vicodincrutch | 050. Diagnosis

Current Mood: busy
Current Music: One Burbon, One Scotch and One Beer-George Thorogood

Entry tags:

050. Diagnosis

Handcuffs made a comeback. Why wasn't I in on that? Better luck next time.

One date. Hm. Maybe for next week? How do you feel about Cone Heads? Maybe Tommy Boy. As far as partically crappy food goes, I like a good sub. I doubt any of the places have Jersey or New York culinary training. I guess that will add to the sup par.

One prescription for Tony Foster. You'll get the other one when the morphine is out. You want a quick fix hit up some drug store. I've got a system. Take it or leave it and risk over medicating.

Private to Morn;
One appointment. Paging Debbie Downer... you're up.
End;

Eden, why are you talking to Dr. Apu? We need to have a talk. One more thing, where the hell is the peanut butter.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Broken bones. Yes, she'd known about them. They'd been dealt with in her own time, with the resources available in a proper medbay. At least this jerk didn't have pictures of her head. If he got past the implant, he'd probably comment on the healed fracture lines there, too.]

How long is the shot good for?

[Arranges the x-rays carefully.]

Three months. I'm going to give you an antibiotic as a precaution so that you wont get any infections. That's oral though.

Is your thing against shrinks related to the phobia of what's in your head?

[He shoots, he scores! Morn goes stiff and just stares at him warily, not answering him... at least not verbally.]

[House smiles smugly and continues.]

Just because a psyches don't literally look into your head. It's about the verbal and the behavioral. Medical doctors, that'd be me, treat that sort of thing. If we're looking to treat.

[Slowly takes out the x-ray. Holding it now that Morn knows what it is.]

You know about this more than I do. And whatever it is, isn't legal. You can tell me that you smuggle stuff between your ears or you educate me on the future a bit so we can get a basic understanding and have you treated as you should.

[Is she a robot? Is it her ID, driver's license and social security card and she's meant to be scanned? House honestly doesn't know and it irritates the hell out of him. He places up the x-ray for them both to see.]

[There it is. Her eyes are fixed to the white blotch that rules her life. It's not so big. Not as big as its effect. Not as big as its threat to everything in her life. She swallows and shoots a look over at her clothes where her black box is waiting for her to take it back up.]

It's a legal device.

[Well... yes, but not when used the way she's using it.]

It controls my Gap Sickness.

[Which is true, but not even close to the whole truth.]

[This is no where near satisfying enough as he hoped it would be. House traces the shape with his finger in the air.]

You mentioned that before. What is it?

[Poor baby.]

Some people have an undetectable flaw in their brains that is only triggered by Gap travel. You don't know about it until you cross the Gap and even then, for some people, it takes another factor to show its effects.

In my case, heavy g triggers it.

[House stands up once again and takes his cane.]

Lucky you there is none of that here.

[Thinks about the implications of the body having a resistance to space travel in some kind of a way.]

If it is so normal and legal why are you shy about it? You could get sympathy or support with that thing. Oprah could hook you up.

It isn't normal and I don't like to talk about it.

[Tugs at the sheet and paper gown again, wanting something less flimsy between her and this man.]

Why do you use a cane?

[She's observant.]

So I don't have to put too much pressure on my leg.

[Easy answer, he can be evasive too.]

Why? What sort of damage couldn't be fixed?

[And she can ask prying questions.]

You can't fix what died. Even in the future.

[She only opens herself for counter questions.]

You've got a quick fix. What is there to be unhappy about? Does it hurt?

It doesn't hurt.

[Right back atcha.]

Your leg doesn't look dead. Does it hurt?

Does it disrupt thought process or function?

[Leans on the counter.]

The dead part is gone. Constantly.

Does my function look disrupted?

[Fidget, fidget. She really needs to stop twisting her hands like that.]

Illness or injury? How do you control it? The pain.

This is the longest conversation we've had. And so far you've been dull, devoid and all together shrewishly subdued.

[He's being nice.]

Injury that turned to illness. I take vicodin and likely will until they make a better medication or until I die. That doesn't control it, only makes it more bearable.

A zone implant would take away all the pain. But you can't get one.

[Take that, "shrewishly subdued."]

Says the poster girl for it. Do regale me on the benefits I'm missing out on.

[Bitter, bitter, bitter.]

I hate it.

[Bitter, bitter, bitter.]

But I'd be dead without it and so would a lot of other people.

The feeling is mutual. That's the way the cookie crumbles.

[Cleans up paperwork.]

All in the line of duty, right?

[Flinch]

Can I get dressed now?

[Noted.]

No one is stopping you.

[Shuffles to the door to slip out while she gets dressed.]

Just knock when I can come back in. [Is about to leave when he stops to say] I'm expecting a knock.

[Leaves the room.]

[Muttered] Bastard.

[Back into her clothes, zone implant control safely tucked in her pocket. She considers turning it on just a little, just to calm herself down a little, but leaves it off. After a deep breath to collect herself, she knocks on the door and moves away from it as though it may burst open to reveal something more horrible than one gimpy doctor.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

050. Diagnosis

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//

//Action//