Immune to the Stuff pt 38
Aug. 28th, 2008 10:39 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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meisaal
Immune to the Stuff pt. 38
FRG
Warnings: Our guys are asleep for this one
Summary: Warrick gets some help.
"Yeah, I'm over here with three semiconscious people, two of whom are Greggo, who is horrifically drunk and it ain't his fault, and Nick, who's just been through some kind of therapy hell and is on Xanax, and the other of whom is a woman who keeps looking like she might not make it through her current breath. Every time she tries to inhale, it looks like a pitched battle's going on inside her. I'm also sharing care duty with a scary little Chinese woman who won't let me take them to the hospital. She says it's not necessary, not even for Nick's sister. I don't like it. The Chinese woman looks pretty worn around the edges, her eyelids are hangin' low and she just looks like a human droop, but I still feel like…I can't do anything she says not to, you know? But she never said I couldn't call a friend. Do you know anybody besides me who has tomorrow night off? I know you don't."
"Grissom," Catherine said, "but I guess that he's not anybody you want around, under the circumstances…wait. He might let me trade with him. I'm the only one who can. My mother is here; I won't need a sitter for Lindsay. Hang on; I'll call him and get right back to you."
"Thanks, Cath."
"No problem," Catherine said, and the warm reassurance in her voice made Warrick sigh.
He clicked off, thinking about the phone call to Tina. He had made a point of asking if she'd like to come over and help--her medical expertise would be welcome, he'd made sure she understood, and she was welcome anyhow, everyone he worked with wanted to meet her anyway--but she had, while backing down off the beginning of her rise toward anger, refused politely--as he had known she would; refuse somehow, anyway--saying that if Warrick's friends didn't need to go to the hospital, they probably didn't need her services, and it didn't sound like they needed a stranger taking care of them, either. Warrick had been a little shocked by that, since he hadn't told her the very personal nature of Nick's (and Greg's) heartbreaking ordeal, but she had said it calmly, if not warmly, and said she understood. She had tomorrow off, and would see him then, whether he got back morning or afternoon, and they could find something to take Warrick's mind off his friend's problems for a while.
He'd looked at that as a good omen, and decided to see if he could get some help around here. The scary Chinese woman--okay, enough of that shit, he was going to learn to pronounce her name easily or die. He couldn't very well address her as si-fu, which was easy enough. Xiwangmu was hard to interact with, here. Professionally, he'd dealt with almost everything and everybody, but this wasn't professional, this was highly personal, and his professional persona wasn't appropriate, to say the least.
He sighed, reclipped his phone, which was on vibrate, like his pager; and he made his way to Greg's bedroom, where Nick and Greg were both lying on Greg's bed. Greg looked at him as he came in; Nick's eyes stayed closed, though he was dozing, nearly asleep. If it had been up to Warrick, he would have been getting Nick drunk, too, but he had to admit the Xanax was a more appropriate choice, and this was one of the specific reasons his shrink had prescribed it.
"Rick?" Greg whispered. Being drunk made him flushed in the cheeks and lips, his eyes unwontedly deep and…well, beautiful, now that Warrick could really see them. He'd never looked at Greggo that way; he'd frankly thought Nick was a little nuts for finding him so gorgeous--he'd thought it was an effect of the huge, huge thing Nick had for him. But Greg really was…um. Not why he was here.
Xiwangmu was taking a break, or else with Opal Ann upstairs; Nick's sister was in her "own" room, around the corner at the end of the hall instead of in Nick's room near the top of the stairs, since, as she'd put it, "all my shit's in there". Why she might need any portion of said shit to the point she couldn't have someone fetch it to her, but had to be in the same room with it, Warrick wasn't sure, but he suspected it had to do with the witch thing. Warrick could have carried her up, but he'd finished helping Nick into Greg's bedroom and come out the door and down the hall to find Xiwangmu, stressed-outness and all, carrying Opal Ann up the stairs.
"Hey, wait--let me do that--!"
"She does not weigh what she weighs," Xiwangmu had replied, tiredly and completely inexplicably, not looking at him or slowing down. Warrick had to admit, Xiwangmu's back was straight, her steps steady; and while she had Opal sort of rolled up onto her to carry the weight on her chest, and was holding her at an angle that seemed to serve to keep Opal's extremities in--the pale woman's knees were bent, folding her legs a little around Xiwangmu, one arm was draped over Xiwangmu's neck with the other hanging down, and her head was bobbing near the si-fu's opposite shoulder, rather than flopping loose.
Warrick stared, and Xiwangmu made it to the top of the stairs, and continued on down the hall toward Opal Anns' room.
He sighed now, thinking, well, whatever worked, and reached down to touch Greg's face briefly before sliding his hand down to the pulse in his neck, which was strong and slow and steady.
"How do you feel?"
"M'worr'd," Greg said, and Warrick might not have understood if Greg's unfocused gaze hadn't managed to wander over to Nick, who was lying on the other side of the bed with two Xanax in him. Without them, he had been crying, softly, much as Greg had been; and trembling, and shying from touch though he couldn't walk without support, and running his hands all over himself, looking puzzled, looking sick, looking like he needed that trank that had been prescribed for him for this precise purpose.
"He feels better, since I gave him the alprazolam," Warrick said quietly.
"S'gonbe sso…hard, hard for him…so much at once…"
"But not everything. Not…"
"I don' know," Greg enunciated, carefully and aggravatedly, judging by the way his eyes squeezed shut and leaked tears, probably in aggravation, in fear, maybe despair, considering he was drunk.
So Warrick'd have to ask the pro if the biggie, that had apparently been the final straw to cause whatever was plugged up in him to go truly toxic, had been tackled and defeated.
He heard, conveniently, very light footsteps brushing--there was no other word for it--down the stairs.
"You want anything right now?"
"Nn." Greg shook his head. "I'll…" his hand fumbled at the bedside table, finding the self-protection screamer alarm that was the closest thing Warrick had been able to locate to a bell or something for Greg to call for him.
"Remember, that thing's loud. Take precautions. Cover your ears with a pillow or something."
"R'member."
Warrick hesitated, then leaned down and kissed Greg's forehead. "Try to get some sleep. Nick's sleeping, too. I'll help you deal with any crappy way you might feel when you wake up."
"Try."
"Okay."
"Rick. Candle. Night…light…"
"I'm not following you, Greggo."
"Nick's room. Candle. Night light. Bringem down, here?"
"Uh, okay, I'll go look. If I find them, I'll bring them down."
"Than'you."
"It's no problem, Greg," Warrick said quietly from the doorway; he watched the both of them lying there a moment, then turned away from the door.
Xiwangmu was standing at the foot of the stairs, leaning on the handrail, as though stopping for a breather once she'd made it down.
"You okay?" Warrick asked softly, coming up to her, leaning on the banister other side of the stairs.
"No," she said plainly. "I am not. I must see to Nick."
"Nick's on Xanax," Warrick said, "resting. I guess maybe it's the only way he can, right now."
"I must still see to him." She went into the bedroom, her back still straight, her steps still steady; but "droop" was somehow emanating from her, in a way he couldn't put his finger on.
His phone buzzed against his hip, and he quickly unclipped it and clicked on. "Warrick."
"He traded. I think he knew the alternative was coming himself."
"Thank God. Listen, there's some stuff…you may not…there's stuff you don't know, and I'm not sure how you're going to--"
"Warrick, shut up. I can deal. They're down, they're not good, you need me. If nothing else, it'll take two of us to get them out past the scary Chinese lady if she's an expert in martial arts, which she is, according to Nick. Short of using my gun, which I wouldn't feel right about unless one of them were dying."
"You might want to bring some overnight stuff. I did. Even if we don't sleep, it always helps to get a shower and clean clothes with Greg's coffee."
"With that combination, I don't need sleep. I'm on my way."
"I love you, Catherine."
There was a pause, and Warrick wondered if she was hearing something other than the intense relief he was feeling at the prospect of her arrival.
"I love you, too," Catherine said quietly. "See you in a few." She clicked off.
Warrick sighed and hung his phone back on his belt, and headed out of the kitchen, along the little blue Devonian path lining the breakfast bar, through the rest of the main room, and took a step up into the stairwell, intent on finding the candle and nightlight Greg had been talking about.
***
Catherine had promised to arrive with a shoulder bag containing hangover medicine of various kinds; after her past career, she'd be familiar with the basics. Hell, most grownups were familiar with the basics. Greg would be draggy, and it was a good thing he was still off the shift schedule, but he wouldn't be in misery, between Cath's contribution and half a Xanax to take the edge off--benzodiazepines were death when you were drunk, but they were an unbelievable amount of relief when you were hung over. Then again, Xiwangmu, from what Warrick had been told by Nick, could work miracles. Miracles he hadn't believed in even slightly until this evening and the morning and afternoon preceding.
It had been about four or five hours after Greg went down--twitching occasionally, his eyes distant, and not from the alcohol, Warrick suspected; but the visceral *thereness* he'd been experiencing seemed to be gone--before Xiwangmu had brought Opal and Nick back. She said she hadn't felt safe moving them from her own TCM--that was apparently the common abbreviation for "Traditional Chinese Medicine"--workroom for that length of time. She'd brought a strong-smelling shoulder bag with her, too, but he hadn't seen her removing any panda thyroids or bat wings from it yet, or anything else, for that matter.
No, he guessed bat wings might be more the witch's province; Opal Ann. She hadn't been groggy, crying and weird like Nick--she'd been simply semiconscious. Getting them both in had been interesting; Xiwangmu had handed Nick over to him and headed back for the car. By the time he was done getting Nick situated and medicated, Xiwangmu was back with Opal Ann, apparently, and had made for the stairs without letting out a peep of request for assistance.
Xiwangmu had emerged from Greg's room, and was making for the stairs again. She had her aromatic shoulder bag with her. He used his long legs to get over there and catch her wrist lightly before she could make it far up, since he still didn't trust himself to address her by name. "Wait--what are you planning on? Is it safe?"
"I am a healer. Ask your friends if I have ever done anything unsafe--" she paused a moment, then continued, in the same tone of voice, "--with my medicines, chi gung tui na, or other therapies--or if I have been concerned for their welfare such that I forbade them certain practices."
He let go. Nick trusted her, and Nick and Greg had both been subject to her ministrations before. "Okay, sorry. I just…I know what's going on, but not really anything about it."
"You are forgiven." No expression, yet, that he could see on that small, narrow-chinned, almond-eyed face, said eyes and their brows upswept just slightly. She only turned and continued up the stairs.
"I guess that was sorta productive," Warrick muttered, scratching his head.
The door chime sounded, and Warrick hurried over, opening the right-hand door and practically hauling Catherine into the room by one arm. "Am I glad to see you."
"I guess," Catherine muttered, getting her balance back and swinging a gym bag and a more complex soft bag, with pockets and such, down on the coffee table. "So what happened? I figured this was going to involve therapy for Nick, we all did, but what? Why is Greg drunk?"
"To keep him from having to go through the same therapy, along with Nick," Warrick said grimly. "Look, I am totally not equal to the task of explaining this to you, or to anybody; but their teacher--" he mustered himself and got the name out right; it wasn't hard when you broke it down, "--Xiwangmu is here. She can explain a lot better than I can. She's with Nick's sister right now."
"What has Nick's sister got to do with this?"
"She was involved. Just wait, okay? I don't know what the hell went on. It has to do with all the chi gung, and…a few terms and ideas I get of that, but not many. Also, apparently, with Nick getting his feet wet in T'ai chi ch'uan, but beyond that, I'm almost clueless. And probably wrong in all my suppositions. At least I can't explain properly. Can I get you something? I hauled you out here, and between Nick and Greg's diverse food preferences, they've got just about any quick eats you'd like. Soda, too, or anything stronger."
"Can you find me a package of those Wasabrods Nick likes?"
"Probably," Warrick grinned; well-stuffed Wasabrod sandwiches--though Warrick didn't want to know what kind of low-fat low-carb ingredients were stuffed in there; the white substance that held the saladlike filling together was probably fat-free yogurt--were one of his Nick's occasional lunches at work. He got up from where he'd sat down with Catherine on the couch, and made his way around and through, into the kitchen.
When he got back--he hadn't been able to stand the sight of those naked Wasas, and smeared them with some of Nick's light cream cheese--Catherine was leafing through a big, blue-and-green paperback. "They've got interesting reading material lying around."
"What is that?" He set the plate down and found a coaster for the can of diet 7-up--also doubtless Nick's--he'd thought she'd probably need with it.
"They're translations of Taoist classics," she said, continuing to leaf. She noticed the food, said "Thank you," and handed him the book. She picked up the snack and started munching, careful to keep her crumbs on the plate and off the rug and the couch
"Thomas Cleary…this is one in a series, looks like. First one. Tao Te Ching, Chuang-tzu, Wen-tzu, The Book of Leadership and Strategy, and…Sex, Health and Long Life?" He shook his head. "Interesting combination."
Catherine was munching, getting the snack down quickly--used to eating such food like that, from work and parenthood both, probably--but pulled another book toward her with her free hand. "'The Power of Internal Martial Arts'."
"What do you want to bet these books are Greg's?" Warrick said, shaking his head. "Nick's been complaining he can't get Greg to pick a room and make a study, he's got most of what he owns crammed into his own room, which is a rough thing to make work, even though it's a big bedroom. His books are all in boxes, Nick said. Most of them in the garage. Greg must have a lot of fun digging things out for their adventures in this whatever-it-is…"
"We have not met." Xiwangmu's voice came from the top stair landing.
Catherine looked up, saw a figure standing there at the wrought iron railing, and quickly chewed down her current bite, washing it in with a swallow of 7-up, before standing and saying "No, we haven't. You must be Xiwangmu." Warrick wanted to throttle her for pronouncing it so easily.
"I am."
"I'm Catherine Willows. I'm a friend of Greg's and Nick's. I work with them."
Xiwangmu nodded once, and started down the stairs, her steps steady, but slow. She wasn't wearing a silk pajama outfit or anything, but she was in a pair of loose, pale blue cotton pants, and a tuniclike shirt of the same material, that sort of gave that impression; her shoes were grey leather, ballet flats, soft and slipperlike. Her hair was up in a knot with a decorative hair broach of some sort protruding from it. Warrick thought how, without everyone who was beat up to think about--they were taken care of just for the moment--and with Catherine's first seeing Xiwangmu, Warrick was truly seeing all of her as well. She looked too young to do what she did, with the exception of the immobility of her face, maybe.
She came up to the big living room set, threading her way around until she was standing on the opposite side from Warrick and Catherine of the big, square, darkly varnished mahogany coffee table and its wave-patterned hand carving. "I have unfortunate news," she said. "The dissolving of resistances and restoration of normal flow to the channels was not complete."
"Greg said something like that," Warrick nodded, sighing and setting his hands on his hips, looking away for a moment. Catherine just said "Excuse me?"
"Ma'am," Warrick finally settled on, "Catherine doesn't know enough to know what that means. Only me, Nick's psychologist and our supervisor actually know what's going on, and why he needed this leave."
"I will explain," Xiwangmu said, and, without further ado, proceeded to do so. Catherine just stood there staring, not asking questions, though she shot the occasional look at Warrick to see what his reactions were to some of this. Warrick was definitely finding out things he hadn't known, but he was prepared to the point those things didn't rock him, so when Catherine saw his lack of reaction, she just let her eyes flick back in Xiwangmu's direction.
Xiwangmu explained with such facility--it was as though she'd prepared it, taking all the things into account that slow these things down; though Warrick knew she hadn't--he wasn't surprised Nick and Greg seemed to regard her as somewhat all-seeing. She knew what needed saying, how it should be put, where it should go in the course of the unveiling, and what could be left out entirely for the purposes of this particular explanation. It took maybe a minute and a half to two minutes to brief Catherine on everything she needed to know at the moment.
When she was done, Xiwangmu sank into one of the set chairs, and leaned back, closing her eyes.
Warrick had enough savvy by now to realize that couldn't be good. "You're exhausted," he said.
"I am drained, yes," Xiwangmu said quietly.
"Can we get you anything? Water, something to eat?" Catherine asked quickly, looking alarmed; she looked like she wanted to go around the coffee table and up to Xiwangmu, maybe check her vitals…but she stayed where she was, despite her skittish need to help.
"Water would be beneficial," Xiwangmu said, not opening her eyes. "Protein would also be welcome."
"We'll be right back," Warrick said. "Uh…are you lactose intolerant?"
Xiwangmu actually opened her eyes and raised an eyebrow at him.
Catherine hissed "Of course she is," and shoved Warrick ahead of her toward the path to the kitchen.
When they got there, Warrick got a tumbler from the cabinet and started to fill it; Catherine was leaning against the counter with her hands over her eyes, processing. It didn't take her long, though. When he shut off the water, she dropped her hands, came and took the glass. "I'll take it to her. You start looking for something high-protein and quick to prepare and eat that isn't the whey protein Nick keeps around here."
"Right," Warrick sighed as she scurried off. It was rare you saw Catherine scurry.
Opening cabinets, eyeballing the larder, he found soy protein; in the freezer, he found orange sherbet. He measured the soy protein into the blender--say thirty grams, Xiwangmu was awfully small, no matter how drained she might be--and then dumped in sherbet, drained a can of mandarin oranges, dumped those in too, and added ice. Then he hit "puree" and held on to the blender--which screamed bloody murder, as blenders are wont to do--keeping the lid on tight.
Catherine came back, of course, just as he was looking for something to pour his concoction into. He located a glass beer mug large enough, and as he was telling Catherine what was in the shake, poured it from the blender's pitcher into the mug.
"That's…probably a pretty good thing to give her, unless she hates orange," Catherine said, thinking over the ingredients. "Or is diabetic."
"If she can't drink it, you can. I bet it's delicious." The thick slushy stuff smelled good, hiding the soy protein smell under the orange. "I'll get some more specific instructions from her and make her something else if she doesn't want it."
He started cleaning up while Catherine fetched out the protein slushee/shake, and when she came back, she said "She wants you to make another one just like it to give to Nick's sister."
"Oh. Uh, so she's drinking it?"
"It was damn near halfway gone when I turned around to come in here. She says it has what they both --she and Nick's sister--need right now."
"Didn't know I was such a good guesser," Warrick muttered to himself, and stopped cleaning up and started making another orange protein slushee.
"I'll be out there--talking with her." She seemed uncertain as to whether Warrick expected help.
"Yeah, go," Warrick said, waving her on. "You should talk with her. You've gotta help me with them, and I barely know squat myself about what needs doing for them."
"Right," Catherine said, exiting the kitchen again.
***
meisaalImmune to the Stuff pt. 38
FRG
Warnings: Our guys are asleep for this one
Summary: Warrick gets some help.
"Yeah, I'm over here with three semiconscious people, two of whom are Greggo, who is horrifically drunk and it ain't his fault, and Nick, who's just been through some kind of therapy hell and is on Xanax, and the other of whom is a woman who keeps looking like she might not make it through her current breath. Every time she tries to inhale, it looks like a pitched battle's going on inside her. I'm also sharing care duty with a scary little Chinese woman who won't let me take them to the hospital. She says it's not necessary, not even for Nick's sister. I don't like it. The Chinese woman looks pretty worn around the edges, her eyelids are hangin' low and she just looks like a human droop, but I still feel like…I can't do anything she says not to, you know? But she never said I couldn't call a friend. Do you know anybody besides me who has tomorrow night off? I know you don't."
"Grissom," Catherine said, "but I guess that he's not anybody you want around, under the circumstances…wait. He might let me trade with him. I'm the only one who can. My mother is here; I won't need a sitter for Lindsay. Hang on; I'll call him and get right back to you."
"Thanks, Cath."
"No problem," Catherine said, and the warm reassurance in her voice made Warrick sigh.
He clicked off, thinking about the phone call to Tina. He had made a point of asking if she'd like to come over and help--her medical expertise would be welcome, he'd made sure she understood, and she was welcome anyhow, everyone he worked with wanted to meet her anyway--but she had, while backing down off the beginning of her rise toward anger, refused politely--as he had known she would; refuse somehow, anyway--saying that if Warrick's friends didn't need to go to the hospital, they probably didn't need her services, and it didn't sound like they needed a stranger taking care of them, either. Warrick had been a little shocked by that, since he hadn't told her the very personal nature of Nick's (and Greg's) heartbreaking ordeal, but she had said it calmly, if not warmly, and said she understood. She had tomorrow off, and would see him then, whether he got back morning or afternoon, and they could find something to take Warrick's mind off his friend's problems for a while.
He'd looked at that as a good omen, and decided to see if he could get some help around here. The scary Chinese woman--okay, enough of that shit, he was going to learn to pronounce her name easily or die. He couldn't very well address her as si-fu, which was easy enough. Xiwangmu was hard to interact with, here. Professionally, he'd dealt with almost everything and everybody, but this wasn't professional, this was highly personal, and his professional persona wasn't appropriate, to say the least.
He sighed, reclipped his phone, which was on vibrate, like his pager; and he made his way to Greg's bedroom, where Nick and Greg were both lying on Greg's bed. Greg looked at him as he came in; Nick's eyes stayed closed, though he was dozing, nearly asleep. If it had been up to Warrick, he would have been getting Nick drunk, too, but he had to admit the Xanax was a more appropriate choice, and this was one of the specific reasons his shrink had prescribed it.
"Rick?" Greg whispered. Being drunk made him flushed in the cheeks and lips, his eyes unwontedly deep and…well, beautiful, now that Warrick could really see them. He'd never looked at Greggo that way; he'd frankly thought Nick was a little nuts for finding him so gorgeous--he'd thought it was an effect of the huge, huge thing Nick had for him. But Greg really was…um. Not why he was here.
Xiwangmu was taking a break, or else with Opal Ann upstairs; Nick's sister was in her "own" room, around the corner at the end of the hall instead of in Nick's room near the top of the stairs, since, as she'd put it, "all my shit's in there". Why she might need any portion of said shit to the point she couldn't have someone fetch it to her, but had to be in the same room with it, Warrick wasn't sure, but he suspected it had to do with the witch thing. Warrick could have carried her up, but he'd finished helping Nick into Greg's bedroom and come out the door and down the hall to find Xiwangmu, stressed-outness and all, carrying Opal Ann up the stairs.
"Hey, wait--let me do that--!"
"She does not weigh what she weighs," Xiwangmu had replied, tiredly and completely inexplicably, not looking at him or slowing down. Warrick had to admit, Xiwangmu's back was straight, her steps steady; and while she had Opal sort of rolled up onto her to carry the weight on her chest, and was holding her at an angle that seemed to serve to keep Opal's extremities in--the pale woman's knees were bent, folding her legs a little around Xiwangmu, one arm was draped over Xiwangmu's neck with the other hanging down, and her head was bobbing near the si-fu's opposite shoulder, rather than flopping loose.
Warrick stared, and Xiwangmu made it to the top of the stairs, and continued on down the hall toward Opal Anns' room.
He sighed now, thinking, well, whatever worked, and reached down to touch Greg's face briefly before sliding his hand down to the pulse in his neck, which was strong and slow and steady.
"How do you feel?"
"M'worr'd," Greg said, and Warrick might not have understood if Greg's unfocused gaze hadn't managed to wander over to Nick, who was lying on the other side of the bed with two Xanax in him. Without them, he had been crying, softly, much as Greg had been; and trembling, and shying from touch though he couldn't walk without support, and running his hands all over himself, looking puzzled, looking sick, looking like he needed that trank that had been prescribed for him for this precise purpose.
"He feels better, since I gave him the alprazolam," Warrick said quietly.
"S'gonbe sso…hard, hard for him…so much at once…"
"But not everything. Not…"
"I don' know," Greg enunciated, carefully and aggravatedly, judging by the way his eyes squeezed shut and leaked tears, probably in aggravation, in fear, maybe despair, considering he was drunk.
So Warrick'd have to ask the pro if the biggie, that had apparently been the final straw to cause whatever was plugged up in him to go truly toxic, had been tackled and defeated.
He heard, conveniently, very light footsteps brushing--there was no other word for it--down the stairs.
"You want anything right now?"
"Nn." Greg shook his head. "I'll…" his hand fumbled at the bedside table, finding the self-protection screamer alarm that was the closest thing Warrick had been able to locate to a bell or something for Greg to call for him.
"Remember, that thing's loud. Take precautions. Cover your ears with a pillow or something."
"R'member."
Warrick hesitated, then leaned down and kissed Greg's forehead. "Try to get some sleep. Nick's sleeping, too. I'll help you deal with any crappy way you might feel when you wake up."
"Try."
"Okay."
"Rick. Candle. Night…light…"
"I'm not following you, Greggo."
"Nick's room. Candle. Night light. Bringem down, here?"
"Uh, okay, I'll go look. If I find them, I'll bring them down."
"Than'you."
"It's no problem, Greg," Warrick said quietly from the doorway; he watched the both of them lying there a moment, then turned away from the door.
Xiwangmu was standing at the foot of the stairs, leaning on the handrail, as though stopping for a breather once she'd made it down.
"You okay?" Warrick asked softly, coming up to her, leaning on the banister other side of the stairs.
"No," she said plainly. "I am not. I must see to Nick."
"Nick's on Xanax," Warrick said, "resting. I guess maybe it's the only way he can, right now."
"I must still see to him." She went into the bedroom, her back still straight, her steps still steady; but "droop" was somehow emanating from her, in a way he couldn't put his finger on.
His phone buzzed against his hip, and he quickly unclipped it and clicked on. "Warrick."
"He traded. I think he knew the alternative was coming himself."
"Thank God. Listen, there's some stuff…you may not…there's stuff you don't know, and I'm not sure how you're going to--"
"Warrick, shut up. I can deal. They're down, they're not good, you need me. If nothing else, it'll take two of us to get them out past the scary Chinese lady if she's an expert in martial arts, which she is, according to Nick. Short of using my gun, which I wouldn't feel right about unless one of them were dying."
"You might want to bring some overnight stuff. I did. Even if we don't sleep, it always helps to get a shower and clean clothes with Greg's coffee."
"With that combination, I don't need sleep. I'm on my way."
"I love you, Catherine."
There was a pause, and Warrick wondered if she was hearing something other than the intense relief he was feeling at the prospect of her arrival.
"I love you, too," Catherine said quietly. "See you in a few." She clicked off.
Warrick sighed and hung his phone back on his belt, and headed out of the kitchen, along the little blue Devonian path lining the breakfast bar, through the rest of the main room, and took a step up into the stairwell, intent on finding the candle and nightlight Greg had been talking about.
***
Catherine had promised to arrive with a shoulder bag containing hangover medicine of various kinds; after her past career, she'd be familiar with the basics. Hell, most grownups were familiar with the basics. Greg would be draggy, and it was a good thing he was still off the shift schedule, but he wouldn't be in misery, between Cath's contribution and half a Xanax to take the edge off--benzodiazepines were death when you were drunk, but they were an unbelievable amount of relief when you were hung over. Then again, Xiwangmu, from what Warrick had been told by Nick, could work miracles. Miracles he hadn't believed in even slightly until this evening and the morning and afternoon preceding.
It had been about four or five hours after Greg went down--twitching occasionally, his eyes distant, and not from the alcohol, Warrick suspected; but the visceral *thereness* he'd been experiencing seemed to be gone--before Xiwangmu had brought Opal and Nick back. She said she hadn't felt safe moving them from her own TCM--that was apparently the common abbreviation for "Traditional Chinese Medicine"--workroom for that length of time. She'd brought a strong-smelling shoulder bag with her, too, but he hadn't seen her removing any panda thyroids or bat wings from it yet, or anything else, for that matter.
No, he guessed bat wings might be more the witch's province; Opal Ann. She hadn't been groggy, crying and weird like Nick--she'd been simply semiconscious. Getting them both in had been interesting; Xiwangmu had handed Nick over to him and headed back for the car. By the time he was done getting Nick situated and medicated, Xiwangmu was back with Opal Ann, apparently, and had made for the stairs without letting out a peep of request for assistance.
Xiwangmu had emerged from Greg's room, and was making for the stairs again. She had her aromatic shoulder bag with her. He used his long legs to get over there and catch her wrist lightly before she could make it far up, since he still didn't trust himself to address her by name. "Wait--what are you planning on? Is it safe?"
"I am a healer. Ask your friends if I have ever done anything unsafe--" she paused a moment, then continued, in the same tone of voice, "--with my medicines, chi gung tui na, or other therapies--or if I have been concerned for their welfare such that I forbade them certain practices."
He let go. Nick trusted her, and Nick and Greg had both been subject to her ministrations before. "Okay, sorry. I just…I know what's going on, but not really anything about it."
"You are forgiven." No expression, yet, that he could see on that small, narrow-chinned, almond-eyed face, said eyes and their brows upswept just slightly. She only turned and continued up the stairs.
"I guess that was sorta productive," Warrick muttered, scratching his head.
The door chime sounded, and Warrick hurried over, opening the right-hand door and practically hauling Catherine into the room by one arm. "Am I glad to see you."
"I guess," Catherine muttered, getting her balance back and swinging a gym bag and a more complex soft bag, with pockets and such, down on the coffee table. "So what happened? I figured this was going to involve therapy for Nick, we all did, but what? Why is Greg drunk?"
"To keep him from having to go through the same therapy, along with Nick," Warrick said grimly. "Look, I am totally not equal to the task of explaining this to you, or to anybody; but their teacher--" he mustered himself and got the name out right; it wasn't hard when you broke it down, "--Xiwangmu is here. She can explain a lot better than I can. She's with Nick's sister right now."
"What has Nick's sister got to do with this?"
"She was involved. Just wait, okay? I don't know what the hell went on. It has to do with all the chi gung, and…a few terms and ideas I get of that, but not many. Also, apparently, with Nick getting his feet wet in T'ai chi ch'uan, but beyond that, I'm almost clueless. And probably wrong in all my suppositions. At least I can't explain properly. Can I get you something? I hauled you out here, and between Nick and Greg's diverse food preferences, they've got just about any quick eats you'd like. Soda, too, or anything stronger."
"Can you find me a package of those Wasabrods Nick likes?"
"Probably," Warrick grinned; well-stuffed Wasabrod sandwiches--though Warrick didn't want to know what kind of low-fat low-carb ingredients were stuffed in there; the white substance that held the saladlike filling together was probably fat-free yogurt--were one of his Nick's occasional lunches at work. He got up from where he'd sat down with Catherine on the couch, and made his way around and through, into the kitchen.
When he got back--he hadn't been able to stand the sight of those naked Wasas, and smeared them with some of Nick's light cream cheese--Catherine was leafing through a big, blue-and-green paperback. "They've got interesting reading material lying around."
"What is that?" He set the plate down and found a coaster for the can of diet 7-up--also doubtless Nick's--he'd thought she'd probably need with it.
"They're translations of Taoist classics," she said, continuing to leaf. She noticed the food, said "Thank you," and handed him the book. She picked up the snack and started munching, careful to keep her crumbs on the plate and off the rug and the couch
"Thomas Cleary…this is one in a series, looks like. First one. Tao Te Ching, Chuang-tzu, Wen-tzu, The Book of Leadership and Strategy, and…Sex, Health and Long Life?" He shook his head. "Interesting combination."
Catherine was munching, getting the snack down quickly--used to eating such food like that, from work and parenthood both, probably--but pulled another book toward her with her free hand. "'The Power of Internal Martial Arts'."
"What do you want to bet these books are Greg's?" Warrick said, shaking his head. "Nick's been complaining he can't get Greg to pick a room and make a study, he's got most of what he owns crammed into his own room, which is a rough thing to make work, even though it's a big bedroom. His books are all in boxes, Nick said. Most of them in the garage. Greg must have a lot of fun digging things out for their adventures in this whatever-it-is…"
"We have not met." Xiwangmu's voice came from the top stair landing.
Catherine looked up, saw a figure standing there at the wrought iron railing, and quickly chewed down her current bite, washing it in with a swallow of 7-up, before standing and saying "No, we haven't. You must be Xiwangmu." Warrick wanted to throttle her for pronouncing it so easily.
"I am."
"I'm Catherine Willows. I'm a friend of Greg's and Nick's. I work with them."
Xiwangmu nodded once, and started down the stairs, her steps steady, but slow. She wasn't wearing a silk pajama outfit or anything, but she was in a pair of loose, pale blue cotton pants, and a tuniclike shirt of the same material, that sort of gave that impression; her shoes were grey leather, ballet flats, soft and slipperlike. Her hair was up in a knot with a decorative hair broach of some sort protruding from it. Warrick thought how, without everyone who was beat up to think about--they were taken care of just for the moment--and with Catherine's first seeing Xiwangmu, Warrick was truly seeing all of her as well. She looked too young to do what she did, with the exception of the immobility of her face, maybe.
She came up to the big living room set, threading her way around until she was standing on the opposite side from Warrick and Catherine of the big, square, darkly varnished mahogany coffee table and its wave-patterned hand carving. "I have unfortunate news," she said. "The dissolving of resistances and restoration of normal flow to the channels was not complete."
"Greg said something like that," Warrick nodded, sighing and setting his hands on his hips, looking away for a moment. Catherine just said "Excuse me?"
"Ma'am," Warrick finally settled on, "Catherine doesn't know enough to know what that means. Only me, Nick's psychologist and our supervisor actually know what's going on, and why he needed this leave."
"I will explain," Xiwangmu said, and, without further ado, proceeded to do so. Catherine just stood there staring, not asking questions, though she shot the occasional look at Warrick to see what his reactions were to some of this. Warrick was definitely finding out things he hadn't known, but he was prepared to the point those things didn't rock him, so when Catherine saw his lack of reaction, she just let her eyes flick back in Xiwangmu's direction.
Xiwangmu explained with such facility--it was as though she'd prepared it, taking all the things into account that slow these things down; though Warrick knew she hadn't--he wasn't surprised Nick and Greg seemed to regard her as somewhat all-seeing. She knew what needed saying, how it should be put, where it should go in the course of the unveiling, and what could be left out entirely for the purposes of this particular explanation. It took maybe a minute and a half to two minutes to brief Catherine on everything she needed to know at the moment.
When she was done, Xiwangmu sank into one of the set chairs, and leaned back, closing her eyes.
Warrick had enough savvy by now to realize that couldn't be good. "You're exhausted," he said.
"I am drained, yes," Xiwangmu said quietly.
"Can we get you anything? Water, something to eat?" Catherine asked quickly, looking alarmed; she looked like she wanted to go around the coffee table and up to Xiwangmu, maybe check her vitals…but she stayed where she was, despite her skittish need to help.
"Water would be beneficial," Xiwangmu said, not opening her eyes. "Protein would also be welcome."
"We'll be right back," Warrick said. "Uh…are you lactose intolerant?"
Xiwangmu actually opened her eyes and raised an eyebrow at him.
Catherine hissed "Of course she is," and shoved Warrick ahead of her toward the path to the kitchen.
When they got there, Warrick got a tumbler from the cabinet and started to fill it; Catherine was leaning against the counter with her hands over her eyes, processing. It didn't take her long, though. When he shut off the water, she dropped her hands, came and took the glass. "I'll take it to her. You start looking for something high-protein and quick to prepare and eat that isn't the whey protein Nick keeps around here."
"Right," Warrick sighed as she scurried off. It was rare you saw Catherine scurry.
Opening cabinets, eyeballing the larder, he found soy protein; in the freezer, he found orange sherbet. He measured the soy protein into the blender--say thirty grams, Xiwangmu was awfully small, no matter how drained she might be--and then dumped in sherbet, drained a can of mandarin oranges, dumped those in too, and added ice. Then he hit "puree" and held on to the blender--which screamed bloody murder, as blenders are wont to do--keeping the lid on tight.
Catherine came back, of course, just as he was looking for something to pour his concoction into. He located a glass beer mug large enough, and as he was telling Catherine what was in the shake, poured it from the blender's pitcher into the mug.
"That's…probably a pretty good thing to give her, unless she hates orange," Catherine said, thinking over the ingredients. "Or is diabetic."
"If she can't drink it, you can. I bet it's delicious." The thick slushy stuff smelled good, hiding the soy protein smell under the orange. "I'll get some more specific instructions from her and make her something else if she doesn't want it."
He started cleaning up while Catherine fetched out the protein slushee/shake, and when she came back, she said "She wants you to make another one just like it to give to Nick's sister."
"Oh. Uh, so she's drinking it?"
"It was damn near halfway gone when I turned around to come in here. She says it has what they both --she and Nick's sister--need right now."
"Didn't know I was such a good guesser," Warrick muttered to himself, and stopped cleaning up and started making another orange protein slushee.
"I'll be out there--talking with her." She seemed uncertain as to whether Warrick expected help.
"Yeah, go," Warrick said, waving her on. "You should talk with her. You've gotta help me with them, and I barely know squat myself about what needs doing for them."
"Right," Catherine said, exiting the kitchen again.
***
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Date: 2008-08-29 09:11 am (UTC)Glad you like
Date: 2008-08-29 01:25 pm (UTC)I'm very glad you liked reading from his POV about all tha shit that's happening--he can't understand a lot of it, he just has to do what they ask and ignore the stuff he can't believe in (like Opal's spells) (the fact he doesn't take her seriously as a witch shows in his batwing comment to himself). He *had* to believe in what was happening earlier with Greg, because there was just no way it could be staged, and there was just no way Greg, whom Warrick happened to know what a bit weird but NOT crazy, would do that; besides, he said things that could only reasonably come from Nick ("Rick, stay with me") for one. Catherine will be more just "Okay, whatever; tell me what to do." She'll hear the words, she'll get the meaning, she'll do what she's asked, and the hell with whether anything's "real" or not. It's obviously real to Nick and Greg, and she decides that's all that matters, and when she isn't needed any more, she'll just forget that aspect of it, though she'll still be concernec with N and G.
I guess you didn't really need a big-ass analysis; I suppose that was more for me. Sorry! I need to think things out sometimes.
Anyway, I'm very glad you liked the installment; I didn't think anyone would. BTW, we had to forgo your banner; until I don't have to have soeone else post, it's much simpler with only plain text. I'm sorry about that becaus I miss the banner. I just wish I could see it once as it was meant to be seen, but it's my monitor, and I have to convince my father to take me to the doctors I need to see again; he's not going to want to buy me a new monitor. I'll have to wait on that, but I've used monitors where I had to go to high contrast, those super-bright settings, just to see what I was doing; this one is still better off than that, though I have it on large letters on everything, like the buttons and the toolbars and such.
Shutting up now. I hope your head is okay, and your daughter is well. Is she learning any new languages yet?
Thank you again,
Meisaal
Re: Glad you like
Date: 2008-08-29 01:36 pm (UTC)I agree with you so much on your interpretation of Warrick and Catherine. :-) And I do love those characters, but as love stories goes, I like Nick and Greg. But that doesn't mean I don't like the other characters as well... Actually, one of my favourit 'scenes' are those where Warrick deals with Nick and Greg being a couple. :-)
I am fine today! I have one of those few rare really good days (when it comes to headaches anyway.)
Well, my daughter should learn her first language first before starting on a second! :-) She's only 2 year old (and one month) so she doesn't speak much yet. But she is learning many new words each day. She us pointing at things all day and looking atus for telling her what it's called, and then she say it... and it comes out in all different ways. :-) You kind of need a totally new dictionary to understand her. But I actually understand most of what she is saying. :-)