he'd trade his guns for love - open + hospital au

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[fancypost bgcolor=transparent; border: 0px; cursor: url("http://cur.cursors-4u.net/cursors/cur-6/cur572.cur"), auto;][fancypost bgcolor=transparent;border:0px;width:430px;height:auto;padding:0px;text-align:justify;line-height:110%;]Talia supposed it could've been worse. Instead of being hauled into the local police station from another violent protest, she was instead brought to the hospital to get her wounds checked— really, she wanted to scoff at it, but perhaps she should be more thankful. With the cut on her cheekbone checked, her knuckles treated, and the agonizing cut on her side stitched up, she got it pretty lucky. The others in the event weren't so fortunate. From what she could remember, it had become an all-out warzone, with two different sides trying to gain the upper hand and completely obliterating the streets. She wondered why on earth they didn't expect such a thing to happen?

When a politician proclaimed, in public, their absolute disdain, there would be a riot, that was for certain, so couldn't they have prepared better? They were incompetent, aloof, and Talia wasn't that surprised that she managed to get away from jail time by pulling a few strings of her own. No doubt, videos would surface about the unruly crowd who brought the people on the pedestal to their knees, cutting them back down to their own size and puncturing their overblown ego. Politicians were escorted from the scene with bruises and soiled jackets (and possibly drenched pants), and the authorities needed to bring out a fire hose just to get the crowd calmed.

She could remember, vaguely, how they made the caught kneel on the ground with their fingers laced behind their heads, shaking and shivering and lashed with their batons. Talia was thankful that she had not been one of them, but she felt for her rebellious brethren; they only wanted what was right, they only wanted to be free. She sighed, bringing the ice pack away from her throbbing cheek before squinting at the overbearing lights of the hospital. Her hazel eyes wandered, taking note of two others that seemed to have begun conversing, and she decided to speak up.

Her words were tentative, heavily-accented and coming out thick and swathed in her native tongue. "Je suis désolé. I do not want to interrupt, but... do you know what this City is?" She had gotten lost, and could not, for the life of her, get her bearings. She needed to tell her cousin where she was, so that she could be picked up and brought back to the safety of their shared flat. As she spoke, she leaned forward, blonde curls dancing across the plane of her collarbone and causing her to look down. Talia grimaced, noticing that she was still in her attire from the early morning— a white tank top speckled with blood, and torn black jeans that revealed several other lacerations. She must've looked like hell. "I, ah, don't quite know what hospital they brought me to."[/fancypost]
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[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=transparent; text-align: justify; width: 460px;]He just remembered the frantic voice of the mustached man he had loved like a father begging him to stay with them and the sirens from the ambulance. When he awoke he was in a blindingly white room. He tried to sit up the nurse told him not to and that she'll sit the bed up. When he felt the bed move he leaned back and closed his eyes. Why was he here again? He stared at his stomach and tilted his head. He wasn't wearing a hospital robe, he was shirtless besides his boxers and some sweatpants Geoff probably brought him. He was high off painkillers that's for sure. His stomach was wrapped in bandages, some parts stained with dried blood. Oh yeah.. He stabbed himself. His hands her wrapped as well, probably from when he drew the pillow at the mirror and the glass shattered and when he went to stand up he got glass shards in his palms.

He turned his head and saw the man with the mustache, Geoff, asleep. A bearded man, Jack, was beside him and he listened to his words, "He threatened one of the doctors that he'd kill them if they didn't let him stay in here with you." He.. He did that for him? His green eyes turned back to Geoff and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. "You really had him shaken up, Gavin. He actually couldn't stop crying until he fell asleep. We're glad you're okay." They were glad? They were actually happy he hadn't died? Well, to be honest he was too. Why had he done that? The hope that Michael was alive had faded and he thought.. He could see him again..

Michael. Had he heard and come to visit? Who knows. He furrowed his eyes and asked if he could walk around. The nurse obliged after a moment of him pleading. He gripped the pole and got out of the bed, taking out what cords that were stuck in him out besides the one connected to the bag on the pole. He began to take careful steps out of the white room and looked down the hall, baggy eyes staring at the others. He walked barefoot towards them and tried to shoot a small smile at them but the Brit just couldn't. Instead, Gavin sat down in a chair and leaned back, closing his eyes.

[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; text-align: justify;]Tsukishima still refused all the care and attention he received, but he couldn't do much since they restricted him each time. The first time he had come back, he was drunk and throwing up, his body bruised beyond believe and his face looking like it had gotten smashed into a door a few times. They had to drag him in, screaming and kicking and flinging specks of blood everywhere. It was a bar fight. An intense one, at that. It was four against one and Tsukishima was beyond drunk, so his four assailants had the upper hand. They pounded him into the ground and then left him to die, until someone called 911 and he was brought crying in. He was crying for Kuroo, for his boyfriend, for his few friends. He almost suffered a concussion, but he dodged that bullet by the skin of his teeth. There were just multiple cuts and some intense damage.

That was better than brain damage, right?

Ah, yet, that was a day ago now. He sat up in his bed, the I.V. in his arm as the nurse told him he had been cleaned up, stitched where he had to be stitched, and was going to wait with a few other patients to be taken home. At the sound of that, Tsukishima sighed. Home meant being in Kuroo's arms again. He laid down as they took his I.V. out, giving him a wrap and telling him his clothes were in the nearest bathroom, clean and folded. He nodded in acknowledgement.

Once he was dressed in what he had worn last night, which was a pastel sweater, a white collared shirt, khaki jeans and his regular converse, he made his way out to the waiting room through the doors and looked at everyone. He found a seat and sat down, his hand going to his side as he groaned under his breath. He had a slight limp to his walk, and his glasses were slightly cracked. Yea, the nurses and doctors told him they'd cover that. Tsukishima looked around at everyone, a sort of deadness to his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. His face was still bruised and slightly puffy around his cheeks, and he had a couple bandages, but other than that, he looked fine.

He wanted Kuroo. He wanted him to call, to let him know he'd come pick him up. He needed his boyfriend for some support right now. Tsukishima sighed and hid his head in his hands.