[e]verything burns.

[&Ismirshalen]

"Une canne," he replied, watching the Frenchman's reaction to viewing the garishly pink atrocity. The utter look of horror that came over his face was too much. Or maybe it was just that Ismirshalen was extremely tired and was starting to finally realize what he had done. Or maybe it was the idea of Dr. DeVrais trying to walk with thing, which was obviously too short [who knows what the imbecile was thinking when he bought it].

Whatever the cause, Ismirshalen started shaking uncontrollably with laughter. He even giggled out loud. It was perhaps the most appalling noise in the world besides my brother speaking. It took him several minutes to calm himself down, and even then his hands were still twitchy. His face was now red with embarrassment. Lovely. If the therapist had been starting to doubt the British man's sanity he had good reason to now.

"Vous ne aimez pas?" He took the cane in his hands and displayed it to Dr. DeVrais. "Vous voulez il avec des fleurs?" He was starting to scare himself. Maybe he should seriously lay off the coffee for a while. Doubting his sanity [and probably also his masculinity] he withdrew the cane and stared at it blankly for a few minutes.

"Bloody brilliant," he exclaimed sourly. His face darkened along with his mood. What was he, secretly bipolar? He needed to be slapped right about now.

[VinnNAY]

It wasn’t so much that Vincent was angry at Ismirshalen as he was scared shitless of the pink stick that was right next to him. He could only look in horror as Ismirshalen picked it up. No gloves.

Izzy’s dreadful laughter brought all of the horrors of yesterday finally crashing down on him. Not only couldn’t he walk but he’ll be doing everything fifty percent less efficiently. And when he got a migraine he would be doing it seventy percent less efficient. He calculated this in head calmly not so long ago but the mocking laughter was scaring him and he felt like he was about to cry like the guard did when all the kids laughed at him. He wasn’t even really laughing at him. Was he? No. he definitely was.

Vincent watched at the man’s insane amusement died down into something of pure anguish. He bit his lip and was starting to go from terrified of him to feeling sorry for him. He was still shaky. Whether that was the medication or that he was just shot in the head or that the man was truly that scary or all of those together was unknown but he was trembling. And he figured he knew why the man was suddenly so despondent. He was going to do something about that… But for now…

Vincent yanked out the thing from his arm, surprised he has become used to it, and got up from the bed one legged...

And hugged Ismirshalen.

“How much was the cane?” He asked through bloody shirt.

[&Ismirshalen]

Beyond the view of the eerie pink cane [even he was now starting to realize just how frightening the thing was, and was doubting his reasoning for buying it right that moment] he could see that the therapist was trembling. A wave of torment traveled over the brunet as he saw him do so. It was all because of the stupid cane, wasn’t it? This happened whenever he tried to get someone a present. This had happened whenever he'd tried to get his wife a present. Thinking about his wife made him feel even worse. The two people who'd ever given a shit about him and he had given them both horrifying presents. What was his problem? Didn’t he have any taste? Couldn’t he be trusted with a wallet full of cash?

His thoughts had become suddenly so clouded full of these distressing thoughts that he wasn’t at first quite sure what was going on with Dr. DeVrais as he pulled out his IV needle. He blinked his blue eyes in surprise, started to warn the man to stop before he hurt himself even more than he already was--

But was interrupted when suddenly the therapist embraced him.

Shock prevented him from moving anywhere or even trying to escape the Frenchman's grasp. At first he just stared straight forward and at the opposite wall of the room, feeling the damaged man's warmth ooze into his own flesh. The words he had been about to utter before were still caught in his throat, but now all he could do was choke back on them. His brows furrowed together tightly with the sudden rush of emotion that overcame him. He couldn’t seem to find a happy medium between wanting to rip the guy off of him in anger and surprise and wanting to start bawling his eyes out.

He put his head down on the guy's shoulder and tried to keep from crying.

"Seventy," he mumbled through Dr. DeVrais's shoulder. "And… and…" He trembled. "I gave the rest of the money to some penniless git on the side of the road. W'hat's wrong with me?!"

The door flew open with a whoosh of air, and into the room walked the doctor. Right at the most dreadful moment in the universe. A jolt of terror and surprise and anger [at the doctor, not at the therapist] caused Ismirshalen to jerk up from his chair and spastically help the therapist back to a sitting position on his bed. He could feel his face smoldering. The doctor had this smug look on his face that was immediately hateful to the Englishman. It said 'I told you so!'

"W'hat the bloody Hell!" he exploded, gripping his own cane with such ferociousness that his already quite defined knuckles stood out bone-white against his nearly transparent skin. "Don't you people bloody knock before you just barge in?!" Without remembering how he had gotten there, he was suddenly looking down at the man's face and gripping him by his tie.

The doctor apparently had an issue where he just felt the need to piss off people who looked like they indulged upon too much Botox, or maybe he was just underpaid. Or both. Whatever the reason, the effect was the same. The doctor's own face took on bright tomato tones, and with spittle flying he shoved a monstrous stack of papers into the British fuck's arms hard enough to send him landing on his ass.

"OUT. I WANT YOU BOTH BLOODY OUT OF THIS HOSPITAL BY TODAY'S END." he huffed angrily. Before the ass-sore man could make a smartass reply the other had already slammed the door. Some papers that Izzy hadn't managed to get a hold of flew around him like chicken feathers and landed all over his head and body. One of his eyebrows was twitching spastically and wouldn’t stop. His tailbone felt like it had broken off. Squinting in pain, he looked at the title of one of the papers.

"It's a list of Dos and Don'ts," he said shakily, gathering all the papers and getting up. He smoothed down his hair frantically with a flabbergasted expression on his face. Trying to regain his composure in front of the therapist. He made an attempt to smile. He really should just not smile.

"Uh. First one. Um. Oh. Ah… No alcoholic beverages." As he said this he felt his face screw up into a grimace, realizing what he had just read. "Oh, brilliant." Eyebrow wouldn’t stop twitching.

[VinnNAY]

Vincent was feeling woozy after he pulled the IV out of his arm and was beginning to fall asleep on the British man he was currently squeezing softly. He probably could have if what the other said didn’t horrify him so much and if they weren’t both so boney. There wasn’t any time for the newfound information to sink in completely due to the fact that as soon as the door swung open Izzy had managed to unlatch Vincent from his previous position back onto the starched white bed. He wasn’t sure how to react to that. Was he that embarrassed or was there something going on between him and the doctor? These questions were answered once the British men started getting physical. He could only watch dumbfounded as the two men started fighting. A prime example of a good reason to be scared of Ismirshalen. He would have said something therapisty if it wasn’t for the fact that he was still contemplating a way to get home before he had a conniption and strangled the guard. British people… Vincent shook his head at the thought.

Vincent was disgusted how he pretended that nothing had just happened between him and the doctor. He even had an livid look on his face which had started near the end of the fight and continued silently even after he listed the first step of suck off of the list. His piercing black eyes didn’t falter or remove their target from the other man.

“Can I smoke?”

[&Ismirshalen]

Head buried in the papers to provide a good shield and reason not to look at the therapist, Ismirshalen scanned them for anything on smoking. After flipping through several pages he started to notice that the stuff was the same. When he looked at the top of every two sheets he could see where it said 'No alcoholic beverages'. His hands trembled at the edges of the paper. Imaginary puffs of steam were roiling out from his ears. The doctor had given him about twenty or so copies of the same exact thing. Cursing, he slammed all of the stack but the two sheets he actually needed onto the room's only table. The wooden surface trembled under his force. He could feel his heart racing in his chest at a speed that normally only came from running. Red blurred his vision. Feeling suddenly off balance and nausiated, he continued to lean on the table, breathing heavily until his head cleared enough and heart gave him a break. Caffeine. How many mugs of coffee had he had that morning?

"No…" he finally muttered in response, happening to glance in the man's direction as he said so. The cold look Dr. DeVrais was giving him didn’t allow him to retract his gaze. Ismirshalen felt his heart turn to a stone in his chest. His face was still flushed with anger from when he had just lost it again with the papers, but now it became considerately paler. The Brit leaned back against the wall and gritted his teeth. Feeling extremely out-of-control. He was starting to become afraid of how hard it was to keep his emotions in check lately.

"W'hat?" he asked, feeling cornered by the man's black gaze. He had a feeling he knew what. He just needed someone other than himself to spit it in his face. Fortunately for him no one in the hospital could do that action better than the Frenchman before him. "He… I… got angry."

[VinnNAY]

[[Sorry, short post. Let's get this going somewhere. Izzy can either tell Vincent all his problems or push the plot forward.]]

No smoking. People were taking all of his drugs away from him. What was he going to do now? Play the piano? Bah.
“D’accord… mais…” Vincent started with his ample eyes relaxing a bit and becoming more conquered by other emotions he was currently feeling. “Because ‘you got angry’ I… We must…” Vincent tried finishing. He was just angry at first but he quickly got over it. If he was connected to his wires like he was suppose to you would be able to see the heart rate declining. But mostly it was his fisted hands loosing tension and a hand coming up to his face that told you that he was loosing silent steam.

He needed to keep a better watch on this guy but if before he had perfect twenty-twenty vision and it showed to be challenging imagine how hard it would be now. The man was just one big emotional toddler and Vincent was the babysitter who went through ten years of vigorous university work.

“Ismirshalen, I can’t walk,” Vincent stated. Carry me you bastard.

[&Ismirshalen]

At first he was afraid that the therapist was actually going to explode at him. His black-eyed stare was bad enough. The blue-eyed Brit was sort of surprised that the Frenchman could hold his gaze, what with the fact that his own eyes tended to be a bit too intense looking, but in this case he was well matched. Black was even more intense than blue. While blue seemed to pierce your soul, black seemed to suck everything out of it. It made you feel like you didn’t have any secrets to keep.

Which he supposed was perfect in Dr. DeVrais's case considering his profession.

Ismirshalen's posture visibly relaxed when he saw that the therapist was calming down and wasn’t going to eat his beautiful face off after all. Of course he was still incredibly wired. His brain was short-circuiting left and right, yay and nay, and he was full of a high intensity of emotion that he could not quite trace back to any node of output in the state he was in. He didn’t try to make sense of it either. He'd do that later. Whenever that was.

At the therapist's statement of disability, Ismirshalen immediately lurched into the action of folding the two papers up and putting them in his bloody shirt pocket, then picking up that hideous pink cane and hooking it onto his elbow. He wasn’t even going to try to make the therapist use that. No sense in making his already piteous state worse. He didn’t know how exactly he was going to get the man out of here though. He could wheel the bed down himself. He could… uhhh…

"Don't worry about that."

Ismirshalen was already at the Frenchman's side, and because he was lacking the time to properly think out a course of action he simply proceeded to hooking his arms under the man's knees and around his shoulder and lifting him up. Gritting his teeth, he made his way to the door, unable to utilize his cane as much as he wished to and suffering generously for it. His leg would hurt like a bitch later. That, children, is what painkillers are for.

Ten minutes later he had finally gotten them to the car. He felt like he'd just run around the world. In fact he had been hobbling like an old man [coincidence?]. When he settled down in his seat, it was like sitting on a cloud to him. Whoever had invented the chair was one genius bastard. However despite this minor fatigue it still took him a few minutes to realize he had his hands on the wheel and didn’t have a destination.

"So.. W'here are we going?" he asked. "I think we should go to the airport. Just cancel w'hatever you originally had planned." He bit his lip and gave Dr. DeVrais a nervous smile. He still didn’t know why they had even come to Oxford in the first place. He was certain the man wouldn’t make them come all the way over just to make him witness the destruction of his house.

He had no intention of figuring out the other objective of the journey.

[VinnNAY]

Vincent wasn’t sure if Izzy should drive. He wasn’t sure if anyone at all should drive (Vincent has been known to complain to the government that driving should be illegal). Or maybe he wasn’t sure that he should be with anyone who was in the process of driving. He was such a G-force wimp that he actually attached himself to Ismirshalen while he was manhandling him to the death trap (car). Vincent was convincing himself not to feel embarrassed about acting like that around Ismirshalen. He was a guard after all. He’s suppose to protect people from bad things like robbers, murderers, psychopaths, and gravity. (And besides, he smelt good) Sometimes he couldn’t understand why he failed so bad.

But it was too late to go back now. He was set in the car. No escape. It’s a terrible thought to be trapped without the usual rope or (fuzzy) handcuffs. He would always be trapped from now on. He leaned back on the car with his eyes closed after removing some very important papers he had with some very important information (Georg) in his bag. One good eye. One bad eye. He was trying to become comfortable before Izzy entered the overpriced car that he was going to need to pay for once they got back. As he was attempting comfort he remembered the noisy leather seats from hell. And leather was reminding him of cows. Cows in many countries are a sign for food. Which Vincent hadn’t had for the longest time and now that he thought of it, it really didn’t bother him all that much (Sugar free hospital lollipops. A weakness of his that he didn‘t count as food). After a certain stage of hunger you become no longer hungry. It can make you tired, though. Which wasn’t good for a broken, underweight, healing man.

«Ismirshalen, let’s go see Georg,» Vincent begged, tilting his damaged head to view the guard and weakly tossing the stack of papers to the British man. «S'il vous plaît?»

[&Ismirshalen]

Ismirshalen winced when the stack of papers was tossed to him. As if it were a stack of explosives instead. It might as well have been. He stared at the tree-made surface with unseeing eyes. Trying to get himself to understand what the Frenchman had just told him to do. He must have heard wrong. He blinked a few times in rapid succession to bring the papers into focus. The name written across the top confirmed the information.

The therapist had just given him Hell.

"You're kidding me, right?" he asked, his voice almost coming out as a whisper. His throat felt choked up. Looked at the underweight man next to him with a tortured face. "You're bloody kidding me…" Eyes snapped back to read the address printed onto the page. If this was a joke, it was a very well planned joke. Not to mention it was far from funny. It wasn’t a joke.

Moving like a robot, he started the car's engine and pulled out of the hospital. Working his way towards their destination in an appalled silence. Taking turns with the sharpness of a right angle. He had noticed a while before that Dr. DeVrais did not like cars. He made no attempt to drive more gently. In his current predicament things like this were his idea of 'getting back' at the man. It was an extremely childish and extremely cruel thing to do, but although he knew this he could not bring himself to take it into account and make up for it.

Georg. Of all the people that had ever laid a hand on him with violent intent, why did it have to be that.. that monster that was chosen? That fiend had left such in impression on Ismirshalen's conscious that that face was what he saw in his nightmares, which happened to take up all of his dreaming world. He'd been caused so much pain by the man that he could even remember the sound of his own child screams. He could remember the other's laughter.

Laughter. The car sped through a red light.

Pulling at strings, he tried to get himself out from the fate that he was inevitably driving himself straight to. "Shouldn’t we eat, first?" he asked Dr. DeVrais, noting how emaciated he was looking lately. "You're probably starving." Of course, he couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm himself. If he ate now he'd simply lose it all when they got to Hell's doorstep.

Five minutes later they made it to the address listed on the paper. A rather classy looking apartment building was before them. Most likely renovated to suit the desires of those who would pay money for it. Ismirshalen killed the engine. Didn’t move from his seat for a few minutes, as he had become suddenly gripped by nausea due to worrying himself sick on the drive there. Finally he got out of the car, his safe haven, and once he helped the therapist out of the vehicle made his way to the apartment number listed on the sheets [this time he simply had the man lean against his side and limp on one foot]. He leaned against the wall opposite the door and stared at it with an expression approaching panic on his pallid face. He was unable to bring himself to knock.

"Please," he pleaded with Dr. DeVrais in a whisper. He gripped the therapist's arm with his bony fingers, clinging to him in his panic and trying and keep him from attempting to reach out and knock the door for him. "You don’t know w'hat you're doing!" Had so much damage been done to the other's brain that he'd now consider to commit such acts of insanity? Ismirshalen was terrified for himself, of course, but he also couldn't stand the thought of what the man behind this door might do to the therapist. He cared about the guy.

As much as he hated to admit it.

[VinnNAY]

«Please,» Vincent told the guard, blithely repeating what he had said to him. He stared him in the eyes that seemed so opposite from his own for a few seconds before turning to the door and knocking on it slowly «I know I am knocking,» Vincent ‘answered’ Ismirshalen’s statement telling him that he didn’t know what he was doing. However, in the back of his mind there was a dash of hesitation. It was like when someone said all of the terrible things demons will do to you in Hell if you don‘t repent. As everyone with a brain knew you were suppose to just ignore such silly things (Even if he was Catholic he still did the great sin of making love). Besides, how could a man with a name like Georg be as vicious as Ismirshalen was letting on. Well, it is a German name he figured silently, leaning on the other man, while he was waiting for the embellished door to respond.

The door was beginning the open. It was like slow-motion when something epic was about to happen in a tacky movie. Okay, he was more nervous than he thought. He could feel himself tensing up at the excitement of seeing the other’s face and was probably too close to Ismirshalen for comfort. Vincent was very good at making people feel uncomfortable on accident. The door finally opened and something was very off.

He was too pretty.