Figure Out Tomorrow When Tomorrow Comes


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Scene Title Figure Out Tomorrow When Tomorrow Comes
Synopsis Abigail plunks down in Josephs room at the hospital to play body guard and mother hen. Keep him from being alone.
Date September 26, 2009

St. Luke's Hospital

St. Luke's Hospital is known for its high-quality care and its contributions to medical research. Its staff place an emphasis on compassion for and sensitivity to the needs of their patients and the communities they serve. In addition to nearby Columbia University, the hospital collaborates with several community groups, churches, and programs at local high schools. The associated Roosevelt Hospital offers a special wing of rooms and suites with more amenities than the standard hospital environment; they wouldn't seem out of place in a top-rated hotel. That said, a hospital is a hospital — every corridor and room still smells faintly of antiseptic.

He had been nineteen when he'd woken up in a hospital for the first time. A concussion, a broken bone and a couple of fractured ones, and plenty of bruises. Bewildering, disorienting, and barely even remembering what had put him there. The scariest thing about that, of course, had been going home to face his parents.

Nothing Joseph needs to worry about now, at 36, in New York City. Which doesn't mean he can completely shed some kneejerk anxiety that makes him do stupid things like go home with a cracked skull, though this time, he's behaving, for wont of a better option. Not lying back, however he sits up in bed with his knees tenting the pristine white sheets, arms looped about his legs and grasping a wrist in the other. Pains of various, if minor sources are deadened from drug, and it's the most comfortable he's been in a while. The oxygen mask hangs loose high against his chest, and he anxiously twists around the wedding band on his finger.

Hair and skin still damp from rain, something that can be said the same as the redheaded woman being shown into his room.

Abigail pitched a fit, her hoarse voice going even more raw while demanding to be shown to Joseph's room and to stay there. He has no family, the only person who was family already notified. Eventually she was shown in however after a physician who knew her from when she could heal had circled by and told them to let her in. Thank god for that.

A quiet thank you to the nurse, the red head steps in, deep enough into the room to be seen. Bag stuffed somewhere else with her leather jacket, red hair damp and lacking volume, her curls exaggerated thanks to Helena's rain. No chance to clean up leaves her face streaked with soot, blue cotton shirt damp and jeans soaking. Someone in the hospital has scrounged up some slippers for her feet. A few minor cuts around her mouth the only testament to the face that she shimmied up a pole with a knife in her mouth.

"We'll rebuild it. I'll call in whatever favors I can, we'll raise funds, and we'll rebuild it Joseph" Abigails steps bring her further in to stand at the foot of his bed with her hands clasping the hard plastic there.

Climbed the pole like a monkey, the vibrations of the knife she'd clenched between bared teeth shaking down the rope and its complicated arrangement before snapping free altogether. Joseph remembers, and his eyes linger more on small lacerations than her eyes for a moment, spine going a little straighter when she first moved through the door. His hands come to settle on his thighs, legs relaxing beneath the covers.

"I'm not real interested in temptin' fate anymore." His voice is scratchy, the common symptom of the survivors and those that cut them down. Impossibly tired and frayed at the edges. "They told me the woman— Mona— they told me she died tonight."

"She was dead it seems, before we even got there. I cut her down after you. Her neck.. was broken" At least it was instant. Thank god for those small things. The smell of smoke is redolent in the room, not something to easily miss since it's in her hair, her clothes, in Joseph's own hair. "How are you holding up? They've seen to you already. I mean, obviously they have but… I have some favors I can still pull here if I have to. They're taking care of Felix, Agent Ivanov. But I haven't been told how he's holding up" How does that Meatloaf song go? Cause two out of three ain't bad.

Draws of oxygen are taken from the mask as she speaks, dulling down the itching need to cough, before Joseph removes it altogether and sets it aside. His hands pinion into the mattress and sheets as he shifts to lie against the angled bed. "I'm fine," he says, voice quiet and small within the room. "They never hurt me like they did with Felix, with Mona. It's just the smoke from the fire. They said I can probably go tomorrow, which is more'n I can say about Ivanov. I won't be surprised if they have to take his legs."

He rests his head back against the pillow, chest shifting with another dry cough that a curl of a fist hides out of politeness. A breath is taken, that hand rests back against his chest, clad in the thin fabric of his hospital gown. "Thank you," he adds. "Thanks for bein' there. And here."

"He won't loose his legs" Spoken like someone who will move heaven and earth to ensure as much. She once healed a little girls arm most of the way back. God knows how the conversation with Flint will go, but she'll move heaven and earth to give Felix his legs back if it looks like they'll be gone.

The disguised cough is not so disguised and Abby moves from foot of bed to the side so that she can pluck up the mask and move it back over Joseph's face. "It'll help, keep it on. If I had to suck oxygen out there, then you're going to have to keep it up till they take it away. Trust me, it'll help" Over his ears, the green elastic is adjusted, keeping her touching of him to a minimum, unsure of his mental state.

"You say that now though, the thanks. I called Claira. Pastor Ashby couldn't find your mothers number. I was gonna send flowers and see how you were holding up. You need to thank her. Thank her and some woman named… Phoebe Thornton? She reported you missing and when Claira told me that your momma was fine…" Well, Joseph can connect the dots.

"There's uhh, the third room, above the bar still. If you want it till you feel safe enough to go home"

Joseph's hand twitches in some protest, but ultimately— amongst all the manhandling, the shuffling around, there are worse things than someone making sure you're taking care of yourself. That hand only shifts to help, eyes shutting for a moment as he takes long, measured breaths.

They open again at the mention of Claira, and it's not suspicion that Joseph steers a gaze back up at her with. Curiosity, morbid interest. The mask is shifted so he can talk. "They made me call in, about my mom. They had Raq— "

He stops, abruptly, mouth closing tight. For a moment, the pastor looks incredibly lost and a little older than he actually is, before he clears his dry throat, continues. "Raquelle's daughter, they used her as leverage." More dots to connect, and he lets Abby do that for the time it takes to breath oxygen for a couple of draws, before speaking again.

"I could use the place to stay," is admitted. "If it ain't trouble."

Good news. She can tell him good news and it shows on her face. "She's alive. It's been all over the news. BJ, she was found out in New Jersey. Yesterday. She's home now, best that I know, I can call and find out but. BUT Beej is so very much alive. I promise it. I bet Raquelle is spoiling her rotten. Lord above, I know I'll go buy her a dozen barbies once everything is all said and done and pray to the lord for your safe delivery, for everyones" And for Mona's not so live delivery.

"And you know that it's not trouble. It's never trouble. Leo will be there too, you won't be alone unless you need it. I put in new security so it's nigh unto invincible. You'll be safe there" Abigail pulls her hand back, leaving them only to adjust the sheets, smooth out a wrinkle here and there, straighten them. Do something with her hands before she turns to grab a chair and pull it over. "If you want too, I can take you to Dr. Yee. She's my psychologist. I'm sure she'd take you on, if you want it. After everything, sometimes… it's good to have someone to talk to, talk things out"

The mask still clasped in his hand is more or less forgotten as he blinks at her, disbelief plain on his pale face for a good amount of words gone by, until her concrete certainty cracks his own. Joseph doesn't ask you sure?, even if it's on the tip of his tongue. "They showed me," he says, voice low, quiet. "He showed me— her. What was left of her. They said that what we did— "

It's tempting, to give in and cry like a woman. It's either that, or laughing, and both would be painful. Joseph's other hand comes up to cover his eyes, rub against his sockets, as he struggles not to do either, caught up in a breathless limbo. Finally, he leans towards one— rough laughter gutters out form low in his torso, that hand moving to press against his chest to ease the burn that comes with it. It's good news, it is. "They lied. I'm glad they lied," he says, as if to assure the other southerner of this truth.

Laughter is good, better than crying. "They're Humanis first Pastor. They'll do what they can to get you to do whatever. we'll call, we'll call Raquelle and he can bring her over. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to see you alive as well" Abigail's hand finds it's way into one of his, squeeze and hold it tight. She's not laughing and likely won't. "What can I do for you, right now Joseph? Do you need anything? Want anything? Some cold water?"

He shakes his head, his hand loose in her's before squeezing back, accepting the comfort contact brings. Enforced silence, as he brings the mask back up again, concentrating on that for a moment, along with Abby's palm against his and the tangle of fingers. The sound of the hospital beyond this quiet room presses in on the walls, a subtle rustle and shuffle of activity that is as constant as it is unobtrusive.

Eventually, Joseph makes himself answer her, dragging the mask back down. "I'll talk to Raquelle. Make sure he's fine. Apologize. And— Claira." He returns his attention to Abby's face, and despite himself, allows for a twitch of a smile at his mouth. "How's she?"

"How is Claira" OKay, now there's a smile. "Claira is.. quite the woman. She uhh, she's worried, but relieved. I called her before I got in the ambulance with you. She didn't tell your mother, I made her promise. She wasn't happy with me at first, called it a very mean thing to joke about until she realized that I wasn't joking. We've talked every few days, just enough to keep her up to date." Abigail's hand stays around Joseph's, holding on more for her sake, self reassurance that yes, he really is here.

"She has a very beautiful voice. Matches her face. I can see why you married her" A glance to his wedding ring. "She'll probably want to yell at you, but at least I spared you a yelling at by your Momma"

"She might," Joseph concedes, steering his gaze up towards the glaringly white ceiling. The smile is gone but there are still lines at his eyes from it. Abby is correct, about her voice, or at least, Joseph agrees. "Either way it'll be a conversation, 's for sure." His voice has dwindled down, more rasp than anything else, above a whisper but barely. Fatigue setting in like illness, a cough tempered with slow inhales from the mask.

Fingernails, slightly too long if not noticeably at first glance, tik-tik-tik with restlessness he doesn't completely feel, before he says; "I'm really sorry. About how this turned out. With the church, gettin' the Ferry mixed up in it."

"No sorries. None at all. It's a consequence, it's the way it is, a peril of the job. He is not the first to have tried something like this and he'll not be the last. Humanis first is only the second in a line of many that have come, will come" She lets go of his hand so she can sit down and rest, lay her own head against the back of the tall chair. "Just don't give up because of this. You can't give up Joseph. You give up, you let them win. You can't let them win. Ferry will stand beside you regardless, I'm sure, of what you want to do"

Her hand slides free easily of his, his own coming to curl against his chest. Yellowed bruises circle his exposed wrist like a particularly ugly bracelet, though not as striking as the darker circles beneath his eyes that aren't bruises at all. The smile Joseph gives her is wan. "You and I both know that you won't be acceptin' of apologies of a man in a hospital bed. Probably why I went ahead an' tried it. I think I gotta sleep for a while. Figure out what to do tomorrow when it's tomorrow."

"I'll be here. I'll get someone to bring by some fresh clothes for you" And for herself. "Sleep Pastor Sumter. I'll be here, keeping watch. You're safe" Safe as he can be with her, and no gun, but Abigail with claw out eyes and fight tooth and nail before any harm will come to Joseph.

She launches into song then, quiet, little raw and not as loud as it could be. But that's fine, and that's not the point. It's meant to be soothing, a lullabye and a break from the quiet of the room and distraction from the beat of ones heart and the fear in ones mind. "Through trials, troubles and care, I know Jesus my savior is there, Giving me faith through darkest days, Keeping me on the narrow way. Jesus savior, help me each day, Fill me with hope, fill me with faith, Darkness retreats at the touch of Your hand, Jesus savior, help me to stand."

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