The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

The Audience, pt. 2

"Here, treat this conspirator as just as dangerous as the other one. We'll see how appreciative his 'friend' is now that their plot fell through."

Able raised his eyebrow at Reeve's theatrics, but held his tongue. He supposed it might be a sign of stress. He found himself being shoved into a cell and the heavy wooden door slamming behind him. Lark had apparently already made himself at home, sprawled on the cot in the corner. He raised his eyebrows and said,

"And you didn't tell a fast one to save yourself because..?"

"The truth had a better chance of saving us both." Able unwrapped the medical supplies he had been handed and came over to Lark's side.

"Aw," Lark's face melted into a wobbly grin. "You shouldn't have. They won't let me stay here long."

"Let me see your arm," Able knelt down and set the items in a row.

"You know what you're doing with that?" Lark asked dubiously of the needle that Able had just produced.

"You want to do it yourself with your left hand? Let me see if you even need it." He did. The cut was quite deep, although at least it looked clean and straight. The bleeding had slowed significantly, picking up again only now that he was disturbing the wound. He selected the vial of vodka and set about trying to clean it, impressed as ever with Lark's ability to bear pain.

"Think I'll bleed a little longer over settling for a jagged scar," Lark put in tightly, between controlled breaths.

"You can't be serious," Able groaned and started thinking of how to bypass Lark's stubbornness this time.

"It's my arm, and I don't want you making it ugly, nothing against you and your lack of medical training, 'kay?"

"I'll have you know I served as medic when I was with an specimen acquisition expedition in Karrig, but if you insist, I'll only wrap it." Oh, that worked. Lark's mouth twitched and his face scrunched up in thought.

"How did that go?"

"Mostly I treated snake bites," Able shrugged, "but I know how to suture." He did not mention that he had only practiced this technique on oranges. When the professor had announced that he wanted at least one of the students to train prior to shipping out, the others had all looked at Able, the one of the lowest social class. Their loss.

"Well..." Lark did not seem convinced nor comfortable. "If it really needs to be done..." He offered his arm to Able, who took his hand instead and patted it.

"I do not think you're silly for worrying about an ugly scar, all right? It is your arm, and I will treat it with respect."

"Okay," Lark's smile was deeply reassured and warm.

All things considered, this cut was perfect for a first attempt. Able took it slowly, sighting the center several times before he put the first stitch in. Lark was torn between wanting to see what Able was doing and finding himself unable to watch. By the time Able was on the third stitch, he had settled for staring at the wall while he worked his feet nervously.

"Sorry it went down like that," he said after a while. "I mean, you thought it might...so thanks for helping me try anyway."

"It's my own fault for ignoring my own good sense, isn't it?" Able smiled as he kept working. "After all, hope is a well-known fallacy, and I had all the tools at my disposal necessary to defeat it."

"I'm glad you chose to hope, then," Lark smiled at the wall.

"However...you didn't tell me you were so certain Adeptson would remember you because you had broken his knee."