trans_9 | Bad Handwriting and Everything [Open]

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Bad Handwriting and Everything [Open]

The upside to using paper and pen instead of data pads for taking notes on patients is that it's intuitive and you can fiddle with things. The downside is that, at the end of a shift, a lot of the notes have to be shredded for privacy reasons, and the details have to be entered into the data pads anyway. Despite his usual devotion to efficiency, Howard doesn't mind this. It's a nice way to review the day and cement anything he might have learned.

The Quarantine's mostly empty now, which is a definite plus. All those kids were getting Howard crankier and antsier than usual. He brought in a box of toys from the Warehouse, though he didn't bother to check the age ranges for them, so he hopes someone who cares a bit more will take out all the choking hazards before any of the children regress to toddlerhood. He doesn't want anything to do with children; he had enough of that back in that dystopian nightmare he called home. All they do is cry and scream and demand things and kill each other and eat all the food and lie and burn down buildings and generally make life unpleasant. Not that adults are always better, but at least someone's around to enforce order here.

He hums a snippet of Cliffs of Dover to himself, chewing on the end of a Tinker Toy, and starts typing in his notes.

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"That makes it worse, doesn't it? Thinking that maybe everyone else had the same choice? It was very brave of you to stay, even if it would have been easier to go. I'm sure your friend appreciated the fact that you stayed."

Ah, they were brushing up against something the teen didn't want to talk about. But that wasn't uncommon, anymore than the fact that Howard didn't seem to have altruistic tendencies outside of his loyalty to 'Orc'. That was very common among kids who had been forced into an environment that was completely unsympathetic. "Then that your survived it means so much more, doesn't it?" He didn't like the thought of dying children, it made his skin crawl. But mentioning that to Howard seemed like a quick way to fail.

"Look, if you're trying to give me a pep talk because you heard teenagers are into low self-esteem this year, I don't need it. I'm fine." Honestly, he doesn't know if Orc appreciated that he stayed, or had even realized the significance of that day. He doesn't like to try and figure it out. He just knows Orc wouldn't have gotten by on his own.

He's on guard again with Rory - something about the flattery reminds him of Caine, or of school counselors, neither of whom he had good experiences with. "So what's your deal, Rory? Obviously you seem to think you know a lot about teenagers."

"Pep talk? No, I do think it's impressive. You've been through a lot and you've handled it well and you're still living, not just surviving. Not a lot of people that could do that. Even here, you're here later than a lot of other people trying to piece things together. That's an admirable trait."

Prickly was an understatement, it seemed more like he was dealing with an exploding hedgehog than a teenager. Anything might be the wrong thing to say, and it was impossible to know until he said it. "Some, yeah. I took a few classes, was one once. I'm just a nurse though and I was curious about a coworker."

Rory earns a skeptical look from that. "I'm here late because I take notes by hand." Not because he hates his housemate, doesn't like downtime and worries about getting to sleep each night, clearly.

"And unless Stacy's started taking random nurses from their lives, what's the rest of your story?"

"Bit more familiar, isn't it? Tactile. I prefer it, sometimes. Especially if I'm just trying to get my thoughts out, even if the tech is loads better than anything we have at home." He leaned back against the desk, looking away. "Wouldn't be the first time something had grabbed a random nurse away from their lives, would it? Traveled a bit with the Doctor, probably why."

Edited 2011-05-23 00:30 (UTC)

"I always worry the power's going to go out. These things run on battery, right?" he says, holding up his data pad. "Why waste battery on something that you can do on paper?"

Howard squints a bit at the way Rory looks away. Getting into unpleasant territory? "Well, yeah, nurses and doctors usually hang out together. Travel? Like Doctors Without Borders or something?"

"The ship powers them, if it is a battery, I haven't seen it close to burning out yet. It's probably safe." But the worry made sense, considering what he knew about Howard now. "I don't think there's a problem with paper notes, though."

He smiled, shaking his head. "Ah, no. Not a doctor, The Doctor. Bit different, really. He's a time traveler."

"Great. So if the ship's power goes down, maybe we won't even have these." He makes a face at the data pad. "Though I guess we'll be too worried about the atmosphere for medical records to be a huge problem."

"Ah. That explains it." Howard sounds satisfied with that answer. "Why do you travel with him?"

"Yeah, I think that'd be more of a concern than accessing medical records. Though we do have other ships on board with independent atmosphere. So we'd probably be alright." He studied the wall for a moment, glancing back at Howard.

"Why'd you stay, when you could have gone?"

"Yeah? And how many people can fit in those ships? And how many people are going to listen to evacuation procedures without just taking a ship and running?"

Howard doesn't want to answer that, so he tries to turn it back on Rory. "So you followed someone?"

"I haven't looked at the schematics or the evacuation plan, myself. Have you? But I'd imagine we could fit most of the awake crew members, my concern would be the people still sleeping. It's rather more difficult to move the pods."

He frowned, making a mental note to ask after any sort of evacuation plan. So far he'd been depending on the Doctor, but they needed to have a plan. He was responsible for people on this ship.

"Yeah. Amy, she traveled with him first and wanted me to come with. People are a good reason to do loads of things, I think. If they're important enough."

All the more reason for Howard to hope Orc shows up so he won't have to worry about the fate of the pods anymore. "I've taken a look, I just don't think it'll work with a bunch of people panicking and trying to breathe shallow. People don't stay nearly as calm in emergencies as those kinds of plans ride on."

He gets up and pours more coffee without asking this time, filling it to the brim and bringing back too many sugar packets. "Amy your girlfriend?"

"No, but we've less civilians, which are normal the cause of panic, and more hero types. Police types, more like. So it shouldn't be as chaotic. But let's keep our fingers crossed, I don't relish the idea of finding out. You know?"

Something quiet and fond slid across his face, unconscious but obvious. "Fiancee. Yeah, that'd be her."

He wasn't sure if he should feel proud or not, Howard getting his own coffee. He'd meant it for the medical staff and...well, children who had been through situations where food was limited had a poor trust of the availability of food after escaping the situation. Hoarders, by nature. He'd seen kids stuff their beds full of biscuits and always ask for more and get sick on food. It might not be there later, eat as much as you can. One of the saddest things he'd ever seen. "I've a tin of biscuits in my desk, want a couple? Too much coffee on an empty stomach always makes me feel queasy."

"Neither do I, but what's that phrase? 'Prepare for the worst and hope for the best'? Or just hope for okay, I guess. I don't trust hero types." Not even because of his own past criminal activities, but also because all the FAYZ heroes had had their moments of weakness and fear. They'd run, they'd made bad calls, they'd gotten people killed - they were human, after all, for all their superpowers. Howard would much rather make a run for himself than listen to someone trying to do the right thing and maybe end up dead from someone else's miscalculation.

"How long you been together?" His instinct is to jump up at the idea of biscuits, but the distrustful part of him feels like Rory might be setting him up for a test, seeing how he reacts. He's noticed the way Rory's observed his drinking habits. "Yeah, I'd love some biscuits, actually. Thanks."

"Right, that's why we have a zombie outbreak plan posted on the doorway next to infectious disease policy. We'll have a plan, and hope to not have to use it." He inclined his head faintly, not really shocked. Heroes were...sticky subjects with the self sufficient.

"Quite awhile, now. Two years at least." It was hard to nail down a staring point when he had spent so much time as her 'sorta boyfriend'. He walked over to his desk, opening one the the drawers and pulling out the tin, popping the top off and snagging a few for himself. Nibbling on one absently as he said back down. "Help yourself. Hording them doesn't do any good, they'll go stale."

"For all the different kinds of zombies. I saw. 28 Days Later zombies, Day of the Dead Zombies, probably Corpse Bride zombies. Did I tell you I used to have a zombie in my basement back home? They're super annoying and noisy. I didn't sleep for like, five months from all the yelling." He says it lightly but the way he's chewing on that Tinker Toy betrays a more complicated and upsetting story behind that.

"At least? Do you not know? I mean, time travel's complicated, but really, man." He resists the urge to take the tin and just takes five of the biscuits, stuffing one into his mouth on his way back to the desk and coughing a bit as he nearly swallows it whole. He keeps shooting skeptical glances at Rory, not sure how to deal with this feeling that the older man's testing him, hypothesizing about what he'll do with the food. He feels like he needs to find a way to get Rory on defense and take the pressure off himself. "No one said anything about hoarding, man."

"Why would you keep a zombie in your basement? But yeah, we've got everything from plague zombies to some sort of magical attack. Rather odd, seeing science and magic living side by side. I don't think it could happen anywhere but here." He reached into his desk, pulling out a few of the suckers he'd gotten back planet side and tossing them at Howard. "Wood is bad for your digestion, chewing on it can cause splinters lodging in your throat and stomach. Which leads to internal bleeding and other health problems."

He shrugged. "It was a bit complicated at first. Hard to put down a start date for it. So at least two years is the best estimate I can give you." He watched, not moving to interrupt the grab. "I meant there wasn't much use for me to hide them in my desk and not share, is there? They'll spoil before I eat them all. Maybe Conner could snack through most of them, but he'd get sick."

"Jail warden," he says, pointing to himself. He and Orc had kept Drake-slash-Brittney in their basement for agonizing months, listening to the psychotic ramblings of a sadist and the tortured wails of a good little Christian girl pleading for death. How anyone could think Brittney's miserable excuse for a life was worth continuing, traumatized, alone except for being fused to a sociopath who tortured children for fun, was beyond Howard, but neither he nor Orc had the power to kill her, so they just kept her in a cage. "I think that whole 'magic is just science we haven't discovered yet' thing is bull, personally."

He grabs the suckers and stuffs them in his pockets, not letting go of the Tinker Toy, shooting Rory a defensive glare instead of a thank you. Around another mouthful of cookie, he snarls "whatever. My health's fine."

Rory's still an enigma to Howard, someone who doesn't seem willing to stand up for himself and buys what Howard considers are naive ideals wholesale, but someone who's also clearly intelligent and more controlling of the conversation than Howard would like. It's not as though Rory lacks a spine - although what he's said about his fiancee would suggest that - but more that Rory seems to place his priorities outside himself, and is navigating Howard away from finding what those priorities are. Which is a pretty dick move, in Howard's opinion, since he was pretty forthcoming with Rory about what was on his mind.

"Conner's who, that big kid who came in, twelve last time we put him on file? You could always ration them to him so he wouldn't eat them all at once."

"Sounds intense." He didn't state the obvious, didn't mention that Howard seemed to young to hold someone hostage. "Well, that's one sort someone has hands on experience with. How many types does that leave us?" He nodded. "Some of it is, some of it...well, I can't explain it. Seems like magic to me."

He arched an eyebrow, quietly watching him. "For now, yes. But if you continue reckless behavior, then you'll pay for it. Better to avoid it, yeah?"

He watched Howard, taking another sip of his coffee. "Yeah, that's Conner. I'm looking after him. He'd listen if I told him not to eat them all."

"I mean, not saying there isn't a science to magic. Just that it's not the same thing. It doesn't follow the same rules, and that's why it's magic," he says. "So like, time travel...do you think that's magic or science? Is this Doctor guy a magician, an alien, mad scientist without enough to do?"

Spitefully, he bites down on the toy again, arching an eyebrow right back at Rory. "Look, I know you're a nurse and all and people like you flip out if you see someone eat too many transfats, but I don't need you to parent me, okay? We're coworkers. Treat me like one." His hand clenches around the suckers in his pocket, making the plastic around them crinkle.

"Do you surrogate dad for all the kids or just the special ones?" There's a trace of disdain in his voice, but it's coming from a place of defensiveness. It's been a long time since anyone's told him what to do - or what not to do - and Conner might be a good target to go after if it turns the tables of the conversation again.

"Alien and mad. Total science, I think, even looked up the math myself. It's logical, even if it doesn't entirely make sense. But there are things here that don't make sense, even by science. Think the universe runs on a bit of both, myself."

Rory laughed, a short sharp bark of amusement. "I am. I'd do the same if I caught a coworker smoking." The laughter faded, expression serious. "We're short handed, understaffed, and overworked, and there's no relief on the horizon. This ship needs a human interface for patient care. If you do something that could potentially put your health at risk and the worst does happen, then we're short two people, yourself and the person who stays back to look after you. We're in a crisis situation and we can't afford the risk, we have a duty to this ship and everyone on it. You knew that when you signed up for medical, or I hope you did."

The smile returned, a short quirk of his lips that lacked humor. "I look after the people that need it. It's sorta my job. I'm not just here to roboticly dispense band-aids, the mental health of a patient is nearly as important to their recovery as the physical condition of their body. And these are kids, sick, scared, confused kids who haven't got anyone around that they know and some don't have anyone that could look after them. I know it's not your cuppa, but I enjoy it."

"Well, you can't say there's only one. Obviously magic exists and obviously science does, too. And aliens. Can't forget the aliens." He shakes his head. The world was a lot easier to understand a few years ago, before everything anyone imagined was not only possible but likely.

"So what, you're going to lay the weight of the ship on my shoulders over chewing a stick? That's a low move, man." He takes the Tinker Toy out of his mouth but keeps it in hand, keeping defiant eye contact with Rory. "I'm fine. I've eaten worse than a few swallowed splinters. Now back off my case, alright?"

Howard mimics Rory's mirthless smile, resisting the urge to make a snide comment about those poor kids surrounded by adults and with an endless food supply. Poor scared, confused kids with so much more at their disposal than the kids in his town had. "So are we just really lucky and Conner's the only one who needs someone around to hold his hand? You sound almost like you like kids."

"Right. Aliens...well, they blur the lines a little." The world had been less complicated before he met the Doctor, but he wouldn't give it back. Wouldn't give this back, either. With the ship and Amy and Conner and everyone he'd met here.

"No, you took the weight of the ship on your shoulders when you signed up for medical. I'm only reminding you that you are no longer the only one at risk." He arched an eyebrow. "Of course, do as you like."

He shrugged. "Other kids have people to look after them, Conner took a shine to me and me to him, we get along. He's more at risk than some and he's a good kid. No harm to it. And yeah, I like kids." He snagged another biscuit, nibbling on it thoughtfully. "You don't, though. Too much of a risk, must be difficult dealing with so many of them running around."

"I liked it when they stayed behind TV screens and comic book panels, gotta say. It's been nothing but trouble ever since. Nothing good's come of it." There are a few things he likes about Stacy, but nothing he wouldn't easily give back to go back to when he was twelve and life was almost mind-numbingly simple. And from the sounds of it, Rory doesn't share his opinion.

"Don't worry, I won't come running to you when my guts start bleeding out," he says before stuffing another whole cookie in his mouth, gagging on the huge bite but swallowing anyway. "No, you're right, I really don't. Why's this Conner kid at such risk? I didn't have a chance to go over his file yet. I wasn't the one who interviewed him, obviously."

"Aliens? Yeah, they never do that. They end up invading your hospital and making off with your girlfriend and loads of other insane things." He settled back in his chair, chewing on the biscuit quietly.

"I would treat you." He'd treated worse idiots in his time, after all. People who had done much more risky thing than chew on a toy. "He's got less time than most. A few quick jumps and he isn't anything anymore." He didn't comment on the choking, wondering if he'd need to be providing some sort of assistance and if Howard would shred his arm like a stray cat for trying. Howard had reacted about as he'd expected to the offer of food, really, gagging included.

Bad Handwriting and Everything [Open]

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