J.C. Ollivard's Home, Queens

[skybright]

Jason Cadeceus Ollivard was a well-known figure in the field of mutant medicine; a respected author, an often-cited researcher, and (if he did say so himself) an all-around pretty good guy. He had fairly clear-cut ideas about what did and did not count as being beneath the dignity of a medical professional.

Wearing pajamas which sported frogs wearing cowboy hats, for example, was not beneath said dignity.

Being seen wearing them, however . . .

So it was with a mixture of sleepiness, confusion, and deeply-wounded dignity that he found himself (clad in aforementioned pajamas) opening his front door to what he hoped would only be a disoriented inebriate stumbling home in the wee hours.

Instead, he found himself facing a squadron of mostly-unfamiliar people, many of whom looked to be injured -- headed up by one familiar furred figure . . . .

"Um," Ollivard blinked at Daws, "Hi?"

"Caddy." Daws shrugged apologetically and gestured at the group behind her, "Look, I know it's early and all, but I got some folks here who're pretty badly banged up, and . . . ." she shrugged again.

Dr. Ollivard squinted at the group of people -- he thought he recognized a few of them as friends of Daws'. "I don't suppose you're gonna tell me what's going on, areya?"

The detective laughed and avoided his eyes. "Let's call it a softball game that got sorta out of hand." She gave him her best pleading look. "Can we come in?"

Caddy shook his head. "Stupid medical college and their stupid Hippocratic oath . . . yeah, c'mon in." He swung the door wide and gestured towards the rear of the first floor. "I've got a kinda consulting clinic set up back here. Bring 'em in. J.C. Ollivard, sports medicine, 24/7, at your service."

[Jordanna]

Somehow, Miriam had found herself with not one but two chaperones to Ollivard's house, in the form of Henry and Alex.

That Henry had insisted on being close to her was not surprising. Alex, however, was peculiarly insistent on joining them. This even inclined Sid to come along as well, but fortunately, he had been persuaded at last to take Grace to her apartment and then go home to his children.

Alex was worried about Miriam, because he had seen her for the first time in her most overcome and vulnerable condition that night. She was touched--but sorry for the unnecessary crowd she was attracting.

A short period of time was enough to let her absorb the shock of her visions that night--more than she had experienced on a single occasion since her grandfather's funeral, and all of them violent. Now all that was left was the strange bubble of energy she felt within her. She was no longer exhausted and weak as she had felt on the riverbank. Physically, her body was now strong and alert and up for any challenge.

The vague sickness in the pit of her stomach was merely from her revulsion at the source of that energy.

As the bedraggled group entered Ollivard's house, Miriam moved forward and approached the doctor. "I'm a pathologist. I can help."

[skybright]

Caddy half-frowned at her. "You seem kinda familiar." Then he shrugged and assumed the brisk, let's-get-this-show-on-the-road attitude that had made him somewhat infamous among interns. "Okay then. Looks like we're basically doin' triage; gonna need to know who's injured, how badly, basic medical stuff like allergies an' the like." He strode down the hallway as he spoke, Daws and Miriam trailing in his wake.

Reaching the door of his "consulting room", Caddy flipped open the lights and gestured them in. The room was well-lit and clean, equipped with the medical accoutrements of any G.P.'s consulting room -- as well as some equipment that would more commonly be found in a surgery.

Caddy retrieved a bright-green labcoat from the hook behind the door, snatched a pair of latex gloves from a dispenser, and nodded.

"Okay, Doctor," He nodded at Miriam, "Why don't you send me our worst case first?"

[Jordanna]

Miriam disappeared through the doorway. A moment later, both she and Henry returned--supporting between them a half-conscious, greenish-skinned mutant who had been shot in the chest.

"We did what we could for him on the way here," Miriam explained quickly. "I'm not sure how deep the bullet went, but I don't think we're in danger of losing him just yet."

[skybright]

Caddy grimaced. "Oh, boy." He leaned over the semi-conscious man. "Sir? Sir, can you hear me? Listen, we're gonna get you fixed up, okay -- but I need to know, are you allergic to any medications?"

The only response was a groan. Caddy shook his head and extended his hand, causing a wheeled cart with a small screen mounted on it to roll across the room to his waiting hands.

"Nil-radiation fluoroscope," He explained as he switched the device on and hovered it in the air above the patient's chest, "Prototype. Friend of mine built it. Here we go . . ." He peered at the x-ray image that had appeared onscreen and sucked a displeased breath through his teeth.

"We're gonna haveta go for it. General anesthesia's too risky -- allergies could kill 'im. We'll haveta do a regional."

A wrapped syringe floated up from one of the counters, while a small fridge in one corner opened itself and spat out a bottle of clear fluid. Caddy gestured to Miriam.

"Doctor, can you get me 100 milligrams of that lidocaine, please?"

[Jordanna]

With a grim expression and swift, efficient movements, Miriam plucked the syringe out of midair and filled it. She almost dropped the bottle, forgetting that it wouldn't float by itself when she let it go, but she caught herself and set it down on the counter before handing the syringe to Ollivard.

Henry shifted uncomfortably. "I'm going to go out and do what I can for the lesser-wounded patients. I was a practicing mortician for a number of years." At Ollivard's somewhat aghast look, the undertaker shrugged and added, "At least I know anatomy."

The older man ducked out through the doorway, and Miriam couldn't help smiling faintly.

[skybright]

"He does know we want 'em alive, right?" Caddy winced as soon as he said it and shook his head. "No, sorry, forget it, bad joke, movin' on."

He bent over the patient and administered the injection, watching the man's face intently for any sign of allergic reaction. After giving the shot a few moments to work, he nodded and gestured to Miriam.

"Can you keep the flouroscope above the patient's wound, please? I work better when I see what I'm doing."

Miriam complied, and the blond doctor stared intently through the screen at the patient's chest. He narrowed his eyes, and the solid, glowing image of the bullet began to move incrementally.

"Gotta do this slow," He muttered, "Don't wanna nick anythin' important . . . ."

The process seemed to take forever; but it was really only a few minutes before the deformed chunk of lead eased its way out of the entry wound it had made and hovered over to the counter, where it fell with a hollow clang into a small metal basin.

Caddy blew out a relieved breath and reached out to snatch sutures and a needle from the air behind him. "He's lucky enough -- no internal bleeding to speak of -- I think that shot might've been a ricochet. " He sutured as he spoke. "It'll be sore as heck for a couple weeks, but that -- " He tied off the wound and peeled off his gloves. "That oughtta take care of him."

[Jordanna]

Miriam had watched Caddy in genuine admiration. In all her years of autopsies, she had removed countless bullets from bodies the hard way, and found herself wishing she'd been able to do it the way he did.

"There are two more gunshot cases. One was a clear shot through the arm--entry and exit. The other has a bullet lodged against the femur, I think. I'm pretty sure I can extract it myself while you take care of the other patient."

Miriam wasn't as sure as she sounded; delving around under a living person's skin was a lot more delicate than picking evidence out of a corpse. Still, it couldn't be that much harder... could it?

[skybright]

"Good-good." Caddy nodded and nodded to Daws. "You wanna bring in our next two contestants?"

The detective nodded and slipped out into the wide hallway; the wounded sat on the floor, or leaned against the wall, or -- in a few worrisome cases -- lay, still senseless, on the padded benches that were pushed against both walls.

She motioned to Daryl, who was cradling his bandaged arm against his chest. "Doc's ready for you." He nodded and stepped past her.

The other patient was one of Vance's men, a small, weatherbeaten, rather surly specimen who was sprawled against the wall, gritting his teeth. She helped him to his feet and half-carried him into the examining room.

[Jordanna]

While Caddy ushered his patient over to the other side of the room, Miriam motioned for Daws to put her man on the table, so that she could use the fluoroscope to find the bullet. Having watched the doctor carefully, she didn't have great difficulty in using it.

The trouble was with her patient.

"I don't like needles," he ground out through clenched teeth, glaring at the syringe Miriam approached him with.

"You'll be screaming your head off if I try to do this without giving you a painkiller." Miriam was painfully aware of her lack of bedside manner; she wasn't used to having breathing, complaining patients. "It's just a local anesthetic."

"I said I don't want it."

Miriam sighed heavily. Then, abruptly and without ceremony, she reached down and dug her gloved knuckles into the man's leg.

As he howled in pain and his arms flailed, she tidily administered the shot.

"I am not in the mood," she said, in a low, terse voice.

Her patient scowled and squirmed, but he remained silent as she proceeded to hunt for the bullet in his thigh.

[skybright]

Daws drifted over to observe Caddy's work; his long fingers worked swiftly and carefully, drawing torn muscle and skin together and patching it up. Daryl studiously examined the far side of the room while Caddy kept up his habitual stream of talk.

"So I said to the guy, 'Nobody's asking you to buy a horse, pal, all we want you to do is shotgun the labs.'" He glanced up. "No? Nothing? Sorry. Doctor humor, I guess."

Having apparently (between the sutures and the medical slang)permanently silenced Daryl, Caddy glanced at Daws. "So tell me something, Daws." He raised an eyebrow without looking away from his work.

"Since when do people play softball with automatic rifles? I ask merely for information," He tied off the sutures and drifted bandages out of a nearby drawer, " 'Cause, y'know, it just seems like the sorta sport I could really get into."

Daws sighed. "It's complicated, Caddy."

"Yeah, well, so's brain surgery, but you don't see me shying away from that. Actually, you do. But still." He waved Daryl off the table. "Once we get some of these patients cleared out I'll write you a prescription for some painkillers," He said.

Before he could press Daws any further, however, there was an indignant yelp from across the room. Caddy discarded his gloves and glanced at Miriam.

"How's it doing over there, Doctor?"

[Jordanna]

Miriam responded by dropping a newly extracted bullet into a metal tray with a loud ping. "I'm done with this patient, Doctor--but you'll have to stitch him up. While you're doing that, I can see about cleaning some of the cuts and scrapes waiting in the other room."

[skybright]

"Excellent. Great. Send in another case, while you're at it." Caddy shot Daws a disapproving look that clearly said we're not finished, then edged cautiously towards Miriam's still-scowling patient.

"So, don't like needles. Perfectly understandable, really." He looked vaguely worried, "Don't kick me, okay? Doin' my job."

Daws rolled her eyes and retrieved some gauze and antiseptic from the countertop. "I'll give you a hand," She told Miriam, "Caddy can handle things in here, and I know enough to take care of the cut-and-scrape end of things."

[Jordanna]

Miriam nodded, gathering her own handful of supplies, and headed out of the room. She paused beside a young woman whose arm may or may not have been broken, and instructed her to go in to the doctor.

Henry was hovering around the room, doing much the same job of cleaning minor wounds. Seeing the women, he drifted over to Daws.

"You'd better have a word with your friend Mr. Patil," he advised her. "The fellow insists on helping with the other patients, but he shouldn't even be standing up."

[skybright]

Daws groaned. "I should've known better than to leave him unattended. He's never gotten it through his thick skull that just because he doesn't hurt doesn't mean he's not injured." She passed her armful of supplies to Henry. "Here. I'll go hold him down."

She slipped away from them and moved further down the hallway, to where Veeru was half-kneeling over the still-unconscious form of Ana Cordoba. Daws' stomach turned at the condition of her friend's ankle; in the full light of the hallway it was bent at a clearly unnatural angle, and dried blood caked the bottom of his pant leg.

Daws scowled and put a hand on Veeru's shoulder, doing her best to summon a commanding tone. "You," She scolded, "Are sitting down right now."

Veeru blinked up at her in astonishment. "I'm fine, D, really. There are a lot of people here hurt worse than I am."

"Yeah, and there's two doctors lookin' at 'em -- two and a half if you count Henry." Daws shook her head and gestured at Veeru's injury. "You dumb kaminay, what're you gonna do if you cripple your other leg?"

Veeru glanced at his ankle, frowned, and then said stubbornly "So who is the pot, and who the kettle?" He gestured at Daws' hip. "I'm not the only dumb kaminay walking around on an injury."

Daws frowned -- she'd all but forgotten that she'd even been injured. "I'm a different story. It's hardly a scratch." Veeru merely stared at her, and she threw up her hands. "Fine. We both sit down and wait for the Docs to look at us, like reasonable people would."

"Which will make the first time you've ever behaved reasonably." Veeru shifted into a sitting position and stretched his injured leg out in front of him.

Daws plopped down next to him, chuckling. "Now who's the pot and who's the kettle?" She leaned back against the wall and sighed, suddenly aware of how tired she was.

"Okay, so it won't hurt either of us to rest a while." She muttered.

Veeru turned from checking Ana's pulse, about to reply -- but the detective beside him had already fallen into a doze.

[Jordanna]

At long last, Miriam thought that she and Henry had seen to all of the patients in need of treatment. She looked around to see Henry just finishing with a young man who had a gash on his left temple.

"Where's Alex?" Miriam asked. "I haven't seen him since we got here."

Henry glanced up from winding a roll of gauze. "He recruited one of the up patients, and traipsed off to raid the kitchen and find food for everyone. I'll be curious to see how Dr. Ollivard appreciates that."

Miriam chuckled humorlessly and moved toward Daws and Veeru, frowning at the latter's outstretched leg. In a voice low enough not to wake Daws, she said, "I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was still waiting." She knelt to examine his ankle, then shook her head. "I think you'd better see Dr. Ollivard about that. This isn't quite my day job."

[skybright]

Veeru nodded and let Miriam assist him in rising, but waved off her attempt to help him down the hall. "Please, don't bother yourself; I can manage just fine."

He frowned, leaning heavily on the wall and looking down at Daws. "Take care of her, will you please? She was wounded, but she won't say anything about it, if I know her." He shook his head, and then turned and made his way slowly down the hall -- the injured ankle wouldn't support very much weight.

The blonde doctor was just ushering the last of the badly-wounded out of the exam room; he sighed and rolled his eyes humorously as Veeru approached.

"Man oh man, the hits just keep on coming . . ." His gaze landed on Veeru's injured ankle, and he frowned suddenly. "Jeeze, what're you doing walking on that?"

Veeru shrugged. "It doesn't hurt. Still, the other Doctor said I should let you look at it."

"No kidding." Caddy ushered him into the room and helped him lie on the table, still frowning as he drifted a pair of scissors over and cut away the bloodstained fabric of Veeru's pant leg.

"Okay, wow." Caddy winced at the damage and plucked the flouroscope from the air to his left, "Seriously, this doesn't hurt? I gotta assume you're either dusted -- and I know you're not, 'cause if you were usin' PCP you'd be seein' purple wobblies by now -- or else you got saddled with one medically unfortunate mutation, amigo."

"Mitra," Veeru said absently, "Not amigo. I am from Bombay."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Caddy switched off the instrument and it drifted back to its cart. Veeru watched it go with interest.

"You have quite a talent, Doctor." He said, as the green-coated man retrieved a scalpel, sutures, and similar items from the drawers around them -- without moving from his place.

"Yeah, well, it pays the bills. I mean, it doesn't -- actually keeping it hidden kinda does, which of course is why I let Daws bring a whole softball team of gunfight casualties into my house at way-too-early AM." Caddy hesitated, the scalpel in his hand hovering just above Veeru's skin. "You really, really sure you won't feel this?"

"Not by myself." Veeru propped himself up on his elbows. "You are a friend of Daws'?"

The doctor nodded, his brow furrowing as he made the incision and went to work, "She bailed me outta a pretty bad spot, couple years ago. Probably saved me everything I've got, so I figure I kinda owe her some help when she needs it." He raised an eyebrow. "You?"

"For many years, yes." Veeru glanced curiously at his ankle. "How bad is it?"

The doctor made a displeased noise. "Pretty bad, mitra. You fractured your tibia but good, and your ankle's dislocated. You've also got some damage to the tendons and muscle -- that's from walking around on it all night. Gonna take a while healing." He chuckled.

"Never a dull moment in Daws' crowd, is there?"

[Jordanna]

As Veeru limped away, Miriam resisted the urge to go after him and insist on helping him to the exam room. Instead, she looked down at Daws, and shook her head with a sigh.

"I hate to wake you up, Daws," she said softly as she knelt down. "But your friend tells me you're hurt--and I need to know where."

[skybright]

"Huhn?" The detective roused herself and blinked somewhat muzzily at Miriam. At the other woman's look of concern, she chuckled.

"Oh. I bet Veeru told you I was bleedin' to death, or some nonsene like that. He's such a mother hen." She gestured to the graze on her hip.

"Like I told Veeru, it's hardly a scratch. All it needs is some gauze and I'll be fine."

[Jordanna]

"You think everything can be fixed with gauze," Miriam retorted, leaning over to examine and clean the wound. "You seem to forget your ribs are still healing--and I want to make sure you haven't re-damaged the fractures."

After treating the graze and gently checking Daws' ribs, Miriam sat back on her heels and shook her head, running a hand through hair that still felt matted with mud and who-knew-what from her swim in the river. Now that all the patients were seen to, there would be nothing for her to do with the inescapable restlessness inside her--and nothing to distract her from the night's memories, on many levels.

With a sigh she glanced around the room, at the fighters who were quietly nursing their own wounds or their injured comrades. In a quiet voice that was not entirely directed at Daws, she asked softly, "Was it all worth it?"