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Entry tags:

athelstan,
ragnar

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Curled in Rangar's arms and clutching Athelstan's hand, Sinric keeps his face hidden as they enter their rooms. Somehow it's easier with his eyes closed. It seems to narrow down the visions.

He tries to steady himself enough to stand, wavering like a leaf. "I must smell terrible." He can't tell, still so disconnected from his own body. "I don't remember how long it's been since I washed."

He senses a turn of discomfort from Athelstan. "I can do it alone, it's alright."

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Hannibal lets go of his hands.

"I'm sure Athelstan will be back soon."

Ragnar is stroking Sinric's shoulders. "Perhaps you should give him that other thing after all."

"Diazepam, rectally? I don't think so," Hannibal answers.

Sinric buries his face in Ragnar's shoulder, panting for fear of losing himself again. He reaches under Ragnar's shirt for the matching tattoo he knows is there, using the softly ridged flesh to anchor himself. He's shaking quite badly now, not quite seizing but not in control either.

Ragnar is holding him close, then slips his hand down to the tattoo on Sinric's hip.

"Cling to me," he murmurs. "I am here. I have you."

The incomprehensible words the doctor said about what he might do sound somehow spiky and not very helpful.

The touch over his tattoo, the gentle strength of Ragnar's voice helps and he slowly sinks into the closed loop made by the ink in their skin. It calms him, tracing those lines over and over in his mind.

"I have you, " Ragnar says, "I love you!"

He looks at the doctor.

"Will this happen every time he has a vision?"

"I don't know," the doctor says. "He might be able to learn -- with an honest teacher."

"It's fading." Sinric's voice is little more than a breath. "The further I am from the tree. The closer I am to you, to home"

Ragnar holds him very close. "Cling to me!"

The door opens and closes in the other room.

nd he does, burying himself as close as his thin frame and the sheets wrapped around him will allow.

He can feel the rivalry between the two men, the desire to control but he doesn't have the strength to play the peace keeper.

"Athelstan?" Ragnar calls out.

"You should stay with him," the doctor says, gathering up his things to transfer them to wherever Sinric spends the night. "If you two anchor him to his sanity."

"Here", he calls back.

There's a sound of wheels on the floor.

Sinric concentrates on breathing, fingers clenching rhythmical at Ragnar's still damp shirt. "My room. Please? I want to be near."

"Of course," Ragnar says, picking him up and getting off the bed without letting go of him once.

Hannibal, bag in hand, goes to open doors as indicated to let them through.

Athelstan has a trolley loaded with the equipment and supplies Hannibal asked for.

Sinric's room usually isn't very big. In fact any other day the harpsichord will need to be moved closer to the wall in make room for the bed, but the Bar seems to have anticipated the issue and expended, creating deep bay window area the perfect size and shape for a sick bed and all the equipment required. And a view east over the gardens.

There's far in the distance, is the giant ash tree, almost skeletal against a patch of evergreens.

Ragnar puts Sinric into the bed by this new window while the doctor readies the equipment, both the trip and the monitors.

"I will have to put a needle in your arm and leave it there so the liquid you're missing can be filled up," Hannibal explains to Sinric.

Athelstan just hangs back to let them work.

Sinric nods and sits his hand, wrist up to Hannibal's touch, turning his face away to look to Athelstan for comfort.

Hannibal quickly slips in the needle, puts the adhesive over the green plastic bit at the end, and then connects the drip.

"And these bits are for us to see whether your heart is beating properly," he adds, putting the heart rate monitor in place. "Please excuse the machine that goes ping, but it shows us that you're still doing fine, physically, without having to take your pulse by hand."

Ragnar has been half-sitting on the bed, providing Sinric with the touch he needs.

Athelstan is there, trying not to get in the way before everything's set up, but he doesn't look away from Sinric.

Sinric flinches as the needle goes in, biting his skin. But he doesn't look away from Athelstan. His dark eyes, at least now mostly brown again, hold a message he hopes Athelstan can here.

I love you. I trust you, you are part of me. You will be whole.

To Hannibal, he whispers, "Will it make me sleep?"

"It just replaces the fluids you lost," Hannibal murmurs back, "so your body will come off the desperate state of emergency which, yes, will allow you to sleep more easily. But if you want anything stronger, I can easily give it to you right into the drip, in a little while."

He moves aside and motions to Athelstan to come closer.

He does, perching on the edge of the bed.

"You'll feel better."

"I'm sorry, to cause so much trouble." He reaches for Athelstan. "Thank you, all of you for looking after me." Even without the sedative, or because of whatever is left, he's starting to drift again. His eyeS grow heavy and his touch limp.

Hannibal turns on the monitor and steps away.

"You two stay with him," he says, "and I will be over there, in the chair, in case anything happens again and I am needed. If that works for you?"