drear | i got the ways and means to new orleans.

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i got the ways and means to new orleans.

[ internship hours are a requirement, and volunteering at the local clinic isn't actually that bad. he takes night shifts most of the time since they fit his (lack of) schedule, and the people who run the place are always glad to have extra hands. his dressings may not be exactly textbook, but he's had enough experience with them growing up that he can be helpful to people with injuries from small cuts to broken bones.

none of those people have appeared in the last half hour, though. heine leans his elbow on the desk and stares out the window at rain coming down outside, the drops pattering against the glass panes highlighted white when lightning strikes. thunder follows a moment after, almost masking the jingle of the doorchime. heine moves automatically, listening for the receptionist's voice as he runs a check of the medical equipment on a wheel-bearing cart nearby. he'd been about to drift off, so really, he'll take any kind of work right now. even superficial cut, he's that bored. ]

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[the receptionist is soothing, which is a great help when she can feel the blood trickling down her leg. or maybe that's rainwater. something is the problem, and she's still not sure when the adrenaline will wear off and this will hurt excessively, but as it is, she's going to carefully pull herself to where she's used to going.

this clinic is always kind to her. from showing up with staples embedded in the palm of her hand (a complete accident) to the last time she was ever going to try parkour and ended up with a sprained ankle, to catching the damn flu after overworking herself during midterms, they haven't judged her yet. of course, this might be the worst thing she's showed up with - the mirror shards are still embedded in her leg, after all - but she's at least very calm.

until she sees Heine's face, and then she has to have the decency to look ashamed. fate would have it that the same guy would be there to treat all of her ridiculous injuries. the guy that she can feel silently judging her for every one.]

...Storm's sure hitting.

[excellent change of topic.]

[ nice save. heine snorts, gesturing at the examination table that she's probably familiar with by now. he's familiar with her, too, in more than one way. not that he ever brings that up. god knows the last thing he needs is someone learning about his internet hobby. ]

What's wrong this time?

[she pushes herself up on it using her arms and draws her right knee to her chest - the glass shines where it's lodged itself through fabric and flesh. not too many pieces, but enough that it's another symbol of something that could have been avoided.]

It involved one of my friends getting drunk and a mirror.

[ex-friend, if they don't apologize for the mess.]

Right. [ heine gets a look at her leg. he doesn't wince, but he does sigh. ] Did you kick it or something?

[ he picks up a pair of scissors and starts by carefully cutting away blood-soaked material. ]

Lie down on the table and stop moving your leg. [ he has legitimate medical training, don't worry. ]

[to the question about the kicking, she just kind of winces - that should say enough - but she will lie down and cooperate. the adrenaline won't last forever, and when it starts hurting she'd prefer to not have the glass still be in there. and it's a good thing that the pants are old anyway so no big loss.

...actually she just said those last two lines out loud. and then carefully brings her hands up to cover her face.]

I guess I'm trying to distract myself.

If you keep talking, it'll help.

[ ignoring the pain, does, actually help people deal with it. not that heine is offering any conversation subjects to help...

heine makes a few more cuts with the scissors, carefully maneuvering grell to lift her leg so that he can get around the bottom and remove the whole calf section. ]

I guess I just keep thinking how stupid it all was in hindsight. Though I truly believed in her at the time, and it didn't seem like it could go that wrong.

[she laughs at herself, but that very quickly dies into a groan of pain.]

...Fuck.

What, did she suggest you kick the mirror?

[ because heine's of the impression that any attempt at kicking a mirror will make things go wrong.

after disposing of the bloodied cloth, heine picks up a tourniquet and disinfectant. once it's tied, he does some preemptive cleaning before picking up tweezers. ]

It's more complicated than that. She was trying to fight her reflection and broke it and when I was trying to get her to calm down she made me lose my balance and fall on the pieces. I am never going out for drinks with someone who does judo on the regular again.

[she's trying to breathe and remain still, she really is, because if she had tried to manage this herself she'd probably leave glass in there.]

[ all right. well. heine's brows pull together, half because he's concentrating, half because this explanation is even weirder than just kicking a mirror. ]

Okay... [ excuse him while he's distracted by a particularly nasty piece of mirror, which he removes with forceps and tosses into a tray. ] How about you just stay away from dangerous stuff from now on.

[THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM, REALLY.]

I can't help it if danger is drawn to me. It's as if I'm simply fated to fall victim to trials that in the end I will realize were put there to strengthen me.

[or just give her weird scars. that's another possibility, and the more he talks, the more she has to think about certain facts. like what her record must be beginning to look like.]

Uh-huh. [ heine shakes off his forceps, turning grell's leg slightly to get a better look at the other side of it. ] When's the "end" going to be?

[ and there they go—the last piece of mirror removed. hopefully. heine switches to swabbing disinfectant. ]

When it suits me, more or less.

[the shrugging she was going to do is interrupted by another "fuck" as the disinfectant starts to sting in the wounds.]

Maybe that time is now.

Yeah? [ he's unconvinced. ]

I'll be surprised if I don't see you within the next month. Maybe you should get a hobby.

[ it's not precisely something he meant to say; he doesn't want to open up the whole can of worms that is youtube and internet acquaintanceship. it's too late to take it back, so he pours on some more disinfectant to change the subject. ]

[the grimace on her face cuts off any possibility of a better retort or thinking that his voice sounded too familiar. this was it, this was how she finally lost her leg...no, not really, but it feels god-awful.]

I have a hobby...don't tell me you keep records of all this though.

[ staving off infection is important. ]

What do you mean? [ finally, he sets the disinfectant down, inspecting the still-bloody wounds to see if they need suturing. butterfly bandages will do, he thinks. ] People's injuries and shit?

Yeah, like that. I'm asking if there's a file on me.

[please say no PLEASE SAY NO...]

Well... [ he unsticks the backing from the butterfly plasters, then applies it over one of the larger wounds, concentrating on that rather than talking.

once he's done, he straightens up, tugging on the fingertip of one of his gloves to straighten it. ]

Yeah. I mean, we kind of have to.

Is there a way I might be able to look at it? I'm only curious as to what it may look like...

[she lets him stick the bandages on, thinking that it's good she's always healed up swiftly from things. maybe within a week she'll be able to walk normally again.]

Uh, maybe? [ next butterfly plaster: applied! heine tosses the adhesive backings into the trash. ] They're confidential, but since you're the patient... I don't know. You'd have to ask the boss.

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i got the ways and means to new orleans.

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