Post by skybright on Apr 10, 2006 18:45:42 GMT -5
“I toldja,” Daws said crossly, “I don’t need all this fussing over.” She flinched as the doctor prodded the tender flesh around her right eye.
The doctor – he hadn’t bothered to introduce himself – merely sniffed disdainfully. “That eye’s going to be black for several days – not that you’ll be able to tell.”
“Believe it or not, I’d already guessed that.” Daws sighed and shifted slightly. It beat being in a cell playing "pummel the detective" with Simpson and Arborgast, but she still wasn’t crazy about sitting on the edge of a table in her undershirt, somewhere in the Tiernan Enterprises building.
Especially since the doctor that Nora Hollis had called in to examine her seemed to regard “bedside manner” as one of those new-fangled notions that needed to be discouraged at all costs.
The doctor glanced briefly into her mouth, tsking at the multitude of small cuts there. “Keep those clean. Infection could be a nasty business.”
“Still not tellin’ me anythin’ new, Doc.” Daws sighed. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, she ached all over and was getting too tired to put up with social niceties – and it was only a matter of time before she’d have to do just that with Nicholas Tiernan.
The doctor prodded at her ribcage – provoking a painful yelp and a dirty look from Daws – and then stared fixedly at her lower torso for a long moment before announcing “Your third, fifth, and sixth ribs are cracked on the right side.” In response to Daw’s puzzled look he said brusquely “X-Ray vision. Saves me thousands on radiology.”
“Of course.”
Daws very emphatically didn’t want to talk to Tiernan tonight (or this morning, rather). She wanted to go home, make sure that the Doc and her parents were relatively safe, and then curl up and sleep for three days. She wanted the doctor to quit poking and prodding and peering at her, tape up her ribs, and leave her alone.
“Taping your ribs is out of the question.” The little doctor announced suddenly.
Daws stared. “How did you . . . .”
“Because in addition to x-ray vision, I’m also telepathic.” He said peevishly, digging through his medical bag.
Daws felt her heart hit her throat. True, most telepathic mutants could only read surface thoughts; but anyone with a shred of telepathic talent couldn’t have missed her concern for Miriam Van Linden and her parents – and the plan that had spirited them away.
She was dead.
Daws scrambled to formulate some sort of plan . . . and then the little doctor caught sight of her stunned expression, and shook his head.
“Not seriously.” He rolled his eyes and muttered “People with their literal thinking . . . . I could simply tell that you’ve taped them previously.”
Daws relaxed and let out a brief laugh born of pure relief. “Not the sorta joke to be tellin’ around people who keep secrets for a living, Doctor.” Then, remembering his original statement, she added “Why exactly is it out of the question?”
The Doctor gave a curmudgeonly snort. “Just because you see something done on television, Miss Dawson, does not make it good medical practice. Bed rest is just as effective, and it doesn’t run the risk of respiratory infection that binding your ribs would.”
Daws chuckled – which was proving to be an uncomfortable choice. “Doc, I’m a private eye. We don’t do bed rest.”
The little doctor drew himself up to his full five-foot-four. “And I do not do rib-binding just because the patient claims to know better than I do.”
Daws shrugged slightly. “So I’ll find a drugstore, buy some Ace bandages, and do it myself. Won’t be the first time.”
The doctor threw up his hands and pulled a prescription pad from his coat pocket. “Fine. Give yourself bronchial pneumonia. Fill this,” He shoved a prescription for painkillers into Daws’ hand, “While you’re at the drugstore. I wash my hands of the affair.” He snatched up his bag and huffed out of the room, shutting the door briskly behind him.
Daws sighed in relief – although doing so made her ribs twinge – and rubbed tiredly at the less-injured side of her face.
That offhanded comment of the doctor’s had probably raised her blood pressure five or six points. Simpson’s darkly muttered comments had led her to understand that Sid and Alex had succeeded in ‘transferring’ the Van Lindens; since the lawyer hadn’t mentioned them, Daws assumed that the plan had gone through as they’d hoped.
But that didn’t mean Tiernan didn’t know about it. Heck, that didn’t mean that Tiernan’s people hadn’t intercepted her friends after they’d left the station house. They might be safe; on the other hand, they might already be dead.
And even if they’d gotten away, Tiernan might still know who was responsible.
She could die today.
The thought was sobering; Daws wished briefly that she’d thought to give Alex, Sid and the others some instructions in case she didn’t come back.
No use dwellin’ on it now. Daws sighed, tail lashing agitatedly, and glanced briefly upwards. I know I ain’t been the most devout person in history, Boss. She glanced to the door, hearing footsteps in the hallway. As the doorknob turned, she added silently
But I could sure use some help right now.
The doctor – he hadn’t bothered to introduce himself – merely sniffed disdainfully. “That eye’s going to be black for several days – not that you’ll be able to tell.”
“Believe it or not, I’d already guessed that.” Daws sighed and shifted slightly. It beat being in a cell playing "pummel the detective" with Simpson and Arborgast, but she still wasn’t crazy about sitting on the edge of a table in her undershirt, somewhere in the Tiernan Enterprises building.
Especially since the doctor that Nora Hollis had called in to examine her seemed to regard “bedside manner” as one of those new-fangled notions that needed to be discouraged at all costs.
The doctor glanced briefly into her mouth, tsking at the multitude of small cuts there. “Keep those clean. Infection could be a nasty business.”
“Still not tellin’ me anythin’ new, Doc.” Daws sighed. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, she ached all over and was getting too tired to put up with social niceties – and it was only a matter of time before she’d have to do just that with Nicholas Tiernan.
The doctor prodded at her ribcage – provoking a painful yelp and a dirty look from Daws – and then stared fixedly at her lower torso for a long moment before announcing “Your third, fifth, and sixth ribs are cracked on the right side.” In response to Daw’s puzzled look he said brusquely “X-Ray vision. Saves me thousands on radiology.”
“Of course.”
Daws very emphatically didn’t want to talk to Tiernan tonight (or this morning, rather). She wanted to go home, make sure that the Doc and her parents were relatively safe, and then curl up and sleep for three days. She wanted the doctor to quit poking and prodding and peering at her, tape up her ribs, and leave her alone.
“Taping your ribs is out of the question.” The little doctor announced suddenly.
Daws stared. “How did you . . . .”
“Because in addition to x-ray vision, I’m also telepathic.” He said peevishly, digging through his medical bag.
Daws felt her heart hit her throat. True, most telepathic mutants could only read surface thoughts; but anyone with a shred of telepathic talent couldn’t have missed her concern for Miriam Van Linden and her parents – and the plan that had spirited them away.
She was dead.
Daws scrambled to formulate some sort of plan . . . and then the little doctor caught sight of her stunned expression, and shook his head.
“Not seriously.” He rolled his eyes and muttered “People with their literal thinking . . . . I could simply tell that you’ve taped them previously.”
Daws relaxed and let out a brief laugh born of pure relief. “Not the sorta joke to be tellin’ around people who keep secrets for a living, Doctor.” Then, remembering his original statement, she added “Why exactly is it out of the question?”
The Doctor gave a curmudgeonly snort. “Just because you see something done on television, Miss Dawson, does not make it good medical practice. Bed rest is just as effective, and it doesn’t run the risk of respiratory infection that binding your ribs would.”
Daws chuckled – which was proving to be an uncomfortable choice. “Doc, I’m a private eye. We don’t do bed rest.”
The little doctor drew himself up to his full five-foot-four. “And I do not do rib-binding just because the patient claims to know better than I do.”
Daws shrugged slightly. “So I’ll find a drugstore, buy some Ace bandages, and do it myself. Won’t be the first time.”
The doctor threw up his hands and pulled a prescription pad from his coat pocket. “Fine. Give yourself bronchial pneumonia. Fill this,” He shoved a prescription for painkillers into Daws’ hand, “While you’re at the drugstore. I wash my hands of the affair.” He snatched up his bag and huffed out of the room, shutting the door briskly behind him.
Daws sighed in relief – although doing so made her ribs twinge – and rubbed tiredly at the less-injured side of her face.
That offhanded comment of the doctor’s had probably raised her blood pressure five or six points. Simpson’s darkly muttered comments had led her to understand that Sid and Alex had succeeded in ‘transferring’ the Van Lindens; since the lawyer hadn’t mentioned them, Daws assumed that the plan had gone through as they’d hoped.
But that didn’t mean Tiernan didn’t know about it. Heck, that didn’t mean that Tiernan’s people hadn’t intercepted her friends after they’d left the station house. They might be safe; on the other hand, they might already be dead.
And even if they’d gotten away, Tiernan might still know who was responsible.
She could die today.
The thought was sobering; Daws wished briefly that she’d thought to give Alex, Sid and the others some instructions in case she didn’t come back.
No use dwellin’ on it now. Daws sighed, tail lashing agitatedly, and glanced briefly upwards. I know I ain’t been the most devout person in history, Boss. She glanced to the door, hearing footsteps in the hallway. As the doorknob turned, she added silently
But I could sure use some help right now.
