she is a stalk, exhausted. she will do something with this.

[bloodplay]

CHARACTERS: emotionally disturbed preteen with dead drug smuggling parents (okayokay) and emotionally disturbed preteen with dead drug smuggling parents + like 25 years (bloodplay)
LOCATION: medical
WARNINGS: stitching up open wounds, Mathilda being Mathilda and Brian being Brian, totally useless blocks of establishing mindset introspection
SUMMARY: a serial killer gives a 12 year old wannabe hitman some first aid tips.
NOTES: NO THAT'S PRETTY MUCH IT


[ The forensics are airtight, he's certain -- Dexter's dutiful devotion to a lack of self-incrimination is second to none -- and out of his hands at this point besides. His mask is another matter entirely. Even now, when it fits more seamlessly than it has in months, he looks at his colleagues more and more often, and wonders: have they heard anything? What has Debra been saying? Has he given anything away? Do they suspect? The tension doesn't spring from fear, but from the uncertainty. It irritates him not to know where his priorities should lie, how to direct his focus while he still has it. Even more annoying than that, though, is the anticipation. He knows his hunger is only going to get worse, stronger and harder than ever to hide, once it comes back in full force. Soon the nagging phantom itch at the back of his mind is going to meet the red welling up behind his eyes, the weeks will stretch on, and he'll still be running dry. Might as well use the brief vacation from mania to set things in order.

He's always tried to arrange things so he has time to himself while working, but over the last month this has hit a new high. Solitude is the only state in which Brian can manage to fully enjoy his newly-earned calm, without distractions. This means that, whether or not there are other people in Medbay (and there probably are), he's very much by himself at the time of this log! It's nothing of interest; he's just fiddling with one of the synthesis machines, keeping an eye out for anything more compelling. And he hears someone approaching.

A light someone, so far as he can tell. Assuming it's a patient might come off presumptuous, especially with Kasukabe in the department, so he says nothing. Instead, he waits on the sound of footfalls, hands still idly playing across the cold metal surface. The bulk of the machine doesn't completely seclude him from any visitor's line of sight; even if it does, he'll speak up eventually once he sees who it is. Busywork is solitude's less attractive second cousin, but it too has its perks. ]

Comments

[okayokay]

[If the cut had been anywhere else she'd probably have left it alone. Just waited until it patched up on its own and saved herself this whole trip of trying to trade for a few stitches. Hell, if it had been anywhere else she could have done the stitches herself. But it wasn't and she needed her right hand. What kind of cleaner couldn't even hold a weapon?

So it was she came shuffling into the medbay, sliced open palm turning a large patch of her lone shirt from home a deep red as she pressed it against her sleeve. That was gonna be a problem too, unless she found something to get the blood out. The weird suit the ship had given her wouldn't hide the gun tucked into the waist of her pants. Just another stupid problem she'd have to deal with. Later.

She stopped a little past the entryway, taking a look at the people doing...whatever it was they were doing. She'd never even been in a hospital before, not since being born, anyway. TV told her there shoulda been a receptionist, and her pained frown only deepened when there wasn't.]

[bloodplay]

[ With his attention already trained in her direction, it would have been hard not to notice the girl coming in. Or the blood on her clothes. Definitely a patient, then, and definitely young -- a fact which, outside the fact that she was less likely to question his judgment, was neither good nor bad. Unlike Dexter, Brian did not have a soft spot for kids. He did, however, have a vast arsenal of group therapy experience.

And common sense. Even the dimmest kids could usually sense when they were being talked down to, and there was no point in asking someone of any age what kind of help they needed, not when the injury was this self-evident. Nevertheless, he stepped fully into view before starting to speak. ]

Can you tell me about the circumstances of the injury? [ He'd already assumed the default tone with which he addressed children and teenagers -- especially here, where the average early life experience was so dramatically skewed against, well, the average. ] What happened, where it happened, how long ago. Keep applying pressure and I'll be with you in a second -- just need to change gloves.

[okayokay]

I cut my hand. On something sharp. A...twenty minutes ago? I don't know. I don't have a watch. Keeping a schedule's not really that important around here, right?

[While not exactly helpful, Mathilda wasn't aiming to sound snappish. It just always came off that way, when she didn't understand why she was being asked something. Who cared where it happened? It wasn't anything worse than she'd ever gotten at home. The walking into a door thing didn't really work here- the doors were to freaking smart- but the fact no one really cared probably carried over. People just asked to be polite. Take the politeness out of the conversation and everyone was happier.

But the pressure thing. That she could do. Even if it meant she really was going to have to burn this shirt at the end of the day.]

[bloodplay]

[ SNAPPIN' ON GLOVES LIKE A PRO ]

Not really, but a ballpark never hurts. It would matter if you had gotten cut a significant period of time ago, in which case there could be an increased chance of infection, but twenty minutes or so... [ He shrugged. ] I'd ask about tetanus shots, but knowing this place even the bacteria probably have something worse up their sleeves.

[ Once he turned from the dispensary area(/cabinets/christ stacey i don't know anything about medbay) to look at Mathilda again, of course, one error in judgment became obvious. Gauze. He definitely needed gauze. ]

You've got it elevated, too. Good. Helps stem the bleeding from extremities. [ His hands moved much faster than his voice, though both were directed with equal efficiency. ] I'm going to take a look at it first, see whether it'll need stitches before cleaning it out. Have you tried moving your fingers since it happened?

[okayokay]

[So many points being made. Mathilda keeps track of them as best she can- what the fuck is tetanus?- but focuses in on the question at the end. Moving fingers. Easy answer. In the meantime, she keeps her focus on the hands moving around hers.]

Didn't really need to. Move the fingers, I mean. Just to hold on to my sleeve. I don't like bleeding all over the place- it's just messy. Are you really a doctor or is this one of those 'learned from TV' things?

[bloodplay]

A little from column A, a little from column B. Here, take this -- save the shirt a little extra grief.

[ Good, bad, he's the guy with the gauze. Which he does, in fact, have in hand! He holds it out to Mathilda like a peace offering. ]

I asked because you might not be able to move it, if you'd tried. [ He peers at her palm now, examining the wound. When his fingers follow up his touch is very light: cool, clinical, but not yet invasive. ] And then we'd have a problem. Extremities like hands and feet, the whole network's just under the surface. Part of the procedure is checking to see if there's any nerve damage or cut tendons, muscle -- not that it looks like you've got any of that, so far.

[ He's telling her the truth; it's deep, and it'll definitely need stitches, but he can't see any significant damage to the structures underneath. Not that even that would be much of an obstacle, space medicine being what it is. Which is a shame -- Brian much prefers to do things the old-fashioned way. It's usually got more of a kick to it.

His focus shifts back up to her face, so he can address her more directly, then returns from whence it came once it becomes clear there'll be no eye contact. He's nothing if not pragmatic. ]

But I need to examine it more closely before I can tell you anything definite. Do you want a local anesthetic first? [ The anesthetic in question is prepped and ready on the tray, right next to a little cup of topical goop that smells vaguely like menthol. If it really mattered he'd just stick her without asking, but the girl has something of an attitude which he might as well humor -- and see whether practicality or toughness wins out. ] Standard procedure.

[okayokay]

[Mathilda had been frowning in a mix of pain and concentration through the whole explanation- which in and of itself was kind of a surprise. Leon had (eventually) gotten good at telling her why everything was happening. But mostly she just got told to shut up and go along with it. Part of the whole kid thing. The doc talking about muscle and tendons had her squinting along with him at the wound, trying to see if she could see the networks he was talking about...

No. Still just looked like meat, to her. That was annoying. If she was gonna be taking care of herself from here on out, that seemed like the kind of stuff she should know. No one was responsible for her body except her, after all- which is when she finally realized the gauze was there. So much for amazing awareness of her situation. She snatched it up with her good hand with a tiny blush for talking so long to do so.]

No. I don't like drugs. It's already messed up. I don't care about a little more. What's a tendon look like?