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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"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.

"Is that how you see it? Making off with her?"

He washes down another large bite with more coffee, swallowing hard and wincing. "It's going so erratically, though. The patients aren't aging backwards at a steady pace. One day they're a few weeks younger, then suddenly they're a few years younger. I mean, there's doesn't seem to be a pattern of it accelerating, which is a good thing, but it's impossible to predict." And of course, that just makes this all even more of a race against time. Howard pulls out another clipboard with notes of it, skimming through the lists he made of ages people deaged to and approximate times they did so. Of course, it was all the more difficult to track when the patients hardly recognized it themselves. "The next jump could be it for any of them, and we don't know when it'll happen or even if it'll happen."

He shrugged. "How I saw it at first. It's not really making off with if she wants to go. I've since traveled with them."

Rory sighed, settling back in his chair and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. Makes it harder, one moment we could have toddlers and the next ovum and no way to support it in any reasonable manner, forget the deaths that some of them have come back from, forget injuries. If we're not careful they could simply deage out of existance. And Conner, well...he's got so much less time to lose."

That was the practical explanation, of course. How much he cared about the child currently in his care had nothing to do with the practical, hands on explanation Howard wanted. He wanted the logical reason, not the emotionally driven one.

"So she went without you at first? Did you know the whole time?" Not that Howard wouldn't know about being devoted to someone in spite of shifty behavior, but Rory's sounding nearly puppydoggish.

"I've been trying to figure out if there's a pattern that isn't super obvious, but you know, we didn't go over logger -loga - whatever, complicated math patterns in algebra one. And I gave it to Anwei and she couldn't make anything out of it." He furrows his brow and sucks on the inside of his mouth, frustrated again at how forces beyond his ken are wreaking havoc with his surroundings and frustrated with himself for being educationally inadequate to even figure out where to start on things. "And I went through to check if it correlates to really eventful moments in their lives and mostly, it doesn't. So I'm at a loss."

He raises an eyebrow at Rory's tone of voice at the last sentence. "This kid isn't just a patient to you," he says, stating the incredibly obvious.

"Yeah, she did. And no, I didn't." He shrugged. "First I knew of it, he popped out of a cake at my stag party and whisked us off to Venice." He sounded relaxed, calm and at peace with the entire thing.

"Yeah, same. I haven't been able to find anything. One moment a teenager and the next a child and no middling...if it were progressing with some sort of pattern we might be able to treat it. But so far it barely seems like we can slow it down. I mean, some of them have touched on really big moments, but for the most part it seems like someone just set the rewind button to stop randomly."

He smiled, fetching another biscuit. "Yeah? And?"

He gives Rory a skeptical look, but then shrugs back. "Sounds like you get free air miles out of it, at least. What's a stag party?"

Howard nods, tapping his front teeth. He looks back at his notes, having entered the last sheet into the datapad. The numbers almost appear to be swimming. "I might call it a night. I don't think any of us are getting anywhere on this one tonight. At least, I'd need to take more math classes and that'll happen when hell freezes over."

"I didn't say there's an 'and'."

"Loads of them now. Too bad cashing in on them is difficult. Ah...it's something your mates do right before you get married. Last big hoorah as a single bloke. It's all in good fun."

He nodded. "Yeah, Amy will get cross with me if I keep working these all nighters. She rather prefers seeing me, on occasion. We've done as much damage as we can." He capped the biscuit tin, putting it back in his desk and draining his coffee mug. "Who's on shift next?"

"I thought you said she was your fiancée. Someone crash the wedding or something?"

Howard checks the schedule, running his finger over it as he does so. "Looks like Faiza'll be in soon."

"Something like that, yeah."

He nodded. "I'll stay until she gets here, keep an eye on everything." He didn't offer anything like "go to bed", instead turning his attention back to the reports on his desk and sipping his coffee. "Have a good night."

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Bad Handwriting and Everything [Open]

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