sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] Worried/Sick 1: Symptoms Manifest & Reaction

[MINGLE] Worried/Sick 1: Symptoms Manifest & Reaction

WHERE: Anywhere; multiple locations
WHEN: Apx. 13-18 November
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Serious illness and reactions to such

IMPORTANT NOTES: This is the first of two mingles. Please see the timing and general event details here.

Illness Presents and Putting Heads Together will have their own top-levels in this post, but you may make separate top-levels for whatever you like! Anything is welcome, as long as it tangentially relates to the Worried/Sick plot.

Please keep in mind the established plot details, but creative license is welcome and encouraged as long as it doesn't step on toes.

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Stella has been living with Peggy long enough that she'd noticed when the other woman had started to feel under the weather, even without Peggy having to tell her so. It's not the first time either of them have been ill here, but previously, those illnesses have passed with time — so while of course she's concerned, she's expecting this to be like those previous instances.

It's not, and it takes almost half a day of Peggy being gone from their house for Stella to realize she's not come home per her usual routine. On top of that, not a few of the other villagers have started to fall ill as well. It takes a little asking around before she finds someone who's seen Peggy headed towards the hospital, and a little more to come to the conclusion that whatever mystery disease has befallen them this time, no one seems to know how to cure it yet.

She does what any police officer would do, and goes towards the problem rather than away from it. Not only does she need to know what's going on, but she needs to find Peggy to be sure she's all right.

To say she's surprised to find the other woman trying to escape the hospital, looking haggard and feverish and dressed in clothing entirely inappropriate for the weather, would be incorrect. Stella isn't surprised. The last time she was this ill herself she'd tried to run away, too.

"Peggy—" She goes to her, without hesitating. Stella's not worried she's going to catch whatever Peggy has; if it's contagious, she's probably caught it already, and if it's not or she's somehow immune, there's no danger. She puts her hand on Peggy's forehead and comes very close to pulling it back sharply like a woman who's accidentally touched a hot stove, startled as she is by how actually overheated Peggy feels. "Jesus, you're burning up." And then, more seriously, "When were you planning to tell me you were going to hospital?"

She's not expecting a good answer, but she's trying to delay the other woman while she figures out how best to get her back in bed where she belongs in a state like this.

Peggy's feeling utterly awful, but she wants the simplest things that she can get. She wants to lie down. She wants to take something to make her feel better, but as time passes, she's beginning to realize that there isn't anything that's helping. When she makes her attempt to leave the hospital, she's stopped by Stella, giving a soft sound of complaint when the touch is taken away, simply because of how cool it had been.

"I didn't mean to stay," she admits, turning into her shoulder to cough. "It got so much worse when I arrived, like a train hitting me. I'm ready to go home, though."

"No, you're not." It's not harsh, simply matter-of-fact. Mentally, emotionally, Peggy might be ready to go home. Physically, she's in no shape whatsoever to do so. "We're going to find you a bed, and you're going to stay here where the doctors can watch you."

Stella doesn't normally try to order Peggy about, at least not when the other woman is in her right mind. But given that Peggy's almost certainly off her head with fever delirium — well, Stella really thinks she's not going to get anywhere here unless she's very straightforward. She thinks Peggy would be doing the same were their positions reversed, anyway.

"I'll fetch you a cool compress. You'll feel better."

Peggy wants to stand her ground and fight her way out, if necessary, but she's also aware that a strong breeze could probably knock her down at this point and Stella will be able to manipulate her right back into bed. She's swaying on her feet and she feels utterly wrecked, but she's determined to be somewhere comfortable.

"You can fetch me a cool compress at home," she argues, deciding to fight this with what logic is left. "I want my own bed, Stella," she pleads, aiming for sympathy. "Please, don't make me stay here for this."

The problem is that Stella empathizes, strongly, with what Peggy's feeling right now. Given the choice, she herself would want the exact same thing. She hates hospitals, partly because they always feel miserable and partly because she's always inevitably reminded of watching her father waste away in a hospital bed.

But there's the issue of the fact that Peggy is really very, very ill, and Stella wouldn't be able to forgive herself if she acquiesced to the other woman's pleas and then something happened to Peggy for which she couldn't fetch a doctor in time. "You're in no shape to be standing up, let alone walking all the way back home," she says, reaching to steady the other woman with a hand on her shoulder because Peggy really does look as if she's simply about to fall over. "If you collapse I can't carry you."

She probably could, with a lot of effort, but that's beside the point. "Come on. Let's get you to bed. I'll stay as long as you need." Not only to keep Peggy company, but so she can watch her symptoms and alert someone if they worsen.

Damn Stella for being logical and fighting back with words that absolutely make sense. She really wishes that she hadn't, but she knows that she's going to have to accept it. Grimacing, she gives Stella a concessionary nod of her head, unhappy about it, but willing to listen.

Only because it's Stella, though. She wouldn't do this for just anyone. "I don't like it here. It's too noisy and I feel like it's just a cesspool of illness," she complains, as if she isn't just as sick and contributing to the whole of the mess.

Stella feels a marked sense of relief that she doesn't have to continue fighting Peggy on this point, when all she really wants is to get the other woman to let herself get some rest so she can heal.

"I don't like it either," she admits. It's not as big or crowded as a modern hospital from Stella's time, but it still makes her skin crawl when it's like this. The only comfort is that no one's yet died from whatever's befallen them. "But I don't think we've got any choice."

She walks with Peggy, half supporting her with an arm round her shoulders. They are just lucky enough to find a single room off the main corridor that isn't taken yet, and Stella pulls the door partway closed behind them to shut out some of the noise before she helps get Peggy into bed — setting down the bucket of clean water she'd fetched from someone along the way before tucking the sheets over Peggy and adjusting the pillow under her head.

Stella pulls over a chair in order to sit by the bed, dipping a cloth in the water and sweeping it over Peggy's forehead. It's only temporary relief, but it's something. "Just rest," she says quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."

Peggy feels sheepishly embarrassed to be seen like this in public. She's always made such a big deal of putting her armour on that to be out like this and stripped of it feels like a loss, truthfully, and it's one that's hard to swallow. Allowing Stella to guide her, she still hates feeling so weak and helpless, but she does have to admit that the care is rather nice.

"I keep having moments," Peggy admits, feeling raw as she curls up in bed, allowing that cool cloth to give her peace, "and I forget where I am, who's here with me."

They're alike in that sense of not wanting to appear publicly vulnerable, which is why Stella absolutely isn't judging her for it right now. She knows the feeling of needing to be in control of one's self, and the anxiety that can result when that control is taken away. The hospital is far from private, but they're alone in the room right now and that is about as close as it's going to get.

She soaks the cloth again, wrings it out, then reaches over to push Peggy's hair away from her face so she can run the wet fabric from her neck down to her throat and collarbone. This is very definitely not a level of kindness, of tenderness, that she shows to just anyone, but if anyone has earned it from her by now, it's Peggy.

That admission is a little bit worrying — her fever must be advanced, if she's losing track of things like that — but Stella tries not to let her worry show on her face. "I'll remind you," she promises. There's a pause, and then, "If there's anything else you need, just ask."

Even if it's just for Stella to sit here quietly and keep her company. She wouldn't be surprised if Peggy ran out of energy to talk.

She's glad that Stella is willing to endure her feverish ramblings, because her seeing Howard in Tony, having to second-guess whether Steve is really here, and all of that has been a bit trying and makes her feel flushed and stupid with it.

There is one thing that she needs to ask, though she's not sure if Stella knows the answer. "Is there a cure?" She thinks of the previous illnesses and how they could be healed with a person's touch or with medicine. This seems interminable already, to the point that she's not sure why this one is so stubborn and holding on to so many people.

"The doctors are working on one," Stella answers. She doesn't have any more comprehensive an answer than that for the time being, but the village has not a few brilliant medical minds and Stella has no doubt they are all doing what they can. She makes a mental note, though, to talk to Beverly about progress, and likely outcomes, and what they'll do if they can't find a cure.

The latter is not a prospect she wants to spend too much time and energy on, which is why her next words are, "I'm certain it will only be a matter of time." Whatever this disease is, if it's anything like what they've experienced previously, no one will be killed by it. The symptoms are awful, but as yet the Observers haven't seemed interested in killing them off en masse.

She thinks of the lists of names on the computer in the bunker, though, and wonders if that might not be what happened in a couple of those instances. It's not a situation she wants to imagine.

That's not the answer that Peggy wants to hear because 'working on one' is not 'have one', which means that this blasted suffering isn't going to come to an end anytime soon and she wants to lash out purely for that reason alone. Making a face, she wishes that she didn't feel so hopeless about the chances of recovery.

Maybe that's just the fever settling in.

"Will you do me a favour?" Peggy asks, sweating and feeling her head throb with the ache, along with the fever. "Make sure that you're there, that you agree with whatever they find. I trust you." More than she trusts just about anyone, here.

"Yeah, of course," Stella says almost immediately, meaning it. Realistically, though, she is not sure how much of the doctors' findings she'll understand. She doesn't have any medical training outside of a certification in first aid, and some of the conversations she's heard bandied about regarding the cure have been too high-level for her comprehension, more so than she would actually admit to.

Still, Stella's been trained to rely on her intuition; if her own personal standard of logic tells her something doesn't make sense, it's probably because there's something wrong with whatever she's being told. She will simply have to go by that and hope for the best, because no matter what happens, she has every intention of seeing this through.

Taking one of Peggy's hands in her free one, just to give her something to hold on to, she runs the cool cloth over her forehead again, wiping off the sweat. "I was ill like this, once or twice, when I was small," she says after a few moments of quiet. "I remember my father used to sing to me. Children's lullabies, mostly, though once I was ill in December and it was Christmas carols then."

It's a rare moment of vulnerability. Stella does not spend much time talking about her personal life, her past, and especially not her father — which just speaks to how much she trusts Peggy, in turn.

Peggy is so appreciative of the warm, steady touch. She feels awful, honestly, and every cough feels like it hollows her out and leaves nothing left, so to have Stella here supporting her means all the world. Her eyes are glassy with a sheen and she stares at Stella with a great degree of fondness.

"Are we close to the holidays, then?" she asks, thinking about how it had been Michael to offer her support and kindness when she had been little and ill. "And are you going to sing to me?"

It's mid-November if Stella's wristband is right — about the time of year they'd start playing Christmas music on the radio and in the shops, back home, so she supposes the holidays are close enough. The next question though — Stella looks at Peggy, for a long moment, then turns her gaze away and down, the closest thing to sheepish that she's ever been. A slight smile pulls at one corner of her mouth.

"Well, I can't sing," she says on looking back up, which isn't strictly true. She can carry a tune and she's far from tone-deaf, but she's never been taught to sing — and there's a peculiar intimacy to singing for someone, which is why she's never done it.

That said, if Peggy asked her to, she might just. But only because it's Peggy.

"I can hardly, either," Peggy notes, even though she can certainly carry a tune, but actually singing for someone else's entertainment is another thing completely all-together and that's a road she's not sure that she wants to start going down.

She shifts in the bed, squeezing Stella's hand firmly and staring up at her with exhaustion in every part of her, from how she lies to how she looks. "Just don't leave, I'll accept that instead of the singing. You can tell me stories of what's happening."

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[MINGLE] Worried/Sick 1: Symptoms Manifest & Reaction

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