2. Prisoner of the Ward
Stinch had never understood the importance of flowers- they appeared to him only as dead plants that stunk up the place and eventually wilted.
As he shuffled along with a bunch of daisies in one of his pointed hands, he realized that they reminded him of Mr. Croach.
Stinch kicked the base of the gurney, and Croach looked up from glaring at a spot of sun on his blanket, seeming to accent the fact that his legs were still missing, "Whadda ya want, you over-grown knapsack?"
"From Miss Notch," Stinch replied, holding up the flowers. Croach frowned as Stinch poked the daisies into a jar of preserved eyeballs at the foot of the bed.
"Bah," Croach complained.
"From Stinch," Stinch said, holding up a dusty wooden box.
Croach chuckled darkly, "Bah."
Stinch shuffled over to take a seat at his bedside, opening the box to offer a cigar. Croach selected one, muttering, "Have one with me."
They were silent as Croach puffed the cigar over a candle, and Stinch took a large bite of his own cigar, chewing it sloppily. Croach let out a long, slow exhale, ending with a sigh.
"Stinch wants to know what to do with Mr. Croach's house," Stinch said.
"Bah, don't worry about it," Croach grumbled, folding his arms behind his head as he leaned back against the headboard, 'I guess the students will learn to build a house when I get back, huh?" He laughed, and his laugher hardened into raspy coughing. At last they sputtered to a halt, and he took another pull of his cigar, "What I mean to say is that I'll clean it up later, Stinch."
Stinch nodded, taking another bite. They were silent again, Stinch slurping noisily.
"Get some cards, Stinch, we'll play-"
"Stinch has to get back to work," Stinch said, rising as he finished his cigar, "Miss Weaver will get angry, if Stinch isn't around to poke the kiddies with his crook,"
"Bah. Crony old monster. See you around, Stinch," Croach said, flicking his ashes into a sleeping student's water glass. He paused, "Do me a favor?"
Stinch fidgeted, "Stinch can't-"
"Get me my legs, Stinch."
"But, Miss Weaver-"
"Get me my legs, Stinch, or that old bat's punishment will tickle, compared to mine."
xXx
Ricketts could hear the quiet clattering of tool work from her office, and paused from grading her student's midterms to listen. Under the gentle sound of delicate work at hand, she could hear secretive muttering. Ricketts rose from her seat at her desk, avoiding a rather bitey project she had been working on (a new, improved, and apparently angry breed of manitcore) to creep into the darkened infirmary.
Croach worked a ratchet at his kneecap, muting his horrible coughing with his sleeve. Ricketts sighed, moving silently past the other, empty in the ward toward his one candle, "Archibald, what are you doing?" She asked tiredly.
He looked up, seeming guilty at first. Then, his guilt turned to angry justification, "What does it look like I'm doing, stitch mistress?! I'm putting my legs back on, as it seems that everyone else here seems entirely content to leave me to the rats!"
"You know Miss Weaver will be upset," Ricketts reasoned, finding a seat on the side of his gurney as he ignored her, returning to his work. "Besides, you're not in good condition anyways. I still can't find what's causing that horrible coughing-"
"Can it! Anything you do is just under the scrutiny of that Viper! You couldn't care less about helping me, Lynn-!" He stopped suddenly.
"You called me Lynn, Archie," Ricketts pointed out softly, "You haven't called me Lynn in years. Decades, even."
"Bah. My memory must be as worn out as the rest of me, then," Croach grumbled, grabbing for a screwdriver at his side table. His hand missed, sending the implement clattering to the floor. He hissed a curse.
Ricketts shook her head, stooping to retrieve it, "I do care about you, Archie-"
"Bah!"
"--But you know that Eleanor-"
"Eleanor!" Croach snapped, "Always about that conniving vixen! What she thought, what she wanted! That's how we ended up like this!" He glared at her for a moment, then blinked, clarifying, "That's how all of us ended up like this!"
Ricketts smiled sadly, handing over the screwdriver, "Of course, Archie."
"Unbelievable," He huffed, returning his concentration to his leg, "Go away."
"Archie-"
"I said go!"
"Archie, you're putting your leg on backward," Ricketts said flatly, snagging the tools out of his hands, "let me do it." And she set to work repairing his misplaced kneecaps, "You're a genius, when it comes to the reanimation of dead tissue, but when it comes to anything even remotely living, you're like a babe in the woods…"
They were silent as she worked.
"Lynn?"
"What is it, Archie?"
"What did you think?"
Ricketts chuckled, "You're older now, Archie- back then, I don't think you would have ever uttered a question like that without your head falling off."
"Well, my legs…" Croach reasoned with half-humor.
"I thought you were irritating and distant," Ricketts replied, crimping a rivet, and his ankle twitched, "And myopic. And obsessive. But I also thought I loved you for it."
"…Oh."
They were quiet again for a few more minutes, until Rickets finished re-attaching his legs, "You haven't changed much, Archibald. Nothing around here changes much, in any case. Now go on, get out of here- but take it easy."
He gathered his things, and slipped to the door of the ward, and kicked himself to comment, "See ya 'round, Lynn."
She smiled, "Take care, Archie."
xXx