, Costigan felt a hint of anger flare inside of him. Bourne was freaking out that McCoy looked like the man that killed his girlfriend; it was like how Costigan felt looking at Bourne sometimes. How Sullivan had stolen the woman he loved despite being a bastard and then had killed Queenan and him.

Catching himself, he returned focus to the warden again. Noticing the expression on his face and the panic, he let out a small sigh then launched a weak jab straight at Bourne's cheek to encourage his attention back to present.] "Come on, man."

Spam

[brokenweapon.livejournal.com]

[It was coming back - all of it was coming back, far too fast. The car was falling off the bridge - no, the car was crashing into the other driver's side and there was a pain in his shoulder where the bullet had gotten him - no, what car, there was no car, just the Ba-- attack!

Movement! No time to think, only act. Bourne's arm shot out, fingers curling around the attacker's wrist, ready and able to break it, to put him out of commission if need be, destroy the method of attack, even on crutches he could do this, even on crutches he could kill.

Kill?

The world came filtering back into his brain. No threat. Just Costigan. Oh, shit. He was too on edge. It shouldn't have even gotten this far. Too invested, he was too invested. He had to get over this.

The asset released his tight grip on the inmate's wrist.] "Don't do that," [he said flatly, putting his hand on the crossbar of the loose crutch and continuing down the hall.]

Spam

[lostundercover]

[Costigan thought about reacting to the unconscious movement, but knew better. So long as he didn't react, he was less likely to have anything broken or for the action to progress. Waiting a moment, he felt the tension in his shoulders barely loosen when the warden released him and chided him as a smile child. He was, to say the least, not amused. The inmate did not continue walking with Bourne.]

"What the fuck is going on in that head of yours?" [He asked with a very demanding tone, tired of pretenses.]

Spam

[brokenweapon.livejournal.com]

"I wish I knew," [the warden muttered, more to himself than to Costigan, and reached his door. A moment later, it was unlocked. He looked back at Costigan, an apologetic expression flitting across his face. He was terribly on edge, but he really needed to get a better grasp on his behavior.] "Sorry."

[Once inside, he went to his closet and grabbed a black backpack, already packed with essentials. Living prepared was second nature to him. Laying the crutches aside for a moment, he slung the bag onto one shoulder. Then, back on the things, he hobbled to his desk for his journal. He looked at the framed photograph of himself and Marie before quietly removing the back and slipping it into his journal. The journal went into his backpack and he returned to the door.]

Spam

[lostundercover]

[Costigan followed with a frown to Bourne's room, but leaned in the doorway instead of following him inside. He wasn't one to intrude on privacy any more than necessary and he felt like the injured warden had earned some space for some sort of fucked up going on in his head, even if the inmate couldn't put his finger on it. Yeah, it had something to do with McCoy looking like the person that shot Marie, sure. But he looked like Sullivan and Costigan was able to get over that well enough. Fuck, he had a harder time with Bartlet looking like Queenan.]

"You want me to grab that?" [He offered without a hint of sympathy or demeaning tone, but as a genuinely question from friend to friend. It wasn't about Bourne relying on him in any way because he knew he would hate to be asked the same when injured; it was just an innocent offer.]

Spam - kdslkdfied i am a fail

[brokenweapon.livejournal.com]

[Bourne's immediate reaction was to refuse the offer of assistance out of hand. Then he realized that would be stupid for more reasons than one. First of all, getting down the stairs like this, and on crutches, would be...interesting. Second, it would be rude. Granted, social skills weren't something he'd ever really needed to cultivate, but Costigan had done him a favor (even if it was kind of his fault that his leg was broken in the first place).

Asking. That was something friends did.]

"Sure, if you don't mind. Thanks," [Bourne said.]

Spam

[lostundercover]

[Costigan nodded and took the bag from Bourne, walking with him slowly toward the stairs. Then he took a step back to show that he was waiting for the warden to ascend the stairs first. It seemed better to wait behind him and have the ability to catch him if necessary rather than to move too fast or demean him by going too slow. This was less complicated.

After thinking for a moment, Costigan didn't know what to say. The man, his friend, was obviously distraught but he had no words to offer in sympathy, empathy, or anything else. Instead, he walked without saying anything at all just a step back from being beside the man. It seemed the most important thing just to be there and to listen for now.]

[ooc; It's your tag here now. Please.]