Post-Modern Prometheus Part 9
There were few things that felt quite as nice as the luxury of a warm bath. It was quiet, and peaceful, and one of the few places where Fleischer could ever truly feel himself relax. He didn't remember getting in – but, that made a little sense, if he had been tired enough to actually fall asleep in the bath. The water was still warm, though. That was a pleasant change, really. Usually if he fell asleep in a bath (and, it didn't happen often) he wound up waking because the water had gone cold. He quickly tried to remember whether or not he had put Lukas to bed before he had gotten in the bath.
Lukas was gone, though.
That was a rather cold jolt back to reality – to the present – and Fleischer quickly snapped his eyes open. The bath, at least, was real – real, and something he hadn't been afforded since the war had ended. Space, after all, had been at a premium both at Well and, of course, at the labor camp.
Post-Modern Prometheus Part 8
The lights were far too bright. They were painfully bright, even, and Fleischer had to close his eyes not even a second after he'd opened them. He heard what seemed to be voices – or one voice, at least. It took him awhile to finally start to focus in on the sound.
"Doctor Fleischer?" It was Davis – or, it sounded like him, at least. "Doctor Fleischer, can you hear me?"
Fleischer gave a small, unhappy groan in reply. He felt exhausted, and sore, and when he tried to flex his jaw, he could also feel what might be wads of gauze wedged between his back teeth. He must have made a displeased sound or face, because the rather subtle action got Isaac's attention.
"Sorry about that," the older man said. "We didn't want you to bite your tongue while you were out. Could you open your eyes, please?"
There was a long pause before the Medic complied. Even then, he winced a little at the light. His eyes, however, adjusted
Post-Modern Prometheus Part 7
Fleischer had little desire to get out of bed. His entire body ached. His head was throbbing, and it felt like someone had wedged broken glass under his fingernails. His gums didn't feel much better. Hell, his mouth hurt in general, even beyond being almost painfully dry. The man's skin didn't feel much better. It was dry, and itched, and felt almost painfully tight.
There was also something cool and damp and slightly sticky against the side of Fleischer's face, and he suddenly noticed the sharp copper taste and smell of blood. He lifted his head just enough to confirm that there was a large, dark red blotch on the pillow, and he could feel more of it drying under his nose. It was that feeling that caused Fleischer to finally muster the will to roll out of bed, wincing as he did so, to drag himself to the shower.
He couldn't help but notice as he passed the window that it was still dark out – and that the frosted textu
Post-Modern Prometheus Part 6
Despite not having an alarm clock, Fleischer woke up at the crack of dawn – not on his own, but, because of a coughing fit. Being jerked so unpleasantly and unexpectedly from his sleep left him very briefly panicked. Panic quickly gave way to irritation when he realized that his throat was dry, and his tongue kept wanting to stick to the roof of his mouth. A tall glass of water quickly fixed that.
The Medic knew he wasn't going to be getting back to sleep, and light was starting to shine through the window. He decided, then to get his exercise out of the way. Even that had to be taken slow, though – his fingers still ached, and his skin almost felt uncomfortably tight when he bent his body just so. By the time he was done, his skin actually itched a little, and he was eager, on some level, to get in the shower – after he'd had another glass of water.
The hot water was a relief; it made his skin stop itching, and eased that fa
Post-Modern Prometheus Part 5
Even without the aid of an alarm clock, Fleischer still wound up waking at the crack of dawn. It seemed like the crack of dawn, at least – the light from the window was dim, and very slowly getting brighter. It didn't take long, however, for him to realize that his fingers were no longer just tender, but downright ached.
He wrung his hands for a little while before finally turning on the bedside lamp to get a proper look at them. Everything looked fine, though, which made the pain when he pressed on and behind his fingernails even more worrisome. There were no bruises, and he couldn't imagine what he could have done to injure his fingers.
Fleischer finally had to concede that no answers were forthcoming, and try to go about his day. Making the day any sort of 'normal' was difficult. He brushed his teeth and shaved (and quietly lamented the fact that, no, of course they wouldn't give him a much-preferred straight razor) before exercising