Viola Kirke (giventohel) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2011-09-22 20:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | ares, hel |
Every New Mistake is a Beautiful Weakness
Who: Viola & Samuel.
What: A questionable injury brings about a curious visit.
Where: Viola’s hospital.
When: September 22, 10:13 p.m.
Warnings: Language.
Notes: Hints to some darker things afoot.
It was not often, these days, that Samuel found himself called in for what might be - somewhat inappropriately - called routine police work. He was no investigator, a fact he had been reminded of no shortage of times throughout his career. He lacked subtlety, tact, diplomacy, patience, a cool head, and any number of other traits such a task necessitated. Luckily the orders he had been given did not require such intangible and uninteresting skills. Today Samuel served his favorite purpose: objective and disinterested muscle, doing little more than flashing a badge and a Glock to better grease the wheels of an otherwise friendly interrogation.
The facts as they knew them were few. A severely injured young man had turned up at the hospital, dropped at the door of the emergency room with nothing but the board shorts and hemp necklace still clinging to his waterlogged flesh. A single nurse had dragged him bodily into the building, and from her frantic phone call dispatch had gleaned only the barest details of the vehicle that had so unceremoniously discarded him. She was the sole witness to the aftermath of something even the attending physicians could not fully understand. Some seemed certain it had been a shark attack; others held it was something more mundane, no worse than some of the more brutal beatings they had seen. Regardless, now even the minor lead she had made possible had now disappeared into the ether, gone as quickly as it had come.
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
Samuel arched a brow at his temporary partner, curious, though not disappointed, to see his anger so hastily kindled.
“What part of ‘we need to question her’ did you not understand on the phone?”
The head nurse, perched on a high stool behind the desk, peered up at them from behind thick reading glasses. “I’m not sure what to tell you, Detective...” She paused, squinting at his upraised badge. “Knox.” She sat back, shoulders squaring. “After we spoke with you she went to the restroom to compose herself, and she did not report back for the remainder of her shift.”
It was a difficult thing, feigning interest in a conversation in which he had no stake at all. Samuel found his attention wandering, unable to focus on the irrelevant pissing match before him. Almost immediately his brow furrowed, his green eyes narrowing as they caught sight of a familiar shape.
“Hey,” he called, his stadium whisper echoing down the empty hall. “Hey. Grace.” He flashed a broad grin, throwing one hand up in a sort of wave.
The name failed to ensnare Viola's attention. The voice, however, was another matter. Somehow even absent of the context of a shared apartment building, she recognized that tone and timbre, the slight roughness of the voice and the hint of a teasing smirk inherent to the words, even when she couldn't see the face of the man who spoke them. It could have been directed at anyone, the interjection of a greeting not uncommon in an environment so disorderly as hospital life, as friends or family arrived to visit a patient, or nurses scrambled for the attention of a doctor, or a doctor sought to consult the opinion of another. Yet, she felt compelled to turn, and did so, her head arcing ever so slightly to angle her view just above one curved shoulder so she could look down the vacant corridor. She stood at the junction where it met another, and a man, who was unmistakably Samuel Wolfe, was positioned at the opposite end.
Her heels made her approach obvious, clean, sharp clicks striking the ground in neat intervals, as she covered part of the distance between them, and offered him a polite smile. Her gaze met his with steady placidity, ignoring the rather inexplicable and flustering surge of interest that washed through her upon seeing him. She was merely curious as to why he was there, or at least, this was the reasonable conclusion she could draw as explanation.
"Sergeant Wolfe." The title she once had avoided using for its formality during the more casual meetings they might have shared at Pax nevertheless felt appropriate there at work, while both were on duty. "I hadn't expected to see you. I hope your business here is not of a terribly serious nature."
“Looks that way,” he said, “but I can’t say for sure.” He tipped his head back toward the front desk, where Detective Knox and his hospital counterpart were still locked in uncompromising battle. “Those two can’t be civil long enough to figure out what the hell’s going on.”
He glanced down at her, appraising her for the first time in her own environment. She looked markedly more composed than the last times they had spoken; it seemed that in her own place, where she knew she rightly belonged, she felt and communicated all the confident self assurance she had earlier been unable to exude. Samuel found it appealing, in a way, on some level even more so than the staccato pulse of her heels on the tile upon her approach. With such thoughts on his mind his renewed smile bore no small sharpness of its own.
“Nurse Daniela Lowell,” he said, shifting gears with jarring speed. “You know her?”
Viola shook her head. "Know her" implied a far greater intimacy in the knowledge one possessed of another person to be applied to a relationship that might have been a stretch to even call an acquaintance. "Know of her" might have been a more accurate description. In a hospital as large as the one where Viola worked, and with her own first year residency requiring her to constantly switch sections after only a few months, Viola could scarcely say she knew anyone beyond the attending physicians who supervised her and a few other of her fellow residents.
"I've seen her working around this area before, and we might have been formally introduced once, but we never had much opportunity to interact," Viola admitted, trying to conjure up the right image of the aforementioned nurse. The recollection she drew up was murky at best. A woman in her late thirties, naturally thin beneath the drapery of her blue scrubs, but the type Viola knew better than to underestimate. She'd likely put a few rowdy patients in their place with record efficiency. "From what little I did know of her, she was a good nurse." Punctual, caring, two traits that Viola considered worthy of praise, and then she frowned as she further considered the implication of Samuel's question. "Did something happen to her?"
Samuel made a vague, equivocating sound. He cast an eye down the corridor, pleased to note Knox’s continued preoccupation with his new nemesis. Satisfied that there was no harm in the truth, he drew closer to Viola, dropping his ordinarily dominating tone to something more carefully modulated. “She called in a patient here, dropped off at the door,” he said. Unconsciously his hand drifted toward his belt, his palm resting lightly on the grip of his Glock 17. It was not a motion borne of ill intent; rather, it was where he felt comfortable, in control, aware of this unfamiliar environment and his place in it. Strange, perhaps, that the presence of a weapon put him at ease in a place of healing, but there was nothing for it: It was simply a fundamental truth he did not question. He tipped his head back toward the ICU and emergency wards, where lay a young man dying, with no-one to help identify the cause. “Your John Doe surfer in trauma. Nobody’s seen her since.” He quirked a brow, his voice betraying his curiosity. “What do you think, Viola?” he asked. “Was that kid so fucked up she had to take a walk? Does that seem like her?”
No. That was her instinctive response, but Viola knew better than to speak the first thought that entered her mind. Impulses had to be intercepted, examined, and only then, if the action was still deemed appropriate, could it be considered a viable course. She was no trained psychologist, and even if she had been, one could not make an accurate assessment of another person they had only knew through second-hand information. It was impossible for her to truly make any predictions about the other woman's behaviour so she stuck solely to the facts.
"Nurse Lowell worked here for over ten years, and as she spent a significant portion of that in the emergency room, it seems unlikely. But there are always exceptions. Without knowing her personally, or having seen the patient she brought in, I could hardly be a fair judge," Viola explained, and all the time, she was aware of the distance between Samuel and herself, how he had adjusted that slight variation in space in order to speak with her more privately. It was a reasonable alteration, given the nature of the discussion, but she felt unexpectedly rattled by this new proximity, though she stood unmoving, shoulders held straight, and her breathing kept even. Her gaze only strayed once to note the way strong fingers rested half curved over the weapon at his hip. Perhaps it was that unintentional threat which unsettled her, but she would adapt and overcome this minor discomfort.
“Fair enough,” Samuel said. Her body language did not go unnoticed, unflinching as it was; after long years of such work Samuel had realized that most people, especially the entirely innocent ones, had a tendency to respond poorly to increased or otherwise commanding police presence. It was a perk of the job Samuel had no difficulty, moral or otherwise, making the most of. But he was impressed to see Viola’s continued resolve, her determination in the face of an uncertain and clearly unsettling situation. He realized, then, that each encounter with her left him liking her more, a truly rare phenomenon in both his work and personal life. “I’ll tell ya, though, I’d like it if you would take a look at that patient when you get a chance. Tell me if there’s anything to the idea she just went AWOL.”
He looked back to the front desk, feeling a mixture of disappointment and relief that the combative pair seemed to have at last calmed down. “My ‘partner’ there will be asking about the medical condition specifically,” he said. “I don’t think he’ll ask you today, or at all, but if you get a chance to look at the chart and you see anything that looks worth mentioning, I’d appreciate a call.”
Viola’s expression betrayed very little of her thoughts, her mouth held in a firm line, her eyebrows in perfectly symmetrical curves, but there was careful consideration reflected behind those dark eyes that were always kept level with his own, as though they were taking in far more information than might be deciphered from them. At last, she shifted slightly, a measured sway in her posture that retained equidistance between their faces as she canted her head and lifted her chin slightly, her hand drawn to her throat as slim fingers toyed with the delicate links of chain resting at her collarbone.
"I will do as I'm permitted. I'm bound by certain limitations as you must understand," she told him, an answer that remained non-committal albeit cooperative. Whatever disconcerting effect he at times appeared to have over her, it was not enough to make her forget who she was or the rules to which she must adhere. All life was governed by law, and even the most rebellious could not ultimately escape its most fundamental. Viola herself seldom saw reason to make exceptions, and she was not prone to making promises for which she did not possess enough knowledge to effectively decide if she could keep. There were details that an officer was obligated to be told by state laws, but just as significant a portion that medical guidelines stipulated must be kept private without patient consent. It was possible none of it would even be relevant to his inquiry and the situation itself would find resolution without her interference, but none of these were circumstances she could predict.
“I must, huh?” His grin returned, quirking broader than before, equal parts predatory and amused. In hindsight her answer came as no surprise, but even Samuel could not say he had anticipated it; Viola could count herself one among few who even in such small matters continually exceeded his expectations. Still, he felt a gauntlet had been thrown; there was no choice but to rise to the challenge. “Suit yourself, Grace. Keep your secrets for now. They’ll subpoena the medical records and get what they want anyway, especially since your Nurse Lowell called in to report what she thought were suspicious injuries. But I guess I can’t blame you for buying a little time.”
As quickly as his combative streak had been roused, it calmed again; it was a strategic retreat, one borne of Samuel’s instinctive understanding that she would not budge on this, that there was nothing to be gained by such overt bullying. His posture eased, the square of his broad shoulders softening as at last he let his hand fall away from his pistol’s close grip. “So now that that’s over,” he said, chuckling to himself, “how’ve you been? What are you up to these days, besides thwarting law enforcement?”
Viola did not react, not immediately, but she sensed that brief shift in his demeanor that left her far too aware of the full stature of his bearing, the sturdiness of a frame built of solid muscle, the subtle mix of man and metal and gunpowder in the otherwise sterile environment of the hospital. Dark eyes regarded him critically, assessing and curious, the way one might have observed a caged tiger, never exactly fearful but always respectful of the threat it could pose if it chose. Yet in the face of the vague taunt of his words, fleeting as it had been before he quickly returned to his previous state of ease and natural charm, her expression became chastising although unruffled, ignoring the involuntary flutter of her heartbeat felt against the flat of her palm, where her hand had lain with fingers teasing the thin line of her necklace.
"It is hardly 'thwarting' law enforcement, Sergeant Wolfe, to follow the very procedures set in place to protect us all." Her tone was cool and even, his own response little more than a monotone hum purring past smiling lips. When she moved, it was deliberately, the slight cant of her head and the mild upturn of lips, and within the confines of the narrow corridor, she could hear the faint tap of her heels as she took a step. Her arm drew a fluid path as it lowered back to her side. "When you show me that subpoena, I'll be more than happy to give you the very information it requests. But yes, for now, let us move on. I'm doing well, since you were kind enough to ask, and yourself?" She kept her reply neat, somehow impersonal though it met all the markers of cordial conversation, not fully trusting herself to say more because for all that she liked to believe his bluster had no effect on her, she suspected it was not perhaps the entire truth. Even water could weather the hardest of stone given enough time.
Samuel switched gears as quickly as she did, unsurprisingly endeared and invigorated by the sharpness of her reply. “Well I’ve never been better,” he said. He shifted as she had, inching closer again, casting his broad shadow over her slight, fair frame. “Don’t see you around the building much anymore.” His head tipped slightly, a seeming mirror of her own motion, a brief flicker of something like disappointment - exaggerated, of course, and marked with a pouting of his frowning lips that could easily have been construed as flirtatious in nature - crossing his rough-hewn features. “It’s a shame somebody’s almost gotta die before we talk again, bein’ neighbors and all.” His arms folded across his barrel chest as he leaned back against the wall behind. “What’s got you so busy you can’t be a little social, hm? And don’t say work, or I might actually feel sorry for you.”
She found the new turn in their conversation far more difficult to navigate than the previous discussion of business. When it came to her professional life, it was governed by facts, rules, policies, tangible lines that Viola found comforting to follow. Things of a personal nature were more treacherous, too much leeway given beyond the loose borders of decorum and tact. Even then she could perceive his overblown display of interest, more playful than artificial, the act tempered by the man's natural charisma and made more palatable than it might have been from with less finesse. Yet, she found herself a little regretful of this mild deception, that such inquiries stemmed more from polite small talk than any particular interest in her whereabouts. This small thread of emotion clashed against her more logical mind, and was quickly dissected and disassembled with the cool, precision of objective arguments, leaving Viola - to her great relief - feeling more like her usual, composed self.
"Work has been... challenging at times, but no, it hasn't preoccupied all of my time. I have a sister, who lives just outside of LA. I spend most of my off hours visiting her." She bit her lip thoughtfully, the gentle nip of front teeth cutting down against the swell of her lower lip. A smile eventually emerged as she thought of her sibling. (Bianca's teasing, "Thank god, you don't live closer!") "I probably see her more often than she'd like. But I'm certain you know how to keep yourself well preoccupied. What have you been doing when not trying to circumvent proper protocol?"
Samuel’s eyes snapped down to that careless little motion, a small gesture he had long ago learned to appreciate. He found himself briefly distracted by that full, bitten line, and by the small, pale dimples that marked the sharp pass of her teeth. For all her outward reservation, all the distance - both figurative and literal - she tried to keep between them, it did not pass beneath Samuel’s notice what a sensual creature she tended to be. They were all minute motions, unconscious and likely meaningless in nature, but they were there all the same. He drew a deep breath, exhaling on a grinning sigh.
“Most of your time, huh?” he asked. “That’s a shame.” His laugh was sincere but soft, and quickly silenced altogether. Even when he meant to cease his teasing, it seemed he could not follow through. He wondered at the cause of that, smirking at his own childishness, studying her anew as he tried to decide what it was about her that brought out this harrying - but for once, not malicious - side of him.
“As for me, Grace, I’m always trying to... what did you say?” Again he grinned, wrinkling his nose, turning his tone into something dryly serious as he repeated her turn of phrase. “‘Circumvent protocol.’ It’s a hobby of mine. I go to the gun range and get extra time for free. I go to the surf shop and flirt my way into free Sex Wax and board leashes. And you don’t even wanna know the things I talk my girlfriend into.”
She felt a faint but oddly familiar pang twist her stomach, though the experience was neither half as potent or as unpleasant as the first time she'd heard him mention a girlfriend. She had grown used to the idea, Viola supposed, but it was disconcerting that she felt anything at all when she hadn't even yet decided whether she liked or disliked the man. But this echo of the previous experience was enough to bring that Valentine's day clearly to mind, her awkward attempt at making amends and the strange traitorous reactions he inspired that made Viola feel unlike her usual self. Viola couldn't understand it better now than she had then. Even when she no longer was left completely off-center in his presence, she wasn't convinced she'd entirely recovered since that day.
"No, I suppose I wouldn't. There are some things that ought to remain private," Viola answered, her words evenly spaced, her tone carefully balanced, and then she added with a politely composed smile. "I do hope that rule is one to which you'll more willingly adhere."
“Depends on how much liquor I’ve had,” he teased. “Since right now that answer is ‘none,’ I think you’re safe.” Viola held his gaze, her eyes hard and flat that they reflected nothing of her thoughts, that alcohol or no, she felt anything but safe in his presence. He did not notice her hesitation, did not read in her posture the slightest discomfort. It was quite likely he would not have chosen a different course of action even if he had. He could not resist tossing her a playful wink, then, needling her, in his way, though the conversation could by then have neatly taken its course and moved on to parts far better known and more appropriate. But to Samuel’s mind, of course, that was the neater and much less interesting path. “If you ever change your mind, though,” he said, “you let me know. I’ll be happy to share a story or two with you. Who knows?” He shrugged, green eyes studying her finely shaped features, his grin spreading broader still. “You might even learn a trick or two. Can’t see anybody complaining about that.”
The boldness of his offer chafed against her sense of propriety, but Viola was not blind to the likelihood that this had been a deliberate act, not one simply made out of thoughtlessness. Samuel Wolfe might have been characterized as childish and unpolished, but Viola suspected such traits were not due to any lack of intelligence or ignorance. Rather she sensed he was as aware as she was about the nature of his tendencies, and delighted in them. However, if he hoped to get a reaction out of her, she would not comply. Viola would do as she did when faced with any problem; assess it calmly and find a way to overcome. Anger certainly could not better the situation and therefore she would not give into whatever mild irritation she felt. The air tasted of cleaning solution and metal as she inhaled slowly and cleared her thoughts, envisioned herself rising above the inherent chaos that followed her companion like a shadow.
“I’ll keep so generous an offer in mind. There in the very back where I am certain to forget it,” she shook her head but her expression remained patiently good-natured as she stood with her shoulders rolled back and spine straightened. “If that is all, Sergeant, I am sure we both have important duties to attend to.”
Samuel laughed aloud at her answer, the better part of his amusement stemming from his certainty she had not truly been joking at all. Dry wit such as hers was a rare commodity, and one he took great pleasure in when it presented itself. He nodded, then, deciding that his welcome had at last been worn out. “Yeah, I guess I should get back to my babysitting duties,” he said. He started past her, the desk where Knox and the head nurse argued still now solidly in his line of sight, but paused as he drew alongside her. He looked down his nose at her proud, straight-backed shape, silently but substantially pleased at the hell she had rightfully given him. “Good seein’ you, Grace,” he said. “You take care.”
With that, he strode away, the muffled thud of his boots echoing down the corridor, sounding his departure.