5055034455 | [exsilium] contact

That's good news, at least. But it's obviously not nothing if it landed you in the hospital. How long have you been there & who took you?

I dunno. Dates aren't really my thing. And nobody did. I just went to see if they had some antacids or something and they told me to stay.

Does anyone else know where you are?

Like who? My mom's not around to worry. And someone's watering my plants.

IDK, like your roommates??

I'll be there in 5 mins.

He knows. And the other one just wants to eat my soul so I try to never tell her where to find it. Not going anywhere don't worry.

[Saul's already talking as he steps into Stan's room, though his gaze is still focused in his tablet as he taps out a few more messages to God knows who.]

Lisbeth may be a ginger, but she doesn't want to eat your soul.

[And then he looks up, fixing Stan with a critical stare.]

Where's your chart?

[Blink. That's not even a weird greeting for Saul, as far as Stanley can guess from their interactions so far. But it still gets a bit of a dazed look. Yep, he sure is stoned in the hospital.]

I dunno. Probably at that big thing with the nurses? But I think they only give them to doctors.

[As for Lisbeth, you haven't seen the way she looks at him across a room, dude. He's not taking his chances. Or telling you that, because you seem to be On A Mission at the moment and it's never smart to fuck with ambitious people. They get Ideas.]

[Saul always has Ideas. He frowns, looks around the room, then leaves.

~HOLD MUZAK~]

[That was a short visit. Whatever. Stan just watches him go, wordlessly, nd slumps against the pillow again. Lame.]

[About five minutes later, Saul is back, holding — surprise! — something that looks suspiciously like a patient's chart. And, as before, his attention is on it and not Stan, but he's talking anyway.]

It's amazing what people will believe.

[He flips a page over.]

So were you just not eating, or what? Because I don't understand how my son [Stan's following, right? he sees what's happening?] can wind up in such bad shape.

Does it say that? Man, I keep asking for food and they're only giving me ice chips.

[This is a pretty great injustice, if his chart happens to say that he hasn't been eating. Which isn't totally true, but it's not totally wrong, either. He's just been eating poorly. No one ever wanrs you that's kind of a big deal, you know?

As for that whole "son" thing, he's so not touching that. After the initial moment of looking around for Jesse or someone and then realizing that Saul was still talking to him, Stanley leaves it alone besides a quirked eyebrow. You get to sell that one on your own, lawyer man.]

Malnourished, deficient, dehydrated — oh, here's a good one! Binge drinking! That's news to me.

[With a flick of his wrist, he tosses the chart onto the bed near Stan's legs. Saul might not be Stan's dad, but boy, does he have a dad look on his face right now.]

So the combination of this and the mention of a will a few weeks ago has me a little concerned. What the hell is wrong with you?

[He's not surprised to see the chart thrown like that, nor at the "what the hell is wrong with you?" That's all pretty standard when he screws up. The mention of concern gets another eyebrow quirk, though. That's a new one. Is it like a guilt trip tactic or something?]

I don't binge drink...a lot...usually. Anyway, it's not whatever you're thinking. I'm not-

[Jesse he almost says, but stops himself in time. He's pretty sure he's not supposed to know about that. Or guess at it, anyway.Stanley shrugs.]

I'm not suicidal, alright?

[That was a damn good catch, Stan, because Saul was already bristling in anticipation of that response. And yet he still looks annoyed, eyes narrowed.]

Yeah, you better not be.

[He's so good at dealing with things like this.]

How hard is it to take care of yourself?

[Of all things, it's that one which gets the guilty response. He's not sorry for partying too hard or for freaking you out, dude. But he is ashamed that he can't seem to just figure out how to live without adult supervision like the rest of the entire city has. His features soften out, sadness breaking through the usual indifference.

Stanley is used to screwing up, he's used to getting things wrong and getting into bad spots. But his mom used to be around to at least make sure his basic needs were met. And frankly, it turns out he is total shit at doing that for himself. Tony would give him hell for it if he were here now. How hard is it to take care of yourself? Pretty fucking hard, man. But he can't say that. It's not hard for anyone else.]

It's just the flu.

[Seeing that look on Stan's face is a little surprising, but it's not enough to keep Saul from tapping the chart, hard, with an index finger.]

Do me a favor and pretend, just for ten seconds, that you don't think I'm an idiot. I wasn't making up what I just read, and you know it. This is what happens when people treat themselves like shit.

Okay Dad, I'll make sure to be home for dinner more often.

[Sulky teenager achieved. He slumps down on the pillow and gives the wall a dirty look.]

Is that what it'll take to get you to eat properly? Seriously, I'll do it. I cook for Lee and Remy anyway. You can come over.

[He's 100% serious.]

You know how to cook?

[It's like a magic trick. And it's one that Stan regards with immediate interest. His stomach actually growls just at the suggestion of a real meal. At home it was never a concern, the cafeteria had lunch and his mom always made dinner. If he woke up in time, there was cereal or whatever around for breakfast. Food was always so easy.

Here, it was tough. It wasn't just around anywhere, aside from Jesse's cookies. Which he'd eaten plenty of, made himself half sick on chocolate chips and sweet bread. But it hadn't occurred to him that someone around might know how to cook for real, or be willing to include him at a dinner table. He's more than a little surprised by the offer.]

Of course I know how to cook.

[He sounds so offended.

Mock-offended.

Three ex-wives — you bet your ass he eventually learned how to cook for himself. Necessity is the mother of many things.]

When they discharge you, you can come over and I'll make you dinner. Or lunch, if it's lunchtime. Or — whatever, I'll make you whatever you want regardless of what time it is, as long as you eat it. Deal?

Deal.

[What's his face doing right now? It must be new and weird for Saul, but yep, that's a smile. Stanley is pretty psyched at the offer of a home cooked meal as a reward for getting out of the hospital. He's totally going to kick some flu ass.]

Can you do pasta? Spaghetti and meatballs?

[Oh, huh. So that's what it looks like when Stan's not pretending to not care about things!]

Spaghetti, yes. Meatballs, also yes, but I don't really trust the meat in this place. A steak is one thing, but ground meat? Eh.

It's cool, they know me in the hospital now. Bet they'll hook me up with another sweet IV drip if I get like rat poisoning.

[Just like that, back to joking around.]

[That's a relief. If people can joke around, they're okay. So Stan is okay.]

Don't push your luck, kid.

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