David & Layla: Day 3 in the medlab

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Layla cooks a mountain of Schnitzel and visits David in the medlab the day he wakes up from his coma.



Having heard that Herr North had done something to land himself in the medlab from Laurie, Layla had taken it upon herself to make him food. She always needed mountains of protein when she got all zombie roadkilled and maybe it wasn't the same kind of thing like that but it couldn't hurt to give him piles of protein too, right? Schnitzel was, by far, the easiest thing to make without having to plan or shop or do research. They had no veal, though, which was unfortunate. There was, however, chicken and venison still. She had layers of each alternating in what really did look like a small mountain on a platter that she brought down to the medlab. She didn't know where the doctor ladies were but she did find Herr North's room and knock on the partially opened door. "Hallo, Fremder?"

“Fräulein Miller,” David greeted her, the words coming out in a rasp. Clearing his throat, he waved the girl in, the IV line shifting with each motion, the splinted on his finger somehow making it look worse than it actually was. He was shivering. Violently. And there was little he could do to hide it from her as he struggled to sit up and then decided that he was better off on his back for the rest of the day as his caregivers had advised. Somehow, he had to remind himself to speak in English. “What army are you going to feed?”

"You," she answered as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. The platter got laid down on one of those rolling tray things that could be pulled over the bed and she left said tray within the German's reach. "'Cause, see, when I land in here I'm like unconscious for three days and then I wake up starving and all roadkill-like and they are all 'you must eat protein!' and it's not even always the good stuff from Lorna. It's like crappy shakes and shit. And then I eat and then I eat and basically I do nothing but like sleep, eat and wish I had the energy to shower for like a week straight. And in between I throw up like half of what I eat because bringing big shit back to life apparently means I'm not allowed to like not be nauseous. Sooooo, I figured if you had a thing like that you should have tons of food. And schnitzel is super easy and quick so you win schnitzel." The girl threw her arms in the air in celebration. "Yaaay!" She grinned at Herr North, all too proud of herself and her efforts to feed him so much that he was still fed even if he threw half of it up. "And if you don't have a thing like that Kyle and like eighty other people will totally help you eat it." Clearly, the man being hooked up to machines and looking like about the same amount of hell he'd looked like in Genosha did not faze the teenager. "Do you want me to find a blanket? You're gonna like earthquake your ass outta bed and then you'll be like one of those 'I've fallen and can't get up!' commercials. Because you look like shit, dude."

“I have a blanket,” David lifted it with his other hand, the heart monitor clip almost getting caught in the fabric. He had followed Layla’s ramblings and could only shake his head before gesturing at the annoying IV line in his right arm. “I’ve been ordered off solid foods,” he informed her, managing to sound regretful if only because the food looked well done and would probably have smelled very tempting if it were not for the fact that his stomach was still churning. “Probably because I didn’t raise they dead.” A pause. “Actually, they raised me from the dead. So you might want to bring them the food and thank them on my behalf.”

"No solid food? What the fuck is that? It's torture, dude. That's like punishment. Did you try to grope one of the doctors or something." Layla shook her head, making a tsking sound. "I knew you were probably a bad seed." She frowned, looked at the pile of schnitzel, rolled the tray away from the bedside so he wouldn't be tempted, then snagged the top piece for herself. Hey, if he wasn't going to eat it then someone had to and she was standing here and everything. "So what'd you do to get in here and all hooked up to shit? Are you gonna tell me that you went through all that shit in Genosha and suddenly you get back and had a heart attack or a stroke or something? Because, seriously, I get that it was like stressful and you might be old enough to be all 'oh my heart' or whatever, but that's just fucked. How's your body gonna be all 'Oh, you survived all that? Fuck that, watch this, mwahahahaha!'?"

Feeling like it was an appropriate juncture in which to roll his eyes, David briefly cast his eyes skywards. “Drug overdose,” he replied, once her evil laughter had died down and it looked like she really was waiting for his answer. There was little reason for him to lie or cover it up. In fact, he would not be surprised if it were already on the grapevine. He lifted his quaking arm for her to see. “Drug withdrawal. They pumped my stomach. Hence the food torture. But if you’d prefer to think that I groped a doctor after having a heart attack, far be it from me to deny you that entertainment.”

And that was totally not what Layla was expecting. Hit by car maybe. Or fell down three flights of stairs because of exhaustion. Or maybe accidentally shot himself in the leg. But a drug overdose? "What? For real? What the fuck were you trying to do that for? Lame, dude. So lame. Don't you know ODing is totally the chick method for killing yourself? If you were trying to kill yourself you should've jumped off a skyscraper or some shit so you could keep your man dignity intact while people scrape you off the sidewalk. Like, literally. And if you weren't trying to kill yourself then, dude, fail. So much fail. Like all possible reasons here? Full of fail. Are you a drug addict?"

Studying her for a moment with one part amusement and three parts wonderment, David could not bring himself to feel offended by Layla’s thoughtless stream of words. So he only shrugged and pulled his knees up towards his chest to curb the shaking a little. “Seems like it,” he acknowledged, tilting his shaved head to the side. “I used the drugs to activate my powers and didn’t realise I had become dependent on them until my medication was confiscated in Genosha.” He paused in mock contemplation, blue eyes gleaming with a strange emotion despite his involuntary quakes. “Perhaps you’re right – maybe I should’ve thrown myself off the citadel.”

Layla's expression clearly said that was the stupidest thing she had ever heard. "Bullshit. If you wanted to die you could've just like let people kill you in Genosha. Why put up that kinda fight to survive if you actually were all 'Goodbye, cruel world' and shit? What, that's it? You go through hell trying to survive that shit and then decide you ain't got nothing to live for? I call bullshit. You've got friends." Or she assumed anyway. Everyone had at least one friend. "And do you have family? Okay, I totally get the not having family thing, right? But even if you don't have family and if if you're like such a social leper you somehow don't even have one friend, what the fuck is so bad you need to go out of your way to kill yourself? Seriously, fuck that. You don't wanna die. Maybe you're really fucking depressed and shit or something but you don't wanna die. Drug addicts always get all morose and shit when people try to make them get clean. That's fucking withdrawal talking. Learn the difference, dude or your like one friend is gonna get like really upset at you saying shit like how you should've thrown yourself off the citadel."

“You suggested the skyscraper,” David reminded her calmly, carefully slipping his shaking arms under the blanket with a look that suggested that the girl was close to crossing a line. “But I was joking, Miss Miller.” He spoke slowly, partly because of his scratchy throat and partly because he genuinely wanted to dispel the notion that he was, in fact, suicidal. “I did not overdose with the intent of killing myself. I was going through withdrawal and was drunk, which, though admittedly not the brightest of ideas, does not mean that I am suicidal.” He paused for a while for the facts to sink in and raised both dark brows at her. “I have every intention of ‘getting clean’, as you put it. And while you have all my gratitude for your concern, it is somewhat misplaced in this situation.” Especially since David North never stayed morose. Beiß' die Zähne zusammen und zieh' durch – or ‘suck it up and move on’ was a motto he lived – and died – by. He was not about to stab himself in his throat any more than he was going to down another bottle of pills with whiskey. But if he died, then he died. And he would not say that he never saw it coming.

"Yeah, dude, but I didn't think you were actually trying to kill yourself until you said something about throwing yourself off the citadel. You totally need to work on your 'I'm joking but I'm gonna use my super dry voice' thing." Layla wrinkled her nose and considered thwapping him but he was all pitiful looking and you probably shouldn't beat up really pathetic looking people in hospital beds. Sighing, she shrugged. It was sort of her way of dismissing the entire suicidal line of discussion. It wasn't that easy for most people but it was for Layla. He wasn't suicidal or actually trying to kill himself, he was just stupid and an unsuspecting addict. That solved that. "So're you gonna stay clean 'cause lots of people like intend to get clean but it's all slippery slope into the pit of habit or whatever. Or so I hear. I'm not actually sure I have an addictive personality so I kinda don't get it in general. I mean I get that you were using stuff to like put your powers into gear or whatever. I don't mean you. I mean like junkies and shit. I don't get it."

Layla tilted her head and considered Herr North for as long as it took to inhale, then asked, "Why'd you need drugs for your powers anyway? And you know you can like stop answering my questions whenever or whatever. I just think it's stupid to have questions and don't ask them because, you know, if you have questions about shit they just like nag at you until you have answers or some sort of like resolution. At least if I ask and you say you're not gonna talk about it it's still like a resolution. A super anticlimactic one, but still one."

“My powers are only active for as long as there’s a certain level of adrenaline in my blood,” David replied, seeing that it was not quite classified information. Still, he asked the girl to keep it to herself as he rubbed his eyes when his vision blurred a little further because of the angle his head was at. “Pull up a chair and eat some of the food,” he instructed, closing his eyes and looking away for a while. “I’m getting a crick in my neck while you talk my ear off.”

Blurred vision was one of the numerous side effects of withdrawal, apparently. Now that he had stopped suppressing the withdrawal, the effects had latched on with a level of viciousness that had his pretty redhead doctor frowning disapprovingly at him. If he were religious, David would be praying fervently that he recovered without any lingering side effects. A spy’s worth was often measured by his combat and espionage skills. Without steady hands and a sharp vision, he was probably as good as useless. “Don’t worry,” he added, before Layla could resume the conversation. “I’ll work out something else for my powers.”

"You could have people run you over and you can dive out of the way just in time to get away unscathed and then bam," she clapped her hands together, "powers!" She grinned at him and then did as instructed. The chair in the corner got pulled over to his bedside and another bit of schnitzel was stolen from the platter. In retrospect, she may have been excessive with the schnitzel. This was like Kyle levels of food. Oh well, Herr North would find someone to pawn it off on easy. "I hear nearly dying totally spikes adrenaline. I'm just sayin'... But near death experiences kinda run the risk of being death experiences, no near, so maybe not my most inspired idea ever."

“No,” David agreed with a slight smile that looked more like a grimace as he shifted slightly to ease the strain on his neck. “It would be difficult to find a situation where that risk would be an acceptable one, I think.” His voice was becoming hoarser, and threatened to crack near the end. So he cleared his throat and licked his lips, pushing away the embarrassment of needing help as he turned his head into the pillow and nodded at the bedside table. “Could you grab the cup with the straw for me, Miss Miller?”

"Sure!" The girl quite nearly literally sprang up from her chair. The cup wasn't totally full so she wrinkled her nose, stuck the schnitzel in her mouth for safe keeping and poured more water from the nearby pitcher before bringing it over. Layla actually hesitated on holding it out for him. "If I gave you this," she started slowly after removing the fried meat from between her teeth, "are you just going to end up wearing it? Because I can stand here and be all cup wench and shit." At which point she demonstrated her fine cup wench abilities by holding the cup out where he could easily lean forward a little and take a drink. Or he could take the cup. But if wound up wearing it because of his earthquaking she was so pulling an 'I told you so' on him.

He did not bother with a reply as he leaned forward, lips fumbling slightly with the straw before finding purchase on it and took a slow pull. When his lips and through were sufficiently moistened, the man thumped his head back against the pillow and pulled the blanket up to his chin. “Thank you, cup wench and shit.” David teased lightly with a twitch of his lips that could perhaps probably maybe have been a smile, but was still better recognised as a grimace. “For your impeccable service.”

Layla stepped back, held the cup out to one side, and gave him a bow that nearly folded the teenager in half. "It's totally a sign," she told him as she set the cup back down on the night stand. "Of my future in the cup wench industries." She nodded sagely, or at least as sagely as one could at seventeen, and grinned. "You look tired. I should go. You should sleep. And you should eat. And then, like, I dunno, share the schnitzel wealth or something." After a moment's pause, she amended, "But don't sleep and eat at the same time because then you'd probably choke and they'd put you on like a liquid diet and you'd have the tube that goes up your nose and down your throat and that shit is nasty. So, you know, just so we're clear....sleeping and eating are totally, like, separate activities."

“Good night, Miss Miller,” was the spy’s response, which somehow managed to sound wry even though he was clearly not all there. David’s eyes closed, almost against his volition and he curled up on his side, still shaking. He dropped off a moment later, making a last mental note to check if they were feeding him depressants through the bloody drip.