scurlock | oom: barlow estate (4)

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oom: barlow estate (4)

It's been a handful of days since Sunday, and the week indeed has been busy. Jay's been keeping himself busy, with the work Samuel has been giving all of them to get things ready for the harvest. He's falling into an easy enough routine, odds and ends here and there, checking on things, repairs or working with the stock.

He's out in a far field, surveying the crop, taking notes and doing a bit of figuring with numbers. He's got that notebook open to a fresh page and a stub of a pencil in his fingertips, the reins resting slack in his lap as he and Cortez sit still.

"Fifteen...carry the two..."

Jay glances up at the crop again and then quietly chirrups to the horse to get him moving, eyes falling back down to the paper once more.

"Carry the two and then multiply by eighty-five..."

The rabbit bolts out of a burrow and streaks across the thin, worn grass in front of the horse, and barrels straight into a patch of resting birds. Little things, picking down at a fallen corncob, but when the rabbit charges through there's a flutter of wings and angry chirping as they take flight.

"Seven...what the hell--"

Cortez startles and rears back on his hind legs, leaving his rider scrambling for a hold (and missing the horn with the sudden shift of weight) briefly before he hits the dirt, landing hard on his left side and smacking his head into the ground.

"Jesus Goddamn Christ..."

Everything is starred behind his eyes and his shoulder hurts, his lungs scrambling to breathe in oxygen after slamming so hard into the ground. He knows he knocked the wind out of himself, and he flops onto his back and stares at the brilliant Texas sky overhead, an endless blue, as he gasps for breath.

You're okay, Doc. You're okay. Just breathe. Easy. Breathe.

Eventually, after a few minutes of lying still, he sits himself upright - cradling his left side with his right hand as he does so - and then looks at Cortez. Or, looks for Cortez.

The horse is nowhere to be seen.

"...dammit!"

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"Yeah."

As they walk up into the house, he kicks his boots a little against the steps to get some of the dust off, and the same goes for his hat, which he tugs off his head and then smacks against his pants.

"Knocked my head pretty good too," he admits. "But I ain't bleedin', at least, hat was 'tween me and the ground."

Katherine glances up, allowing a bit more worry to shine through, as she examines his head. His hair is dirty, sweaty from the midday heat and leather of his hat, but she sees no telltale signs of blood. She nods slowly.

"We'll get you settled down, then I'll take a look, all right?"

She leads him to the kitchen, pausing in the dining room to pick up a wooden chair. "Henry?" she calls, letting the name echo through the house. She hears a distant, answering call, and beckons him to her.

Setting the chair in the middle of the kitchen, she instructs Jay to sit, and begins unbuttoning her cuffs and rolling up her sleeves.

He sits, as instructed, and leans forward a little in the chair to scrub a hand over his face - his good 'hand', so to speak - before he settles back, shifting his gun belt on his hips just slightly to get comfortable.

Everytime he moves his left arm, he cringes slightly, but he sets his jaw and keeps his mouth shut from yelping.

"Appreciate you takin' a look, Miss," he says quietly, voice just a bit tight.

"Don't mention it," she murmurs, watching his face carefully each time he shifts and settles.

Henry enters the room cautiously, and Katherine quickly fills him in. He nods, and asks Jay himself about where he's experiencing discomfort, and how he fell.

"Miss Katherine, could you fetch some water from the pump? Get the stove goin' too, if you don't mind," he instructs gently.

She nods obediently, and hurries to do what he says.

"I wasn't hangin' on, was just finishin' up writing some notes down for later when a dang flock of birds got stirred up, Cortez hauled back an' I just went down. Landed on the back'a my shoulder, knocked the wind clear out of me..."

He continues to tell a few more details, trying to flex his arm.

"...hit my head real good, saw stars fer a minute or two but ain't dizzy now. Shoulder just don't feel right."

Henry nods along as Jay speaks, using his thumb to pull open his eyes a bit to check his pupils.

"Think you mighta broken something?" he asks.

"Too sore t'tell, honestly. Nothin' feels all that messed up, I think my shoulderblade would hurt more if I'd cracked it."

He allows Henry to look in his eyes.

"Might've pulled a couple muscles but it ain't all that bad, really. Just my arm hurtin' like hell."

Another nod.

"Think y'can get that shirt off?"

"Reckon so," he nods, moving to unbutton the shirt carefully, it takes him a few minutes longer since he's favoring his left hand, but they're in no rush.

Eventually, he peels out of the shirt, first freeing the right arm before he leans forward and tugs at his left wrist to pull the cuff over his hand. Once the shirt is off, he reaches up to touch his shoulder, fingertips grazing over the damaged flesh.

There's the scar on the outside of his bicep, from the bullet he took at Stinking Springs - the one he dug out with his knife and kept wrapped for two weeks before Kim stitched it closed, so the wound isn't as 'clean' as one would like. There's another on the front of his shoulder, just below the collarbone - that damn rifle slug he took in Lincoln, the day the war 'ended'. That one stayed open and bleeding for a few days until he first came to Milliways and Dr. Tam and Zhaan patched him up. And then there's the scar low on his stomach, flesh discolored from where the infection had killed off tissue and then the tough skin that had healed into the scar.

The night you almost died. She almost saw you die.

The back of his shoulder is scraped, red and raw, a few small cuts and what will later be bruises already starting to darken.

Henry's eyes travel over his bare skin carefully, taking note of each scar and scrape.

"Been in worse shape before, I can see," he murmurs, keeping his attention on the raw, pink flesh, rather than the gnarled white scars.

Carefully, he prods at Jay's shoulder and bicep, rotating his arm very cautiously, to get an idea of his range of movement.

"Yeah," he snorts quietly, amused. "Guess y'could say that," he grits out, closing his eyes when Henry pushes his arm a certain way that his body wants to protest. He inhales a deep breath and holds it, before he exhales through his nose.

"S'not wantin' t'go past where you-ah-ah-got it right there. Anythin' more'n that hurts like'a..."

Katherine re-enters the room with a pail of cold well water, and hesitates momentarily.

Because there is a half-naked man in her kitchen.

Her eyes go a bit wide before she remembers herself and blinks, demurely turning her blushing face away and moving towards the stove.

"Looks like it's come clean outta the socket," says Henry, grimly. "Gonna have to set it back 'gain. You all right with that?"

Katherine lights the stove and puts on the water to warm it, heart beating a little fast.

Edited 2009-01-22 06:02 (UTC)

"Don't have much choice, do I," he admits, with another little tight laugh, shaking his head. "That'll teach me t'trust that horse for five seconds on my own..."

He pulls in another deep breath and closes his eyes.

"Jus'gimme a minute t'git my head to stop spinnin'."

Henry winces sympathetically, before turning over his shoulder to motion Katherine near.

She quietly steps to the other side of Jay, hands clasped in front of her. An eyebrow goes up.

"Not necessarily the horse's fault," she says quietly. Half-teasing.

"No, it wasn't the horse's fault," he admits. "Was my own fault for not keepin' my eyes on what was in front of him, just got scared by some critters. Nobody's fault. S'why they call 'em 'accidents', right?"

After a minute or two, he opens his eyes again and glances up at Henry.

"You done this 'fore?"

He has - from Henry's position, of course - but never has he had his own shoulder reset.

"Ain't a worry," says Henry, though he doesn't bother to clarify just what exactly he's commenting on.

"Miss Katherine, just hold him steady when I push, would you?"

He has one hand on Jay's shoulder, and the other curled gently around his forearm, keeping his arm bent at roughly a 90-degree angle.

Eyes skating up to Jay's face, he nods once, as if to say, 'All right, son. Brace yourself.'

Jay shifts his right foot and hooks it around the chair leg to brace himself against the chair, then he nods slightly.

'Ready as I'll ever be.'

He does his best to relax his left arm and shoulder - the muscles aren't quite right either, but he knows it'll be easier if he isn't tense - and curls his hand into a fist.

Another hard, sharp exhale.

"Go."

Katherine looks mildly uncomfortable with her hands on Jay's bare shoulder, but she holds him steady nonetheless, her touch tender, and steadies her own self.

Henry nods once more and angles Jay's arm -- no doubt it hurts like hell -- and pushes, not wishing to prolong the pain any longer than necessary.

Eventually, he can feel a pop as the Humeral Head slips back into place.

He ducks his head and hisses as he inhales (tensing up, involuntarily) when Henry flexes the arm outwards, working the shoulder back into the joint.

ow ow ow fucking mother of fuck almost there

Jay exhales a breath he wasn't aware he was holding and nods rapidly, pitching forward with relief when the joint finally is back in the correct alignment.

"Oh thank god. Yeah," he nods a little more. "Y'got it."

Henry nods too, relief written across his own features as he checks the joint one last time.

"Yeah, you're gonna be right as rain," he mumbles, trying on a little smile. "Sorry if I hurt ya -- tried t' make it as quick as possible."

Those scrapes, too, look like they sting something awful.

Katherine still looks mildly concerned, her hand instinctively smoothing Jay's hair down the back of his neck as she just gives him a moment to breathe.

"Feels a heck of a lot better now that it ain't out of place. I 'preciate it," he adds. "Y'didn't hurt me, just..wasn't the most comfortable thing I've ever done."

He keeps his eyes closed as her hand runs down his hair and the back of his neck.

(It's a familiar touch. More comforting than she realizes.)

"Yeah," Henry agrees, his hand gently on Jay's newly reset shoulder. His expression is still sympathetic. "You'll be all right. Let me go get some clean wraps for them cuts of yours, though. Miss Katherine will lend you a hand in cleanin' them up."

He pats his shoulder very carefully, then straightens and leaves the two of them.

Katherine moves to the stove and checks the water, pulling the pot from the cast iron heat, and setting it nearer Jay's feet.

He lifts his eyes once she steps away.

"Y'gotta rag I can use t'wipe these clean, Miss Barlow?" He inquires quietly, fully intending (though he knows she's going to shoot him down) to clean the wounds himself the best he can.

"I surely do," she says quietly, dipping her hand (and said rag) into the warm water.

She looks up sternly.

"But you just sit yourself still and let me worry about cleaning them up, you hear?"

A somewhat sheepish smile crosses his face.

"If you insist, I would appreciate that, then," he nods slightly. "And I promise to sit myself still and behave."

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