"I ran over a kid."
"When?" she asks me, her expression a combination of horror and sympathy and not a little anger.
"J-just today." I stare at the table, thinking maybe this isn't a prudent thing to tell her.
She leans over to hold my face, her fingers running through my fur. "You can tell me, Modo. It's okay."
What am I supposed to tell you, Charley-girl? That I had a sudden 'brain fart' and lost half my judgement and dear lord I'm tearing up. Fine example of machismo I am, huh?
"I- I crashed through a fence, but there was this kid and I didn't see him," I ramble, the hard lump in my throat making it hard to talk. "He's- I think he lost a eye, and his arm's in a cast and his leg's in a cast, and I think he's a orphan, dear lord what am I going to do...!"
I bend down, resting my head on the table, everything coming out in tears now, while Charley talks to me and rubs my back. "Modo, it's going to be okay. Shhh. It's gonna be okay. Shhh.."
0-0-0
"Hey, kid."
I look down at the boy, and he doesn't look back- according to the nurse, his brain is bleeding.
I'm not even sure why I'm here, really. They're taking him in for surgery in a hour, and there's no chance he'll wake up before then so I can really talk to him.
Still..
"Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry," like I haven't said that ten times already, "and, well.. If you ever make it out of this, I'm taking you for the biggest banana split you've ever seen. Okay?"
"Sir," the nurse says from the doorway. I look back at her, the corners of her eyes crinkled in amusement. "We need to prep him now."
"Okay." I leave, just managing to catch her words as I head down the hall.
"You don't find a lot of men like that on this planet nowadays, huh?"
Damn right you don't.
0-0-0
"I hate waiting!" Vinnie explodes in the (provokingly named) waiting room.
"Then watch TV," Throttle drones, sagging a little further in his chair. He's here willingly, but he sure as hell doesn't look like it. Of course, I dragged him out of bed at six in the morning to come to the hospital to wait for a kid he doesn't even know. He can be a little tired if he wants to be. I don't mind.
"See, Vinnie? The female preying mantis kills the male after mating and then dances on his corpse! Now isn't that interesting?"
"No, because women already do that," Vinnie grumbles, flopping down in chair. He looks at me pleadingly. I stare back with my best poker face.
"Come on, Modo..." he moans. I look back at Throttle, silently giving him permission to decide. After all, a opportunity to torture 'Motormouth' should never be hogged.
He sighs. "All right, all right. Come on, let's go find the vending machines.. I'm sure I have some change on me somewhere."
"Yes!" Vinnie hops onto his feet and victory-dances his way out into the hallway, and Throttle follows him, ruffling his numerous pockets. Oh boy.
"Sir, are you waiting for someone?"
I look up at the old nurse. "Yeah- uhm, I don't know his name.. he was in a car accident?"
"Oh- Mikey." Her face falls.
"Did something go wrong?" Oh, please, don't let it be what I'm thinking it is...
"He went into arrest halfway through. We recussitated him, but he was dead for nearly five minutes.. He's comatose now, but we don't think he's going to wake up anytime soon."
Oh, dear God.
I gather myself. "Can I see him?"
"No, sorry- we're restricting visitation to family members for now."
"Well, does he have any family members?" Maybe I can talk to them.
"One." Her brow furrows. Obviously she doesn't like whoever it is. "We reported him for child abuse. He comes near Mikey and I'll fucking bash his head in." She wrung her hands together angrily and left.
Aw, hell, Modo, you couldn't have done a better job on that, now could you? Not only is he half-blind and permanently disabled, now he's comatose too. Fuck.
Just as Throttle and Vinnie come back in with root beers and bags of potato chips in hand (and under arm), I get up and shove past them, purely mad at myself.
"Hey! Big fella, wait up!" Vinnie growls after me, goose-stepping to avoid spilling his root beer.
"How's the kid?" Throttle asks, his own full root beer not stopping him from gracefully running on his tip-toes.
I growl back wordlessly and hurry up. I don't want to talk.
0-0-0
Click.
Whirr.
Click.
Whirr.
I absently stare at my metal arm, watching as the laser cannon raises and falls. Raises and falls.
Click.
It's not just the kid.
Limburger's either started choosing villians himself or he's not hiring from Black Rock anymore, but either way, they're tougher and smarter and faster. And much, much better armed. Vinnie nearly got killed the other day trying to use Wrap-Around Trap 7 on a Plutarkian villian, who unfortunately for us had a literal cannon that warped air and sound to rip through and apart anything in its path. Almost including one over-calculating, egotistic mouse who didn't see that one little pool of grease and slipped.
And Charley-girl- last month she nearly got her hands taken off by a psychotic criminal- not a alien, but a serial killer who Limburger promised all the victims he wanted in exchange for killing us. I don't think she's ever held me so tightly before. She still has little pink marks on her wrists.
Whirr.
Click.
Whirr.
Click.
And then- I'm not sure why, but then, that's been kind of a common thing these past couple of days- I raise my arm to my head, pressing the deployed cannon up to my right temple.
0-0-0
CLIFFHANGER. HAHAHAHAHA.
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