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FTEC - Saturday Evening Shift

Wilson was keeping a fairly low profile for Parents' Weekend and simply hoping that the clinic didn't end up getting a rush on from students breaking limbs while they tried to escape their families.

Settling down behind the front desk with his laptop and a latte, the doctor figured to pass a quiet evening.

He hoped.

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The doctor is about.

[ooc: I am on small person detail so there may be bouts of SPness as I chase the child about.]

Angela Petrelli was about as well. She stopped by the clinic and looked to see if she could find someone in charge.

Finishing off the sentence he'd been working on for the past ten minutes, Wilson looked up and smiled. He didn't recognize the lady but figured this must be someone's parent, guardian or whatever.

"Good evening, may I help you?"

"I was hoping to speak to someone about my son, Peter," Angela replied.

~~Would that be English Peter, Steve!Peter, Part Spider Peter, Peter pecker picked a peck of pickle peppers?~~

"I'm afraid we have quite a few students by the name 'Peter' could I get a last name, please?" Wilson asked politely.

"Of course, forgive me," Angela said. "Peter Petrelli. I'm Angela, his mother. Would you be the doctor in charge?"

"For tonight," he confirmed standing up and coming around to lean against the front of the desk rather than behind it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Petrelli. I've had the honor of having Peter in one of my classes, very bright young man."

"Medicine?" Angela guessed. She went to shake his hand. "I know he has ideas about going into nursing."

"Err, conflict management, actually." Wilson offered, taking her hand in a grip that was neither overpowering nor patronizingly wussish. "He did excellent work, top grades if I remember correctly."

"That does sound like him," Angela said. "Well the grades are surprising but Peter has never cared for fighting. I can see why the class would appeal to him."

"I like to think it was about how not to end up fighting," Wilson explained with a good natured sort of smile.

"But that was last semester and I don't have Peter in this semester's class so what did you need to talk about, Mrs. Petrelli?"

He had an inkling of where this was going to go, call it a sinking suspicion and was perhaps attempting to ... well, stall.

"I'm given to understand this facility is where the students come for medical care?" Angela asked, just in case she needed to be corrected on this assumption.

"When they need more than a band aid or OTC cold meds for the most part, yes."

It was a lot more simple to just agree than to try to explain about magical healers and some of the other nefarious ways the kids tried to cover up some of their more adventurous adventures.

"Excellent." Angela took a seat. "Then you can tell me how my son is doing."

"Quite well from what I've heard, haven't seen him in a while." It was the truth!

"When did you last see him?" Angela asked. Polite curiosity. Really.

It actually took Wilson a couple of minutes to sift through his own memories, a casual perusal meant to come across as it obviously hadn't been for anything important.

Oh right, unexplained coma which was actually right up there with Anakin's remarkable recovery from evisceration but probably that wasn't good small talk conversation at the moment.

"Back this past summer I think."

You would never in a million years be able to tell if Angela had known about that or not. Perhaps her superpower was the ability to maintain a controlled facial expression at all times.

"Really?" she asked, the picture of motherly concern. "What for?"

Oh, crap Wilson thought to himself.

He hated when family members did this. Didn't matter if it was on Fandom or back in New Jersey, he hated when patients and family members didn't communicate and he ended up with questions like these.

"Oh just some bumps and bruises," he said vaguely. "I'm sure you could ask Peter about it."

Please.

"I'm asking you," Angela replied, sweetly.

Well, for Angela.

After a brief pause, Wilson straightened from his lean and pushed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat.

"You know, I'm sure you'd get a much more complete explanation from Peter. I only saw him when he first came in and he was discharged before I was next on duty."

"Perhaps I could look at his chart then," Angela replied.

"It's not standard practice for us to release a patient's charts," Wilson said almost on automatic pilot.

"Is it standard practice not to answer a mother's questions?" Angela replied, smoothly.

"I have answered your questions," Wilson pointed out, feeling just a wee bit cussed. "They just haven't been the answers you wanted."

"My son has very special needs," Angela told him, not fazed by any discomfort on Wilson's part. "If he has required medical attention, I want to know the details about it."

"Let me give Peter a call. Maybe he can come down here and we can go over his records together while he's present."

"One of his needs," Angela said, firmly, "is not to be bothered by such matters. He has a delicate constitution. There is no reason to tax it."

"Mrs. Petrelli," Wilson began gently. "I know that as his mother, he will always be your baby but I assure you, Peter has been doing wonderfully here at school, thriving even."

"Dr. Wilson," Angela replied, sweet as ever, "As his mother I am aware of how often my concerns are dismissed due to my gender and role in Peter's life. I'm certain this is not what you are currently attempting to imply."

"Of course not, Mrs. Petrelli." Wilson reassured her politely.

"I am simply suggesting that we involve Peter, as this is part of his life we're discussing."

"And I am telling you that we won't," Angela replied.

"Then I'm afraid I can't help you, Mrs. Petrelli."

"I wasn't aware that this medical clinic was above the law," Angela replied.

"Last I checked, doctor/patient confidentiality was one of my laws."

"My son is a minor," Angela replied. "He has no right to privacy. Now what are you attempting to hide?"

Wilson did a bit of a mental double take when she said that, surprised at such an attitude. Though really, he shouldn't have been, he'd seen it often enough and what made it galling, is she was playing that one damn card that couldn't be over ridden.

Setting his hands on his hip, Wilson looked down at he feet for a long moment and then turned and walked behind the front desk. It didn't take him long to locate the file, make a copy and slid it into a manila envelope.

This, he then held out wordlessly to Peter's mother.

Angela took it and read. There was a slight twitch in her jaw, but otherwise she kept her expression strictly neutral.

"A coma," she said.

As it seemed to be a statement and not a question, Wilson didn't volunteer anything.

In fact it had been a statement. Whatever Angela thought about what she'd read she was keeping to herself. She gave the file back as coolly as if she was handing one of her coats over to a servant to take to be dry cleaned. "I will be kept informed of every time my son is seen by someone who works here. I don't care if it's only a momentary stop to pick up a lollipop. Am I making myself clear?"

"Of course," Wilson said demurely. "I'll make sure a memo gets in this file."

"Thank you," Angela said. She smoothed down the front of her coat as she readied to go. "I'm glad this matter could be settled before there was any ugliness."

Wilson bit back any number of rejoinders that came to mind and simply smiled politely.

"Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Mrs. Petrelli."

"Thank you," Angela replied. She left without a second glance.

Wilson sat down behind the desk and just because he never liked to lie ... well not blatantly anyway, he wrote up the promised memo to all staff about Peter Petrelli.

He then put the memo carefully in the file Mrs. Petrelli had been looking over and then he walked back to get a cup of coffee.

Five minutes later, he returned to the desk and picked up said file. Which was, after all a copy and you didn't just leave copies of patients' medical records laying around.

Dropping the file in the shredder, he smirked as he noted the tail end of his memo being ground up by the blades.

"Whoops, pity that."

Turning back to his laptop, Wilson sipped his coffee and got back to work on his journal article.

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FTEC - Saturday Evening Shift

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