Leg is hurting too much to sleep. And I don't want any more painkillers, hate feeling so muzzy headed.
So I keep going over our fight with Daken in my head, trying to figure where we went wrong, where we could have done better. Or, more accurately, where I went wrong.
Kurt came out of surgery a couple of hours ago. He's not being given any choice about painkillers, drugged up to the eyeballs. Catheter, cannula, IV, drains. Cecelia say he's going to be okay, but currently, he's a mess. On my watch. My responsibility. Crap.
He makes a small noise of pain when he moves. Double crap.
A nurse I don't know comes in and adjusts the bed to try and get him comfortable; she wants him on his back, but that means his tail is pushed into the mattress, which is uncomfortable and makes him restless. And he needs to rest. This is all patiently explained to her by Peter, who's been sat in a hard, tiny chair for the last two hours, watching over his friend. They have a little disagreement, which would be funny if Kurt wasn't in the middle of it. He ends up slightly on one side, pillows supporting him, she does something to his IV line and breezes out again.
Worse feeling in the world, getting one of your team hurt. Much more painful than this damn leg.
Even worse, it's a friend, it's Kurt, who won't hold it against me, us. Him.
He's facing me now, I get a smile and a little wave. Yep, stoned as hell.
My phone buzzes. Oh, look, it's the man himself. I seriously consider letting it go to voicemail, really don't want any more of his crap right now.
But it might be important.
"Logan."
"How is he?"
And hello to you too. I didn't even know he'd seen the mess his son had left his best friend in. "He's okay. He'll be okay."
There's a pause. "Right." The tension in his voice is like an over-wound spring. Everything is always a damn drama with with him. A dangerous drama.
Dull gold eyes are watching me.
Moving hurts; I shouldn't be on this leg yet.
"Kurt? Call for you." He takes the phone.
Peter scowls at me; Logan's persona non grata at the moment.
There's some 'Ja's' and 'Nein's' and not much else. He sounds drugged. He sounds hurt. Good, I want Logan to know, he's too prone to walking out and leaving the crap behind for everyone else to deal with. He's not the one who has to clean up afterwards, he's not the one watching the pain etched into his friend's face.
Kurt's drooping, the painkillers are pulling him under again. Peter takes the phone back and hands it over to me.
"Shit."
"He's doped up. He'll be okay in a day or two. You need to take Daken down, you know you do, he's too dangerous..."
"Ah, fuck off, Slim, ya' think I don't fuckin' know that?"
I'm starting to lose it, he always does that to me. "He damn near gutted Kurt."
There's a long pause. "Look after him."
Like we'd do anything else. Bastard. "Peter's keeping an eye on him."
"Yeah. Right. Good." He's gonna fuck off again, isn't he? "Look, I'll be.."
"Damn it, Logan..." But the line is dead. Bastard. The urge to throw the phone across the room is huge. But it might wake Kurt.
I glance across, he's asleep, looking more relaxed and comfortable than before. Peter is still his silent watchdog. Damn Logan.
And damn Kurt for trusting him.
And my damn leg hurts too.
Bastard.