#what's a queue

Farrell had to admit he wasn’t completely sure how much of an effect the drugs Margo had told him to get would have. They were just what Manic’s doctor said he needed, so they were what Farrell had gotten. At most he’d expected Manic to at least be able to get some rest without his jaw being clenched, or fingers digging into the sheets. Enough that he could start on the mend and maybe be back home in another few weeks. And that tiny strain of hopefulness for that was what he held onto as Margo had injected the first dose into Manic’s IV line, keeping his own hand curled around Manic’s comparatively tiny fingers.

Manic’s eyes had already been closed, but Farrell was shocked when within seconds after the dose was administered the furrow in Manic’s brow vanished as he relaxed completely. At first it was somewhat alarming, watching Manic breathe a longer sigh and somehow sink further into the cushions below him. But as Farrell held his own breath and watched he could see that Manic was just asleep. Actually asleep. Not just hazed out into unresponsiveness, but falling into that deep slumber that Farrell was very familiar with. His head slightly lolled to the side, mouth slightly open showing a glimpse of that tooth gap. And more importantly the irregular, painfully shallow breaths forced in and out of his chest had stretched into longer, smoother and deeper inhales and exhales.