you're welcome 2

He could only guess that Mr. L had been waiting for him, because he surely couldn’t have made it to the rec room by himself, not with the blood in his eyes and the vertigo that spoke of a concussion.

“I can’t carry you by myself, Chunks, “Mr. L griped as they paused for a breath, “You’re going to have to walk a little by yourself.” He shifted O’Chunks’ arm, trying to take some weight from his shoulders. “Come on, “he coaxed, “the couch is right there.”

O’Chunks groaned, but made a token effort to straighten. Together they tottered forward a few steps before O’Chunks slumped again- just in time to be tipped onto the futon. Panting, Mr. L sat down beside him.

“What did they do to you?” He huffed.

O’Chunks tried to mumble out an answer, but he wasn’t sure if it came out clearly over his pounding headache. The room still spun around him.

Mr. L sighed and then pushed off the couch. “Stay here,” he paused, “Okay, you can’t move, but don’t hurt yourself even more. I’ll go get some… stuff.”

O’Chunks closed his eyes against the revolving room and heard footsteps slowly fading into the ringing in his ears.  When he opened them again, Mr. L was in front of him with a grimace on his face.

“Come on, follow your own advice,” He said. Something wet was dabbed against his forehead, and Mr. L pulled the cloth away to scowl at the red upon it. “You’re not supposed to sleep with a concussion, right?”

He tried to close his eyes, but winced as Mr. L tapped his cheek. Waves of pain radiated over his skull.

“Sorry,” Mr. L said, not sounding sorry, but his voice was gentle as he murmured, “Don’t fall asleep again, okay?”

He continued cleaning the Irishman’s face, making his way up his head. The cloth touched something, sending a bolt of pain down O’Chunks’ body and forcing him to groan. Mr. L’s eyes widened.

“What is this…?” He murmured, moving closer. A second bolt, like lightning and O’Chunks made the effort to reach up and grab Mr. L’s hand. His fingers closed around the mechanics wrist.

“There’s something in wound, okay?” Mr. L said, glancing down at his face.  “I’ve got to get it out.  Look, I’m-“  He slipped his hand easily out of the man’s grasp and put down the cloth, instead picking up a pair of tweezers and holding them in O’Chunks’ field of vision. “I’ll make it quick. “ He promised. “Grab something. The armrest?”

O’Chunks shook his head no, ignoring the pain it brought and moved away as Mr. L brought the tweezers close.

“Oh come on, “Mr. L said, exasperated. He easily grabbed O’Chunks hand as it came up again. “Stay still.” He curled his fingers firmly around the hand, forcing it to stay down. He then leaned in, ignoring O’Chunks weak protests.

It took all of his willpower not to thrash as Mr. L began to extract the object. He could only grit his teeth and he squeezed Mr. L’s hand hard. Mr. L grunted, but otherwise said nothing- and then it was over.

He opened his eyes and focused them long enough for him to look at it; it was a green, plant-like object that hung limp between the tweezer’s teeth.

Mr. L had a look of disgust as he studied the strange piece of debris.

“You wanna keep it?” He asked, then said, “Oh, no, you probably wouldn’t. “ He wrapped it in a piece of gauze and stuffed it in his pocket.

With the object removed, his head felt much clearer, O’Chunks noticed. He blinked and began to straighten, Mr. L helping him with a hand under his arm.

When he had sat up, Mr. L moved back and eyed him. ”You with me, chunky?”

O’Chunks nodded. He didn’t quite feel up to talking. His gaze moved downward, to the mixed mass of medical supplies all dumped onto the couch beside him. He looked at Mr. L and raised an eyebrow.

Mr. L shrugged. “I couldn’t find the first aid box, so I just grabbed what was in the cabinet.“ He paused, and looked above O’Chunks head. “Hey, lean down. “

O’Chunks ducked his head, and waited as the smooth whisp of the cloth swiped over it, and then something firm was placed against the wound. It stung, but not nearly as much as it had before.

 “A band-aid.” Mr. L said as O’Chunks straightened. “It was still bleeding a little bit. “

“Thanks,” O’Chunks said, his speech coming out slightly slurred. Mr. L eyed him with a grimace.

“Maybe I should get Nastasia,” He said, sounding uncertain. “You really don’t sound good.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” O’Chunks said. “I think I will. “ His speech became clearer as he spoke, and as he shook his head, he found the action didn’t bring nearly as much pain as it did earlier.

“Are you sure?” Mr. L said an odd note of concern in his voice. “I can get Nastasia, she’s probably better at this stuff anyway.  Does it hurt anywhere else?”

“No,” He said, mentally checking himself and finding it to be true. “I’m fine. “ He reached up to touch his head, only to have his hand slapped away.

“You’re going to make it bleed again!” Mr. L scolded, then paused. His voice suddenly turned hard. ”Look, I only helped you because I owe you, alright? So debt fulfilled.  We’re even. Don’t expect me to do this again.”

O’Chunks looked at the scowling man beside him and read between the lines. He smiled. “Right. I won’t.”

“Good.”  Mr. L said, and after a pause, sighed and heaved himself off the couch. “Right. I’m going back to my workshop. I was going to work on Bro-bot today, you know.” He glowered.

“I could help you,” O’Chunks offered.

A brief look of surprise flickered across Mr. L’s face before he replaced it with a scowl. “No, you wouldn’t know what you’re doing, “he deflected. “Besides. Nastasia. Report. Remember?”

He hadn’t. “Oh yeah. I guess I’ll see you after then?”

“Maybe.” Mr. L agreed.  “Need me to walk you to her office?” The usual sneer was present as he spoke, but not as vicious as before.

“I’ll be fine,” O’Chunks said, again not rising to the bait. “We’ll see each other later, right?”

Mr. L gave a stiff nod, turned, and walked towards the door. O’Chunks looked down at his blood-covered hands, and shuddered- the sight was all too familiar. He would wash his hands before seeing Nastasia.

“O’Chunks?”

O’Chunks looked up and saw Mr. L standing at the exit, his face a blank mask.

“Thanks. For uh, earlier, I mean.”

Then he ducked out the doorway, his footsteps fading down the hall. O’Chunks realized he was grinning.

The great, arrogant Green Thunder saying thank you. He should put that in the report.