Work Text:
Ruth is pale as a sheet by the time she reaches Hospitality.
She’s still wearing that fur of hers, too.
Melanie fairly springs out of her seat when pale blonde hair flashes in the window; the door opens and Ruth steps through with her typical straight-backed posture and tight steps. There is blood smudged on her cheek, and her eyes are wide.
She comes to a stop, hands at her sides, snaps almost to attention in Melanie’s presence; only the elusive Mr. Wilford, Melanie thinks, would be afforded this same level of respect from his most dedicated employee. “The rebellion has been quashed, Melanie. Seven Jackboots lost, and about nine Tailies as well. Commander Grey has restored order.”
Melanie nods. “I’ll inform Mr. Wilford.” Her eyes flick to track a sudden movement, blood dripping from Ruth’s hand as it presses against her dress. The blue fabric has a spreading dark patch that appears almost purple. “Ruth, here, let me see.”
Ruth cocks her head, looks at Melanie with a blank expression.
“Your hand, Ruth; it’s bleeding.”
“Oh.” Ruth blinks, looks down at her sides, and then hesitantly lifts the injured hand to her face- she starts, surprised, and then rotates it so that Melanie can see the palm: A significant laceration has bisected it right down the middle.
She’s in shock, Melanie thinks as she steps forward and carefully takes Ruth’s hand, trying not to put any pressure on the actual injury. I don’t think she even felt it until I mentioned it.
Ruth makes a small noise of discomfort, grimacing as Melanie turns her hand. The wound is deep enough to need stitches, but Melanie neither wants nor needs Ruth to go hiking back towards the medical car without some level of tending first. She drops her hand and goes for a supply cabinet beneath the desk, unearthing a first-aid kit. Melanie motions towards the small lavatory in the corner. “Ruth, run your hand under the water for a second.”
She does so without a word, and doesn’t make so much as a single sound of discomfort as she rinses the blood away. The shock, Melanie thinks as Ruth returns to her, is starting to wear off, but her fellow Hospitality worker is still in a daze. Melanie takes her hand again, pulling out the disinfectant. “This is going to sting.”
Ruth squeaks a little bit as the disinfectant is applied, and as Melanie starts to wrap her hand.
“How did this happen?” Melanie asks, more to get Ruth to speak than anything else.
Ruth swallows thickly. “One of the Tailies went and took a swing at me as I was reading off Mr. Wilford’s instructions. Hardly necessary, I think- I’m only Mr. Wilford’s messenger, never heard of ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ I suppose.”
That would mean that Ruth’s hand has been bleeding for hours; no wonder she looks so pale.
“I want you,” Melanie says as she uses medical tape to pin the bandages in place, “to go to medical and have an actual doctor look at this. It’s probably going to need stitches. Stay there as long as you need, and then take this next day off.” She meets Ruth’s eyes, puts enough firm authority into it so that Ruth understands exactly how serious she is (no working, no dealing with the Folgers, no nothing except staying calm and resting). Ruth is as much a workaholic as Melanie is, in her own way, and will take liberties with this order unless otherwise instructed. “Got it?”
Ruth nods. Her gaze is a little clearer now, a little more connected than it had been before. “Are you certain Mr. Wilford will be alright with it?”
“I’m sure he will. It’s a matter of your personal health and safety.” A beat. “He deeply appreciates your work, Ruth. He won’t want you getting hurt.”
Ruth’s eyes well with tears- the happy kind, Melanie thinks. “Oh.”
The not-quite-a-lie lingers on Melanie’s tongue, bitter and repellent. The words are true in the sense that the person responsible for running the train appreciates Ruth’s service and wants her to be safe and healthy; they are a lie in that it is not the long-dead Mr. Wilford that runs Snowpiercer and oversees its inhabitants.
Melanie does not like lying to Ruth- affable, trusting, devoted Ruth.
But nothing can be done for it.
Melanie puts a warm hand on Ruth’s shoulder and smiles, tries to lessen her own gnawing guilt. “Take it easy tomorrow, okay? Look after yourself.”
Ruth nods, still a little teary and croaks, “I could give you the same advice, missy.”
Melanie chuckles. “I’ll be fine for now. Good night, Ruth.”
Ruth leaves, and Melanie’s shoulders sag.
She retreats to her quarters, and debates on how best to deal with the Tail.
-End