kore_logs | If I fall back down...

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If I fall back down...

Who: Ned & Meyer
What: A piemaker and a gangster walk into a... no, wait, a piemaker is trapped underneath some fallen things, and a gangster has to help get him to safety.
When: Day 110 (post earthquake)
Where: The library.

The collapsed wall in the house that he and Charlie shared had been unfortunate. Maybe "unfortunate" was putting it mildly. A "real big goddamned pain in the ass" would have been more accurate, but at least the earthquake was over. He'd waited some time before venturing out of the house, making sure that there wouldn't be any aftershocks, monitoring the network to see what the general response had been, but there was only so long he could sit still and do nothing, and there was a wall that needed immediate repairs.

Neither he nor Charlie exactly had experience fixing buildings. Sure, Meyer worked on cars from time to time, but, as Charlie had pointed out, cars weren't made of wood, and they didn't require the same skills that fixing a wall did. That means there's only one thing to do: research. And while the town might be lacking in most amenities, it has a library. Surely he'll find a home repair guide there.

When he enters the library, he realizes immediately that it's not just their house that had been compromised in the earthquake. The library had taken less damage, but things have fallen off the shelves and are scattered on the floor, and as he rounds the corner towards the back of the library, he realizes that some of the shelves themselves have fallen over, too. He's about to abandon his mission and figure out a different way to do this when he sees something that gives him pause.

There's definitely a hand sticking out from under one of the collapsed shelves. And that must mean there's someone trapped underneath the shelf. He's no hero, but there's no way he's going to walk out of the library and leave someone there trapped underneath a bookshelf. He approaches cautiously, hoping like hell that whoever's trapped isn't unconscious or dead.

"Hello?"

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No, not dead or unconscious, but dazed. It takes a few moments for Ned to respond. His first instinct is to get up, and he tries that, but then remembers why he hadn't already: the bookcase that so kindly decided to fall on him is too heavy for him to shift by himself, trapped at he is at an awkward angle that makes it difficult to get any sort of leverage. So, after his fruitless stirring, he says, for lack of anything better to say, "Hi."

But that's wrong, he knows. Insufficient. He ought to say more.

"There was an earthquake."

Shit. It's Ned. And he can tell from Ned's voice that he's dazed; whether it's just from the bookcase falling on him and startling him, or whether it's from a blow to the head is anyone's guess. There's no question now, though, of what needs to be done. If he couldn't leave a relative stranger there, when he hadn't realized who it was, he certainly can't leave Ned there. He owes Ned more favors than he can possibly calculate at this point, and that's a large part of it, but there's the underlying part, too, the part he'd prefer not to acknowledge: he genuinely considers Ned a friend, or at least, as close to a friend as he can imagine.

"I know," he says, in response to Ned's statement, keeping his tone calm, "And I'm going to get you out of here in just a second, but I need you to tell me if you feel like anything's broken or if you hit your head."

That'll make a difference in just how aggressive he is about getting the bookcase off of Ned. He doesn't have any intention of injuring him further.

He'll probably be embarrassed later by the difficulty that he has in parsing that sentence. His automatic response is a vague, "It's fine," because for some unknown reason he'd thought Meyer was asking if the bookcase had gotten broken. Why that would be important is anyone's guess. Once Meyer asks if he hit his head, though, that he can answer easily.

"Yes," he says, shutting his eyes, uncertain for a moment if the ground was still moving or if that was just a wave of dizziness hitting him. Judging by the fact that nothing else moves, probably the latter. It's a considerable effort to elucidate. "Probably a concussion. Feels like the last time." That had been a bench, not a bookcase. He thinks that he has some difficulty with furniture items starting with 'b's and thinks that's a funny coincidence, that he ought to explain to Meyer why it's funny. But he instead ends up saying, "This thing's really heavy."

The amount of cursing he's doing in his mind is thoroughly appalling, but he keeps it out of his outward dialogue well enough, although there's a muttered little curse in Italian -- why he chooses Italian is anyone's guess; it probably comes down to the fact that he's used to Charlie swearing up a storm in Italian, and adopted that for his most profane of rants -- when Ned says that he did, indeed, hit his head. That changes things a little. If Ned were just trapped beneath the bookcase, things would be different. As it is, though, he's probably going to have to do this himself; Ned won't be in any state to help, and he doesn't want Ned to hurt himself further.

"Okay," he says, putting aside the pressing need to swear a blue streak about this damned place, and their damned captors, and the damned earthquake, and concentrating on the situation at hand. There's a pause as he tries to decide how to do this most efficiently, then a nod of determination as he starts to move the scattered books that had fallen out of the bookcase away from their general area. Getting a good grip on the bookcase, he tentatively tries lifting it, just to get a good idea of how heavy it really is.

Ned hadn't been lying. It's extremely heavy -- what the hell were bookcases made of around here, anyway?), and trying to lift it like that sends a spike of pain through his ribs that he only barely manages to stifle. He's going to have to do this slowly. "Ned," he says, speaking as carefully as he can, "When I move the bookcase, do you think you'll be able to move out of the way?"

When Meyer lifts the bookcase, even if it's only for a moment, the lessening of pressure is an unexpected relief. He hadn't realized just how much it hurt until it let up, and that somehow makes it all the worse when Meyer lets out a strange sort of noise and the full weight of it is back on him.

Meyer's speaking more slowly and distinctly now, which helps. "I'll try." He lays the hand that is sticking out flat against the floor, tries to brace his feet or knees or elbows or any part of himself against the ground so that he can be ready to move when he gets the chance.

"As soon as I get this lifted off of you enough, I want you to roll out from under it if you can."

If that doesn't work, he's going to have to figure out a way to get the bookcase all the way up and out of the way so that he can help Ned up himself. He'll do it if he has to, ribs be damned. Ned had saved him in a much more precarious situation than this one -- anything that involves firearms and wild animals is automatically more dire than anything that involves earthquakes and furniture, as far as he's concerned. Maybe that's just because he'd been the one imperiled, then.

"Okay," he says, almost as a warning, as he grips the bookcase again, "Here goes." He begins to lift it very slowly, wanting to keep his grip firm. Dropping the bookcase back onto Ned would be the absolute worst outcome, and he needs to keep his hands steady. The damned thing is heavy, but he's stronger than he looks, and he manages to pull it about halfway up. Some of the books that had been pinned between Ned and the bookshelf are dropping off, and he winces in sympathy, hoping that none of them hit Ned too hard as they fall to the floor.

It is only by coincidence that Ned rolls in the opposite direction to Meyer and doesn't end up running into his legs. It's not dignified or graceful but at the moment he could give less of a damn. He rolls and crawls and drags his way clear, paying little attention to the books that fall on him or in his way.

He tries to move as quickly as he can, is just as afraid of having the bookcase dropped on him again, but it still takes time. Once he is clear he lets out a ragged sigh of relief that doubles as a signal that Meyer can let the damn thing go. Ned is clear, has left plenty of space in between just to be sure. With that exertion done, he rolls onto his back and breathes deeply, eyes shut, thinking that he's going to stay like that for a while and not move a muscle.

When he lets the bookcase go, after he's absolutely certain that Ned's out of the way entirely -- no stray limbs to be crushed beneath the weight of it, no misjudging the distance he needs to roll away due to the concussion -- it's not gracefully. Rather, he practically drops the thing, letting it slam into the floor with a jarring thud. He's perversely satisfied when he sees that letting it go so violently causes a shelf to fall out and the side of the bookcase to crack a little. It deserves no less, really.

The feeling of satisfaction at dropping the thing is gone quickly, though, and he turns back to Ned, eyes intent and worried. "We need to get you a doctor," he says, as though it's not obvious. To be fair, in the state Ned's in right now, not much probably is obvious.

"You gonna be able to walk?" He's pretty sure the answer is going to be no, or at least, not without some support, but he still can't tell the extent of Ned's injuries. The head injury, certainly, is concerning, but until Ned really tries to get up, anything else won't be clear.

"Gimme a minute," Ned says, plaintively. Meyer is being logical, of course. Doctors are the best thing for concussions and other such assorted injuries. For a moment he thinks that Bruce will be mad at him for getting hurt again, but then he remembers Bruce is gone. Martha. Martha will be mad at him for getting hurt. She's probably got her hands full.

Swallowing, Ned says, belatedly, "Thank you." He can't seem to force himself to move just yet. He's thinking it, that he should get up and show Meyer that he's okay, that he can walk, but the signal doesn't seem willing to make its way from his brain to the rest of his body. He opens his eyes but everything is swimming, so he closes them again and with great effort sets a hand on top of them, willing the feeling of nausea to subside.

"You're welcome."

It strikes him as vaguely absurd that Ned's being so polite about the whole thing, but then, he'd been very similar when Ned had helped him out of a dangerous situation, too. Still, it wouldn't be amiss for Ned to be panicking far worse than he seems to be right now. He chalks it up to the concussion, making Ned woozy and off balance, making everything seem a little fuzzy. He remembers how it had been, after he'd been attacked, how everything had seemed a little far away and out of focus. That must be what Ned's experiencing right now. He doesn't know much about medicine, but it strikes him as dangerous, especially since Ned can't seem to stand up.

"I'll help you, but we need to get you out of here," he says finally, offering Ned both of his hands in a vain effort to get him to get up off the floor. He doesn't want to drag him off the floor, not if it injuries him further, but lying here won't make Ned's potential injuries any better. He'll drag him if he has to.

Ned sees Meyer standing over him and offering his hands, lets out a little groan of disapproval, but reaches up to grab them all the same. In the process of getting to his feet he finds out that he banged one of his knees pretty badly, and it gives under him when he puts his weight on it. By instinct he grabs for Meyer to steady himself, leaning on his shoulder heavily and getting his balance back.

The throbbing in his skull is much worse when he's standing up and he hangs his head, his grip on Meyer's hand no doubt uncomfortably tight as he struggles against the temptation to pass out. When the immediate pressure of the pain lessens a degree or two he opens his eyes again.

He staggers a little when Ned steadies himself on his shoulder, but manages to stay upright and relatively supportive of Ned's weight. The grip on his hand is tight, yes, but he certainly can't blame him. He looks up to meet Ned's eyes, to gauge just how concussed Ned is, but it's hard to tell, exactly, and he's concerned that Ned is going to tip over at any moment.

"Lean on me," he instructs, hoping like hell he doesn't have to carry Ned. He will if it comes to it -- he doubts Ned's unbearably heavy, really; he can't be any worse than that damn bookcase -- but he doesn't want Ned to fall over, nor does he want to push him. "Can you walk?"

"Yes. Sure." Saying it, though, is easier than doing it. There is pain blossoming across his body, in various locations, making itself known from his elbows and hips and knee and most of all from the place where... he thinks the bookcase must have hit his head, or else he'd hit his head on the ground. He can't actually remember it happening. The floor had dipped and swayed underneath him and then there had been pain and Meyer's voice talking to him.

Once he gets started putting one foot in front of the other it's easier, but he is still resting quite a bit of weight on Meyer, not to mention using him for balance. With one hand firmly anchored to Meyer's shoulder, he feels tentatively at the epicenter of the pain radiating across his skull. Probing the spot, no matter how gently, really fucking hurts, so he stops. When he pulls his hand away there is a small amount of blood on his fingers.

"Oh," he says, in surprise. Apparently he's bleeding a little.

He wraps an arm around Ned's waist to take on as much of his weight as he possibly can, realizing that Ned likely needs help balancing as much or more than he needs help actually walking. He's simply grateful that the grip that Ned has on his shoulder is on the side that isn't as close to the now mostly-healed gash across his collarbone; it doesn't hurt much anymore, but he can imagine that had Ned rested much weight on the area, it would have. His ribs, however, are another story, and he simply has to ignore the way they're complaining. He'll deal with his own pain later, once he gets Ned out of here and to a doctor.

Noting the way Ned pokes at his head and draws his hand back with blood on it, he fumbles in his pants pocket with his free hand for a moment before pulling out his handkerchief -- there are certain things he still carries with him, no matter how old-fashioned -- and handing it to Ned. "Press this to it if you're worried about the bleeding. Don't poke at it," he instructs.

A few seconds and a few steps later, he realizes he probably should say something to comfort Ned somewhat, or at least assure him that they'll get him to safety. "You'll be fine," he says, but given that he's not a very comforting person, by nature, and given that he's not prone to soothing words, it comes out almost more like an imperative. Ned will be fine. There's really no other option.

Ned takes the handkerchief, though it takes two tries. He's strangely uncoordinated. "Thanks," he mutters, worries for a moment about staining it before he presses it to the tender spot, putting a small amount of pressure, which is as much as he can bear.

"That's my line," he says, in response to Meyer's reassurance. He ought to have thought to be the one to say it first. This is nothing, compared to some of what he's been through here. Just a bump on the head. Could have been worse. The roof could have collapsed on him. He could have been stuck under that bookcase for much longer before someone found him.

Come to think of it, why had Meyer found him?

"What were you doing in the library?" he asks, and the question seems terribly important at the moment, though the concussion might be to blame for that.

Talking to Ned and keeping up a steady stream of conversation seems almost as important, in terms of Ned's wellbeing, as helping him walk out of the library is, so he's happy to respond. He knows that it's very likely that Ned's concussion is to blame for finding that question so important, but in the big scheme of things, he'd rather Ned was coherent and able to ask questions like that, as opposed to completely delirious.

"I was looking for a book on home repairs," he says, wry little smile on his face. The smile only lasts for a moment, though, as he carefully guides Ned around a corner. At least they're almost out of the library now. Once they're outside, he can find someone who knows something about medicine, and put Ned in more competent hands. All he can be is the one Ned leans on for a little while, the one who can walk in a straight line.

"One of our walls collapsed," he continues, "During the earthquake, I mean."

"You're the perfect height for this," Ned mutters; he can get away with a joke like that, right? Half of it is at his own expense. If Meyer is shorter than average, Ned is taller. And it does make leaning on him simpler than it might be were the tables reversed.

When Meyer announces that one of their walls collapsed, Ned asks quickly, "What? Is Charlie okay?" That question is accompanied by an almost painfully earnest look of concern. They'd only just gotten him back; if he were to get hurt...

If he were thinking a bit clearer, Ned would be able to guess the answer to his own question based on Meyer's calm demeanor, but in his current muddled state, he reacts with emotion first and logic later.

He chuckles quietly at Ned's comment. Height jokes rarely bother him -- he'd have to be unbearably thin-skinned for them to make much difference in his self-esteem, since he's been hearing them ever since he'd been a child. Even his own younger brother is taller than he is. The quiet laugh and the continued support as he pushes open the door to the library and leads Ned outside is indication enough that he certainly doesn't take the joke poorly.

"He's fine," he says, noting and appreciating Ned's concern. "He got woken up by it. Twisted his ankle trying to get up off the floor, but it's not bad. At this point, he's mostly sulking."

That's perhaps not the most charitable way to put it, and he doubts Charlie would appreciate it, but it's true enough. Part of the reason he'd gone in search of a home repair book and left Charlie back home was to allow him to sulk and get the irritation out before they began fixing the wall. Handing Charlie a hammer in this state would be a recipe for disaster.

"Is Daneel at home?" he asks, remembering suddenly that there're people who care about Ned quite a bit, and might be alarmed if he were hurt or missing. "He'll want to know you're all right."

It might not be a charitable bit of phrasing, but Ned knows that Charlie is capable of a good sulk when he sets his mind to it. A twisted ankle isn't exactly nothing, but it's better than what Ned had imagined. It starts to sink in then, just how badly he himself might have gotten hurt, as they continue to move and as the numbness of shock starts to fade. The pain is gradually increasing, but he worries his bottom lip between his teeth, white in the face, and does his best not to show it.

His head really is killing him, though. It's hard to make Meyer's words fit to a particular meaning, to form his own response. "It's not good for him," he says, realizes he abridged several steps of logic, tries again. "Daneel. It's hard for him to see injured humans."

"Then maybe we'd better get you to a doctor, first, and you can see Daneel after that."

That's right; he remembers something about Daneel's need to protect humans, to not see them be harmed in any way. The last thing he wants to do is bring a very obviously injured Ned back to the house and force Daneel to deal with it. It will be better for everyone if Ned is considerably less dazed and injured before he returns home.

"They'll give you something for the pain," he reassures Ned, because although Ned is attempting to hide how much he hurts, there's no way he could have been pinned beneath a bookcase and avoided getting injured. It could have been much, much worse, admittedly, but this is bad enough as it is.

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If I fall back down...

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SOB I'M SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG

Re: OH MY GOD HOW DARE YOU