![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rsadelleRight wrist sliced open by a broken beer bottle.
--Chapter Inc.'s List of James' Injuries
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Kirk snatched the broken bottle out of his hand, away from his wrist.
"No," James wailed. "Cliff. Gotta get to Cliff." His voice desperate and wounded, his words slurred.
"No, you don't have to get to Cliff," Kirk snapped. He grabbed James' uncut wrist. "You have to stop doing fucking stupid shit." Kirk got them into the bathroom. He ran cold water over James' wrist, pressed a washcloth to it. He pulled it away. "Fuck. You need stitches."
"No. I need Cliff." Big, round tears rolled down James' face. He wrenched out of Kirk's grip. "No stitches. No more." He neatly avoided Kirk's attempt to grab his wrist again. "No more." The tears fell faster.
Kirk slapped him, the shock forcing his stillness. "Yes. We are going to the hospital. Now."
"But Cliff--"
Kirk let James' arm drop. "You are not the only one he left," he snapped. He grabbed the keys off the night table. "Into the car. Now." He pressed the washcloth against James' wrist again. "Keep that there."
"It was a broken beer bottle," he calmly told the emergency room nurse. "He needs stitches."
She peeled up the washcloth and examined the wound. "You just wait here, and I'll find a doctor."
James moaned at the pain of the needle numbing his wrist. Kirk only watched, his lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.
"Kirk, don't go so fast."
Kirk ignored him.
"Kirk. You're driving too--"
"Shut up, James," Kirk ground out, his eyes never leaving the road.
James subsided into silence.
Kirk banged on Lars' door. When a still half-asleep Lars answered it, Kirk shoved James at him. "He's staying with you."
Lars frowned at him in confusion. "Why can't he stay in his own room?"
"Ask him what happened to his wrist," Kirk snapped. He turned away and stalked to his own room.
Lars and James called after him. "Kirk."
He closed the door on their voices.
--Chapter Inc.'s List of James' Injuries
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Kirk snatched the broken bottle out of his hand, away from his wrist.
"No," James wailed. "Cliff. Gotta get to Cliff." His voice desperate and wounded, his words slurred.
"No, you don't have to get to Cliff," Kirk snapped. He grabbed James' uncut wrist. "You have to stop doing fucking stupid shit." Kirk got them into the bathroom. He ran cold water over James' wrist, pressed a washcloth to it. He pulled it away. "Fuck. You need stitches."
"No. I need Cliff." Big, round tears rolled down James' face. He wrenched out of Kirk's grip. "No stitches. No more." He neatly avoided Kirk's attempt to grab his wrist again. "No more." The tears fell faster.
Kirk slapped him, the shock forcing his stillness. "Yes. We are going to the hospital. Now."
"But Cliff--"
Kirk let James' arm drop. "You are not the only one he left," he snapped. He grabbed the keys off the night table. "Into the car. Now." He pressed the washcloth against James' wrist again. "Keep that there."
"It was a broken beer bottle," he calmly told the emergency room nurse. "He needs stitches."
She peeled up the washcloth and examined the wound. "You just wait here, and I'll find a doctor."
James moaned at the pain of the needle numbing his wrist. Kirk only watched, his lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.
"Kirk, don't go so fast."
Kirk ignored him.
"Kirk. You're driving too--"
"Shut up, James," Kirk ground out, his eyes never leaving the road.
James subsided into silence.
Kirk banged on Lars' door. When a still half-asleep Lars answered it, Kirk shoved James at him. "He's staying with you."
Lars frowned at him in confusion. "Why can't he stay in his own room?"
"Ask him what happened to his wrist," Kirk snapped. He turned away and stalked to his own room.
Lars and James called after him. "Kirk."
He closed the door on their voices.
(no subject)
Date: 2001-05-28 10:55 am (UTC)