consequences of haste

[searchingfordistraction]

He'd intended to refrain from using anything other than telekinesis until he'd got at least the bones of the new system in place, but.

But conversation with the Bar confirmed that Milliways's built-in safeguards would step in to regulate his magic use in lieu of his magic being able to regulate itself. It would, after all, require a remarkable series of stacked coincidences for Milliways to sustain any kind of damage; nothing Jim could do now would be anywhere near enough to set off that kind of cascade.

He still takes the precaution of having a room with extra buffers set up, just in case.

There is, of course, nothing Milliways can do to prevent Jim from injuring himself as he practices, and he finds very quickly that without his own system to guide his focus, his control over anything non-telekinetic is exceedingly poor.

It was worth experimenting with, anyway. And at least the infirmary is handy.

Comments

[jumperfucker]

John does not technically work at the infirmary at Milliways. He is however recognised as a doctor and does have some authority over the rats that work in there.

As if he could avoid it. Something tells him this is probably the case with every poor sod called John Watson.

He's not in the infirmary today, but he's within a decent distance to it, though he's a bit more interested in his newspaper at the moment.

[searchingfordistraction]

He could have started with something a bit less volatile. Virtually anything would have qualified.

He will next time, for the sake of convenience. But, for any number of reasons, today it happened to be playing with fire that appealed to him. And while he couldn't control it, he was able to put an end to its existence quickly enough; the burns on his hand and streaking up his arm are nasty, but it could have been much worse.

His expression as he makes his way to the infirmary is a study in deliberate calm.

[jumperfucker]

He has to pass by John on the way, and it's a very odd feeling to watch Jim Moriarty, probably badly injured, walk by.

Ignore him, says John's inner monologue. Let the bastard get an infection and die an unnecessarily drawn-out and painful death.

It is against everything he knows that John does exactly the opposite of this, and with an annoyed sigh that he gets up to help. Goddamn the Hippocratic Oath.

"There's no-one in there, and I doubt you can perform a graft on your own," he warns.

He has no idea if it will actually come to that, but from where he's standing, it looks pretty bad.

[searchingfordistraction]

Jim is even more aware of his surroundings than usual. An injury like this to his dominant hand is no joke, and much as Jim enjoys Milliways, it's not a good place to have that kind of vulnerability on display.

He had more than one reason for not just practicing outside.

He turns casually to acknowledge John, for all the world as though he hadn't noticed the man's presence the second he was in view of the main room.

"Sounds like I might need some assistance, then," he says brightly. His tone doesn't betray the pain he's in any more than his expression does.

(He learned, a very long time ago, that the trick lay in not letting it bother him.

It took longer to master that trick with this kind of pain, but he managed in the end.)

[jumperfucker]

There's a brief pause before John grits his teeth and says, "Son of a bitch." He watches far too much American telly and films.

Without saying much of anything else, he waves his cane in the direction of the infirmary, indicating that he'll be right behind Jim.

Why does it have to be here? Why does it have to be him?

[searchingfordistraction]

Jim shoots him a sweet smile before going on ahead.

[jumperfucker]

John may not be the John Watson Jim knows from back home, but like Sherlock, there are some startling similarities. His limp seems more out of habit by this point and that tremor in his hand has run for the hills.

The first thing he does is washes and gloves up, leaving his cane by the sink in favour of the tall, wheeled office-like chair. He does all this without a word, and continues to say nothing as he picks up a pair of rounded-tipped scissors.

Sorry, Jim. But there's a good chance John might even take a bit of satisfaction from what he's about to do.

[searchingfordistraction]

Shame, then, that Jim had the foresight not to wear anything he's particularly attached to. It is a designer t-shirt, but it's still just a t-shirt, not even one of the many duplicates of his favorite that he keeps around.

But if getting him half-naked is what gets John off, then far be it from Jim to object. He just watches, a distinctly amused air to his silence.

[jumperfucker]

The shirt comes off efficiently, but John's skilled and careful enough to do it quickly without exacerbating Jim's injuries. Next is the IV, which he doesn't tape down. Rather than suturing it in place, he uses a Colfex wrap instead. Not ideal, but it seems the best way to go about the problem at this moment.

That done, he's ready to start properly inspecting the burn areas.

"Do I even want to know what you were doing out there?" he asks as he starts to clean the area.

[searchingfordistraction]

He appears to give the question a moment's consideration before he answers.

"Yes," he says. "I think you do."

Which doesn't mean Jim is going to tell him.

[jumperfucker]

There's absolutely no point in doing anything to deliberately cause Jim pain. The fucker would probably enjoy it, and even more to the point, is probably expecting it.

So John just keeps on being the professional doctor he always is.

"You might want to avoid doing it in future," he says. "I've not been trained on any of the fancy equipment they have in here, so the best I can do is try to minimise scarring."

There are so many weasel words in that sentence that his intentions right now could be anything at all.

[searchingfordistraction]

"Oh, I can talk you through it," Jim says airily. "I'm good with equipment."

He took an opportunity a little while back to examine the equipment in the infirmary as thoroughly as he could manage. Aside from the pieces that are so utterly alien as to likely be incompatible with human medicine anyway, he found it all fairly simple.

[jumperfucker]

John looks up at him without looking scared or annoyed or anything. He's the perfect picture of calm right now.

"What makes you think I'd trust you?" he asks, almost causally.

[searchingfordistraction]

"What makes you think I'd deliberately mislead you into injuring me further?"

Honestly.

"Don't overthink things, darling, it's just embarrassing for everyone."

[jumperfucker]

"All right," John says. "What makes you think I'd trust you not to overload something and injure me?"

Happy?

[searchingfordistraction]

Oh, goody. This conversation again.

"Right," he says. "Since you're the only doctor currently in the infirmary and I have an injury that wants seeing to, of course my next step is going to be to put you out of commission. That makes perfect sense."

[jumperfucker]

John takes only the briefest of moments to consider this.

"All right. I don't think there's a release for for this sort of situation, but you do understand the risks of the procedure? Namely, me not being trained?" asks John, back to an attitude of cool professionalism.

He's not at all comfortable with this, but no-one else has shown up to take over, and if this is what Jim wants to do, then fine.

[searchingfordistraction]

"Yes, of course," Jim says with impatience. "If I didn't think you could manage it, I wouldn't have brought it up."

Which he'd assumed went without saying, but apparently he has yet again misjudged what should be obvious to anyone else as well as to himself.

[jumperfucker]

"This is exactly the sort of thing people sue about," John points out. Not that he thinks Jim would willingly step foot in a courtroom, but whatever.

"All right," he says. "Where do I start?"

He cannot believe he's doing this. He should have just let Jim come in here and blow himself up or whatever he was going to do.

[searchingfordistraction]

"If you can work out which court would have jurisdiction in this case, I might try it just for fun."

He nods toward the cabinet that holds the most commonly used equipment and describes a handheld device for stimulating cell regeneration. Designed to be easy to use for anyone with even rudimentary knowledge of first aid, it's not the quickest option, but it will be sufficient.

[jumperfucker]

John probably doesn't have to vocalise just how much he hates Jim.

He finds the device and studies it for a moment, making a light 'hum' as he looks it over.

"Last I heard about this thing, it was still in early testing."

[searchingfordistraction]

"Milliways," Jim reminds him.

That's hardly an early prototype John is holding. It's the streamlined, perfected version from rather later in his timeline.

[jumperfucker]

John found something about this device nearly a year ago, and did some research on it out of idle curiosity. There's been a lot of research into burn treatment, with something rather similar being developed in New Zealand as well.

Luckily, Asclepius the infirmary helper rat is around to get a lot of the preliminary set-up started, and being Milliways with all the mixed technology, it's a matter of minutes before everything is ready.

"I don't think this is meant to work on anything that's already healed," John says.

Yes, he's seen the other burns. Unlike his boyfriend, he's just been a bit more tactful about them.

[searchingfordistraction]

(It shouldn't catch him off his guard, but it does. The current injury is holding too much of his attention.)

Jim's answer is pure, deadly ice.

"I don't think I asked about that."

[jumperfucker]

If John were any less professional, he might let on that he's a bit pleased to have caught Jim off his guard.

"Right."

With that, he's ready to get started.

"This shouldn't hurt," he says, and starts in on the procedure.