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.

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[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.]

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[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.]

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[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.]

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[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.]

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[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.]