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It is, to say the least, a "friggin' madhouse" at the Astoria General Hospital. Fortunately for Sinjin, and for Jono, much of the excitement is on another floor, where crews are still investigating the scene of the throwdown that sent Sinjin back to surgery. Sinjin should be unconscious, happily recovering, and he is not. He is awake and unhappy about everything — including the loss of his typewriter and the fact that they, with a great deal of effort, got his lighter away from him and won't give it back.
"Someone was asking for you downstairs," the nurse says, as though this will soothe him.
Downstairs isn't here, is it? Sinjin is in pain and limp and still his adrenaline levels will not drop. He scribbles furiously on a yellow pad of paper. At least his right hand works. Let them come up.
"Well, you know how they are — someone tried to kill you today," the nurse says reasonably.
Well, then we got it out of the way. Sinjin glares at her. Do you want me to set *this* room on fire?
The nurse huffs irritably. "Look. If you will just sleep after, I will see about getting your friend upstairs for a visit. I know you won't set anywhere on fire because you're too decent a guy to do that." She leaves him and goes to find his guest, whomever it happens to be.
Decent, Sinjin groans. Me. I'm ruined.
*
It takes a few minutes — long enough for Sinjin to wonder if there ever really was someone asking after him in the first place — but eventually, someone does turn up.
«Christ. Didn't think it were possible, but you look even worse'n you did at Macy's.»
Wrapped up in his scarf and leather jacket, Jonothon Starsmore peers into the hospital room from the doorway, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He looks… uncertain. Conflicted.
Even so, Jono slowly moves far enough into the room to let the door swing closed.
*
Yeah, well, it's two fights with mutant ninjas later, Sinjin scrawls on the paper. He's so white his scars and freckles look like someone put them on with ink. Blood drips into his right arm from a bag strung up on a pole. He's down too much for them to just let it slide, even after they stitched him up again. You missed all the fun. You can come in, I'm not contagious. He tosses the pad of paper down toward where Jono can read it, feels around in the bed instinctively, then grunts in annoyance. Jono hands the paper back once he's read it. They took my fucking lighter, the bastards. I'd be dead without it and they won't give it back.
*
«You did set the hospital on fire, mate,» Jono replies in a low voice, making his way over to stand at Sinjin's bedside because he can't very well expect Sinjin to keep tossing the paper back and forth. «Self defense or no, they're probably a titch nervous.»
After a pause, he adds, «I'll nick over to the gas station, get you a new one.»
After a moment spent awkwardly hovering in place, Jono drags a chair over and drops down to sit, his brow creased.
*
Well, there's always you. You're kind of a lighter all by yourself, aren't you… Even in his present state, Sinjin manages to be cheeky, and he gives Jono a wink. It'd make me feel better if I had one, though. Thanks. And I only set the hospital on fire because someone sent an angry ninja after me. You can't make this shit up. Ninjas. Sinjin gestures weakly.
*
The corner of Jono's right eye briefly turns upward. If he had a mouth, that might have been a smirk. «S'pose I am. Don't know if I should stay that long, though. Seems like yer a magnet for trouble.» He rests his palms on his knees and drums his fingers anxiously, occasionally glancing towards the door.
*
There is that. Though you didn't exactly avoid it in Macy's. Sinjin watches him from under long, dark red lashes, gauging his behavior. That what's making you nervous? Or the Army goons? Can't be that, you wouldn't have come up otherwise. What is it? I'm on my deathbed here. Indulge me.
*
«Just not sure why I'm here.» Jono shifts in his chair — he has perfected the art of the slouch, it seems, one skinny leg kicked nearly straight out to rest the heel of his boot on the floor. «Goons're fine, they won't even see me leave if I don't want 'em to.»
*
It's not my devastating good looks, Sinjin gestures to his face, then keeps writing. His left arm is all but useless at his side. Since I don't have those anymore. The left side of his face is a disaster of stitches and bandages, he can't see out of his left eye, and there's a reason his jaw is wired shut. Whatever reason it is, glad you came. You're not in trouble, are you?
*
Jono lazily cranes his neck enough to read as Sinjin writes, then flicks his eyes to the other man's face. He 'sounds' amused. «'fraid we are a bit of a matching set now. My condolences.» He reaches over to pat Sinjin on the chest, very very lightly. «Yours'll grow back.»
He settles back into his slouch, clasping his hands over his belly. «No, not in trouble. Good at keeping my head down. Usually.»
*
That makes one of us. Sinjin exhales, then winces. I was going to. But then. Sometimes you can't. I knew it'd be bad but thought they'd finish it if they came. Now, I can't sleep. He taps the pen on the page irritably. He can't sleep, can't fight. It doesn't make for a good night.
*
For a moment, Jono just closes his eyes, resigning himself to something. «You can sleep. Nowhere else I need to be,» he says tiredly, and when his eyes open again, he's peering at Sinjin. «So. You knock off for a bit, and afterwards, I'll go get you a new lighter.»
*
Sinjin isn't certain, but he thinks he knows what's going on. He knows that feeling himself. It's a weird, sinking feeling, caring. Terrible habit. If he were a better person, he'd kick Jono to the curb right now, before Jono ends up like he is.
Wake me if there's ninjas, he scrawls instead. Don't have fun without me. Maybe now he can sleep. If he weren't so tired, he might be a better person. For now, he's just grateful for the company.