noire : new york

Who: Seamus O'Reilly and Xavier Carlisle
What: Delusion is pointless
Where: Carlisle Estate
When: Approximately 36 hours after THIS and THIS

It had been about 36 hours since Luka tried to take his own life. It would only be a couple of hours before the sun rose, and Luka had been kept in the hospital for a whole 24 hours, and then some, for observation. Seamus hadn't been able to shake the image of Luka slumped on the bathroom floor in his underwear, blood everywhere. It was only from instinctive need to protect Luka that stopped Seamus going into a frenzy. He had been halfway there, though, and when Greg told him not to entirely heal Luka's wounds so it wouldn't look suspicious to the paramedics, it was probably a miracle Greg didn't literally have his arm bitten off. By this point, Seamus had been in full protective mode, nursing Luka in his arms and not letting Greg near him. Greg knew when to keep his distance, but thank god he had called 911 without seeking Seamus' okay or Seamus could well have done something stupid by that point. It was even Greg's lightning-fast decision making that had him pulling Seamus into a hug against him like he was consoling him so the paramedics wouldn't see that he, well, had fangs and eyeballs that looked like they belonged on a serial killer to humans.

Seamus had gone in the ambulance with Luka, managing to control himself and shift back from his Kindred form. Luka had been in a bad way at that point, and all Seamus had been able to do was look on while they attached him to this tube, and that wire, and stuck this needle into him, and hooked that beeping thing up to him. Seamus knew nothing of medical equipment. Even when he had still be mortal, medicine hadn't been at all this advanced. This was all really confronting to him, but the whole rapid drive to the hospital, he had held Luka's hand. And then thank god for humans who walked with them in The Masquerade. Greg had called Skye to come to the hospital ASAP so Greg and Seamus could depart before the sun had come up. Greg took Seamus back to Luka's hotel room and they waited out for the sun to set again.

When they went back to the hospital, Luka had been out to it... understandably. He had his wrists sutured and they had pumped his stomach. Being night again by that point, though, Xavier had pulled a lot of strings and gotten the Kindred physician, Wesley, to take over Luka's case and it meant that rather than being admitted, Wesley authorised for Luka to be discharged into Xavier's care... or Seamus', rather. Luka had been mostly out of it upon his discharge and Seamus had carried him out to the limousine for the drive back to Westchester. Greg and Xavier rode with him, and the whole time Seamus had Luka's head nursed against his shoulder. When they got to the estate, getting Luka out of the car had been an awkward moment when Luka managed to throw up all over one of Xavier's favourite suits, Seamus' sleeve, Greg's shoes, and the marble stairs. But he had been so out of it that he probably barely even realised what was going on. Seamus had just left Greg and Xavier with the mess and carried Luka to his wing.

Now, hours later, they were in Seamus' bedroom. In his bed, Luka was in a long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of cotton pyjama pants, out like a light in Seamus' massive antique canopy bed. Beside him, Seamus was lying with him, an arm protectively wrapped around him whilst his other hand was soothing stroking his fingers through Luka's thick curly hair while Luka slept. His eyes had barely left him, watching and feeling to make sure he kept breathing, and on the bed beside them lay a pile of unravelled bandages Seamus had removed to carefully remove the sutures from Luka's wrists to heal the wounds completely. When Xavier came into the room with a soft knock on the door and sat down on the side of the bed beside Seamus, Seamus just glanced at him. "You don't have to say 'I told you so'," he murmured.