Following the slices of overly dry, but not quite burnt French toast, the few hours after Law's return pass uneventfully; every available minute is spent on practicing the popping of things to wherever he tells her to. Both tasks get mundane fast once they've had something to nibble on and they find themselves bored out of their minds soon enough, which quickly escalates into the type of insufferable exhaustion only the slowest, most nondescript days can draw out of a person. They even forget about lunch. By the time the sun is starting to look for a nice spot to go under the horizon, she's made herself shamelessly comfortable on his bed while playing around aimlessly, building the wackiest fort possible of all the junk in Law's room while he watches absentmindedly sitting beside the bed, propped up with one arm on it next to her.
As they're idling about, she speaks up all of a sudden between piling up yawns. "Hey, Law?"
He groans, indicating that he's paying attention.
"I was just thinking... and can't remember for the life of me. How do wedding vows go again?"
He's absolutely dumbfounded by the question. "The what now?" Where the hell did this even come from? Did she find the pot while he was away, after all…? If so, he's impressed. He never got around to experiment with it and doesn't remember where the container or even the key to the lock are anymore.
"It's something about good and bad times, always being honest... and sharing stuff..." she purrs into the cover that's tickling her nose a little, with the shadow of serious thinking on her brows.
He shrugs. "I guess so, never actually attended a wedding." This is not entirely true, but he doesn't remember a thing from his aunt's wedding past the fact that he was there, and short enough to be walking under the tables, anyway. He also has no idea what she's going on about still... too tired for this shit. Might as well diagnose coma.
Kat hums. "Speaking of which... we kind of overshare the shit out of each other. We even share bodies... and memories that we have no business having. None of these is a requirement and also... totally wild," she mutters to herself, lifting another cube on top of a useless tower. "And are even cool with this shit. Kinda." She, personally, is.
The thread... has been officially lost. "Kat-ya... what. The hell." Just as he gets to the end of that, he does find the thread she's been following, though. And by God, with capital letter intact, what the Hell indeed. He jolts up.
"Sssh..." she says, patting his arm. "Anyway... I'm not saying we're basically married, but... we're basically married."
Words escape him once more for a slightly different reason, but he surely does want to say a few things right now, even with the sloppy haze still sticking to his senses. As he's struggling to express how he's not happy about the suggestion (despite, as per usual, having some kind of logic to back it up, which is just as, if not more unnerving as the statement itself), she's also raising herself onto her elbows.
"Sssh. You are always the one stirring up household quarrel. Don't. Sssh." she reaches out to tap his face from the side. The gesture is gentle, albeit awkward from the angle.
And yet, he's re-experiencing the fight or flight reaction from a few days back. And she's not even remotely threatening, just... overwhelmingly intimate, if anything. Not even in a way that can be taken seriously. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he'd say she's... no. She's not drunk, she doesn't even drink, in present tense or ever. This… this really is...
He can feel the the temperature of the room plummet to zero.
"Kat... where did you take it from, and what was it?" he asks sternly, grabbing her by the wrist. This dumb bitch took something, and it sure as hell wasn't cannabis.
"... drawer..." she says in a vaguely surprised manner a second of latency later, then her blank expression turns sad. Still, she continues: "Was looking for painkiller... since over the counter ones won't work." She blinks, then slides back down onto her stomach. Okay, it's time to allow himself to start panicking. "Definitely had, uhh... ibuprofen. There were… quite a lot, I picked a funny one? I'm only vaguely aware, but... I'm a fucking mess, ain't I," she giggles awkwardly, then slips into a thoughtful silence which is broken by another soft sentence. "Sorry… I should have asked…"
Damn straight she should have; anything in this room is poison, if not straight-out deadly in the wrong hands, what was she even thinking!? This could be bad... what does he even have lying around in this room? Sure, most of it is for personal use and testing, but he always has an antidote or something ready just in case, not to mention his powers are usually at hand. No, no time to think about that, he needs to stay on task: she mentioned ibuprofen and the desk, most likely... rules out the really bad things, but that still leaves 80% of what he has there, he needs more info. For starters, which drawer she's talking about would be a good starting point. Apparently she has shed every last filter she had, so while non compos mentis, it shouldn't be a great problem to figure out. Calm down, think straight. There was a sedative mixed in for sure…
She takes a deep breath. "I should have asked... as soon as I realized it's... chronic."
Hearing that, his grip on her loosens and his heart sinks. She's been attentive and rather upbeat, so he assumed... he was stupid to assume that she wasn't in pain or it was not bad enough to be a problem. That, by the time it would get ugly, he'd long have his body back. Because, he was doing well recently, and… despite of it all? She really is learning fast. Hell, she's not stupid and seems to have figured this detail out a while ago. God, he was really suspicious the other day when she had neck pains, too, but as it really seemed to be a pulled muscle, he didn't give it a second thought… Even upon hearing that she had those nightmares, which are frequently accompanied by this shit, he didn't do anything. And he knows damn well that it's always the worst of it. Every time he's stressed, they are there, and fuck, he knew she was an anxious mess around strangers since day one, it was bound to happen. He didn't even bother to ask, or give her preemptive pills to take regularly because of his... his shitty pride, or whatever.
And, on top of it all... Kat also didn't say a thing. She did exactly what he has been doing since the very beginning. Putting up a poker face, and bearing it. Pretending to be fine. Then downing the first drug she got hold of when it became too much.
"Ah...!" she squeaks with realization, and reaches to hold his shoulder lightly. "... morphine...!" That's what it's called, the other poppy thing!
The tension dissipates from his tendons; she wouldn't touch raw material, nor a half-processed bottle, so the list is down to four. He pats her head; he can work with that. "Understood."
With that, he walks over to his desk, pulling out the rightmost drawer and picking out two little paper bags; first one has five pills, which means it's intact. The quick scribble under the similarly undecipherable ingredients list attests this. The second one should have seven... and there are six... and a half. The writing is less rushed, so she could have reasonably noted the two substances.
Reading through it all, he feels relieved. It's a strong concoction indeed, could knock a horse out... but she could think straight enough to be careful and swallow only a part of it. Otherwise she'd likely be out of commission, and he would be a panicking mess.
He looks back at her; apart from her being like... that for another two to five hours, it will be fine.
"Have I successfully offed myself?" she asks, peeking up at him.
"Not even close," Law informs her, crossing his arms. He almost allows himself to be amused at her lying there like a stranded seal, but her sullen expression makes him reconsider that fast. "Oi. That better not be disappointment I see on your face."
She sticks out her tongue, then puts a smile on. Next thing he knows a pen's dropped on his head.
Note to self: never take morphine infused pills unless you go to sleep right after, because it could end in the most embarrassing ways.
Add a line here, rephrase that over there… aaand, done.
Rereading this, I got reminded of having sucked the candy coating off the meds of my grandpa when I was around 5. My parents were, unsurprisingly enough, in panic mode. It's okay to be half-smart, kids. It is. (Still, don't do that. Not even with blood thinners.)
On the other hand, unlike Kat, I do fucking tell people if I'm about to collapse from pain, or faint, or something like that, because it's kind of important, you know.
Also... did I mention going biweekly? Never mind lmao, even a weekly schedule will be pushing the target date hard lmao?
Art for today be here: inexchangeforyoursoul tumblr com/post/176888291012/first-one-is-titled-kat-pls-others-are-law-pls
