fandom_clinic | Clinic Hours - Thursday November 10th

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Clinic Hours - Thursday November 10th

Wilson was running a little late opening the Clinic today. The previous night had not been a good one, as if the nightmares that had stayed at bay for the past couple of evenings had rallied for one long punishing attack.

He'd been close to begging House for a Vicodin, he hadn't, though it had been a near thing.

In the cool light of the autumn morning, Wilson had walked down to get his coffee, returning to the Clinic to start a pot of his own and open the place up. Lights were now on and the rich scent of a Sumatra blend was filling the air.

Walking over to the front desk, the oncologist looked down at the message slip that he'd done his best to ignore the prior day. He was going to have to return the call, there was nothing else for it.

Sitting down, he reached for the phone with one hand, while grabbing a chart with the other.

~~Doctor on Duty, come bleed at him or weedle coffee, whichever tickles your fancy.~~

Edit: As of about 5:00 FH time, DEATH would have control of the Clinic. So if you come in after then, you get Death! :D *Hugs and loves on Death*.

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[ooc: Since mine is being quiet, just add to mine and I'll make an edit that DEATH has command of the store! :D]

[ooc: He is but an innocent oncologist *eyebrow wriggle*]

*DEATH walks into the clinic, covered in dried pumpkin, making him smell rather pleasant for the time being.

He takes a seat at the desk.*

Beka strolled into the clinic, trying her damnedest to look like nothing was wrong. After all, nothing was really. Nothing new. But two nights of bad dreams and still-bruised ribs were starting to take their toll.

When he didn't look up, she rapped on his desk with her knuckles. "Hey."

Wilson was actually staring at a little pink message slip but he was miles away and her rap caused him to startle.

"Wha? Oh! Hey there, Beka. What's up?"

Her lips quirked into a bit of a smile at his startlement. It might even have reached her eyes. "Nothing. Just thought I'd come see about some of that coffee you promised."

Folding the slip up, he tucked it into the pocket of his slacks as he stood up.

"Of course." Turning to pour her a cup, he handed it over, taking a moment to study her curiously.

As he turned away to get the coffee, she couldn't help but notice he was a well put-together man. Easy on the eyes, which was always nice, gay or otherwise.

"Thanks. Am I interrupting anything?" Her tone was pleasant but neutral.

As he was turned away, he missed the size up ~~which meant he couldn't pose~~. Crossing his arms over his chest, Wilson rested his hip against the desk counter and gave his head a shake.

"It has been, blessedly quiet today actually."

Dark eyes flash narrowed, it was a little hard to miss the tired expression lurking very, very subtly around the corners of her eyes.

She reached for the coffee with her right hand out of habit. Her ribs twinged as she brushed her arm across them, and she fought to hide the wince. "Thanks for this," she said, a little too brightly, holding up the coffee as if to toast him with it.

"Quiet's good. No bleeding is good. How're you?"

Dark eyebrows winged upwards and he gave her a intense once over.

"I'm fine, as you say... no bleeding is good. How are you?"

He was getting too used to people never giving him the full story about their condition, Jack O'Neill was a hell of a learning curve after all, so even though she did a damn good job with covering, it was the brightness that gave the game up.

Beka sighed, brushing her bangs out of her face. "I'd kinda hoped you'd at least pretend to miss that. You're good though. So far only two other people have picked that up, and both of them had help."

Raising the coffee to her lips, she considered what to tell. "I'm fine. They're just bruised. I'd know if they were broken."

"I swear this school is full of the biggest stoics." He grumbled but it was good natured and he straightened from the desk.

"Come on, let me at least pretend there's a good reason I have an MD behind my name."

Turning, he began to walk towards one of the free exam rooms, pausing to cast her a ~~come hither~~ look to make sure she was following.

"I'm not a stoic, Wilson. I've just been ~~beaten up~~ damaged enough times to know it's not fatal," she groused.

She returned the look with an arched eyebrow and a smirk. "Just like all the boys. Can't wait to get my shirt off."

Wilson leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and waved her on into the room and towards the exam table.

"If rubber gloves really turn you on that much." His tone was wry as he moved to get said gloves.

"What was the method of trauma? Localized blows of full surface contact." A medical way of asking, did she get punched or flattened by something.

She set the coffee down and agilely hopped up onto the table. This time the wince was slightly more pronounced - the damned table was hard.

"An arm," she said evasively. "Moving quickly. Shall I?" Her fingers were on the button of her blouse just above her breasts - since she only bothered with three of them ever.

Wilson nodded as he kept his back turned -the way professionals did at such times- and set about putting on the gloves.

"Please, it makes the exam go a little easier. An arm? Restraining or clotheslining you?"

She unbuttoned her blouse and laid it on the table next to her. Not one for shyness, she didn't look for a gown, just waited for him to turn around.

"If by clotheslining you mean did I run into it, the answer is no. It ran into me."

"Same general difference." He turned and walked over to the exam table.

At least his hands weren't cold as he began a gentle exam of the area, head tilted to study the contusions as he let his fingers lead him along, checking the integrity of bone and muscle. Also on the look out for those particular little winces that indicated specifically sensitive spots.

"A restraining injury would present differently then one with blunt force trauma behind it. You've probably got some rather nasty deep tissue brusing from the blow against your ribs. Any particular spots worse then others?"

Mainly checking to make sure she wasn't risking a break and a possible lung puncture.

"Not quite." She smiled wryly. "If I was running into it, it wouldn't have hit me near so hard."

Being touched like this, so clinically, was always a struggle. It felt...awkward. No pleasure intended. No touching back. The occasional pain of a finger in the wrong place was almost welcome as a distraction. "It's not so bad. There's one spot that's pretty sore right here." She pointed to a spot on the fifth rib counting up from the bottom. "The real problem is that it makes it hard to sleep."

For all his faults and Lord knows there was a telephone book worth of them, Wilson was a doctor, first and foremost. In the discharge of that one duty he held close in the midst of total chaos he was a consumate professional.

Even with pretty women sitting on the exam table.

Moving to make a close inspection of the area she indicated, he put one hand against the small of her back to help her sit up so he could thoroughly palpatate the area.

"Yeah...I think you've got a good read on it. We could tape them. Provide support which should make it easier for you to rest without having to hold yourself stiff, trying to keep from hurting yourself?"

Grateful for even the small emotional comfort that came with the supportive hand, she released a long breath. Then she smiled, a little tiredly, but patiently.

"Can we be straight here? ~~Or at least can I be?~~ If there's some way to get away without taping them, I'd appreciate it. For one thing, I don't have clothes to cover it. I don't want to make a spectacle for all the same reasons I thanked you for your discretion. For another, it tends to interfere when you're making with the naked touching, as Angelus might say."

Moving back to the counter, Wilson leaned his hands on the top and rested his weight back, ankles crossed.

"You know, if you are engaging in sexual activities you need to be careful of those ribs least you do end up breaking one...because uh mood killer."

He then drummed his fingers lightly against the front of the counter before looking at her with a genuine, droppingthebullshit, expression in his eyes.

"Beka, I'll be up front. I do not prescribe sleeping aids to out patients. They more often then not are a case of treating a symptom, not the actual cause. But I will script you out Ibuprofen 600mg, take as needed every four hours. They should dull the ache to the point that if you support your bad side with a pillow, you shouldn't have your sleep affected by the ribs."

Finally. Straight to the point, no games. Thank hell.

"We're not rough except by prior consent. There's no chance of him breaking my ribs by accident. ~~On purpose is another matter entirely, but that would only be fun for him.~~."

She shrugged. "As for the other, I wouldn't take sleeping pills right now if you paid me. My dreams are bad enough as it is. The last thing I need is a narcotic to fuck them up worse."

Though her tone was sharper and her manner clipped, there was nothing angry or unpleasant about it. Just her being herself with someone she trusted.

The sharper tone didn't appear to surprise or phase him, in fact...if anything, he reacted favorably to it.

Wilson appreciated honesty.

"All right, then we're in agreement." Reaching into the pocket of his lab coat he pulled out a script pad and began the awakward task of writing on it with his left hand.

"600mg, take every four hours as needed. Use a pillow to tuck into your back at night to keep yourself from rolling over onto your bad side and...try to hold off on the rough consent for about 10 days to two weeks. Give the muscle and bone a fighting chance to heal up."

"Ten days?" Her face scrunched into a displeased grimace. "That's a long time to be making nice. Maybe I'll swear off instead."

She watched him write, tilting her head curiously. "You right-handed? And before you say it again, yeah, yeah, got it. Every four hours as needed. Pillow. No brawling."

He looked up at the question with a curious blink, then held up his left hand.

"Lefty...fighting to get along in a right handed world. Every so often House takes pity on me and buys me left handed scissors."

She shrugged and smiled. "Just looked awkward for someone used to writing with their left hand."

After studying him for a minute over the coffee that was too good to let go cold, she gave him a bright and genuine smile as though she'd made some decision. "I'm glad I stopped by."

Wilson finished writing out the script and then tore it from the pad, tucking the paper back into his pocket as he walked over towards her.

Leaning against the exam table, he held the paper towards her, smiling with an honest sort of warmth.

"What can I say... I give good coffee." His lips twitched into a boyish sort of grin and he considered encouraging her to talk to someone...about the nature of her insomnia but ... for all her bravdo, he was getting the impression she was a complex set of codes and pushing at this moment would be a genuine mistake.

"Anything else I can help you with?"

The smile was too cute. And he entirely too much a flirt for her to resist the obvious line. "Unless you want to give me a nice reason not to put my shirt back on...?"

A smirk. A wink. All in good fun ~~because though she hadn't met House she suspected he'd probably not like her making a play for his puppy~~. "The offer's still open, if not coffee then a drink. Just because."

A soft sort of blush touched his cheeks and he gave his head a gentle shake as he reached for her shirt, shaking it out and holding it out to her.

"I'd rather not get myself trounced by the legion of handsome young men I am sure are beating down your door." Just genuine enough to make the flirt fun but gentle all the same.

Wilson chuckled then and looked at her from behind impossibly long lashes.

"I think Virginia law would call our getting a drink 'contributing to the deliquency of a minor' and I'd be looking at a few years in jail."

"No legions. Just a small line. Careful with the assumptions, though, Doc. Most of them are women." She winked again. Let him wonder.

"As for the drink? Emancipated. I'm legal. For pretty much everything except voting."

Given some of the positions he and House had been getting in recently, he had no right wondering about anyone else's sex life.

Chuckling softly, he reached up and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"All the same. All right, coffee sometime."

Beka shook her head, laughing softly as she finished buttoning her blouse.

"Coffee it is."

Grinning, Wilson straightened and moved towards the exam room door, reaching to open it.

"In the meantime, if you find yourself having shortness of breath or any of those aches becomes acute or localized, get yourself back in here."

"Yes, sir." She mock-saluted and hopped off the table.

"I'll be back at some point. Can't let it get too quiet around here. And besides, it's the best coffee in town."

"Given how strong I make it...you must be a masochist."

Wilson snarked in an amused tone as he walked back towards the front with her.

"There you go with the assumptions again...~~I'm an equal-opportunity pain-slut~~" she snarked back.

As she headed out the door, she turned and gave him a warm smile. "Thanks, yo."

He was chuckling at her having caught him a good one, hands resting on his hips as he grinned at her.

"Go, be free."

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Clinic Hours - Thursday November 10th

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Late afternoon - before Wilson leaves

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