Wes chuckled a little. "And yeah - I'm the doc," he confirmed. "Word gets around, huh?" he asked, since he hadn't put up any kind of announcement or anything. Nobody had said a word about him being any kind of an official medic, even though he knew there were apparently facilities in the place, and with all the shifting about that had been going on, he simply had never gotten round to deciding if it was any kind of a good idea to self-appoint.
"More the word you sent me," Angel point out before waving. "Angel." His accent really came through on his name, giving it a different sound than someone else might say it.
“Ahh, right,” Wes said, catching onto the fact this was the guy he’d been messaging with before. “Well, we said that we’d catch up here. You comfortable talking over food, or would you prefer to chat somewhere in private later?” he asked.
“Nothing to hide,” Angel said with a shrug. “Also not much to tell. Heart didn’t work when I was a baby, they fixed me up,” He pulled at his shirt, revealing the start of the scar that ran down his sternum. It was obviously old, but it hadn’t faded. “I’ve been told to take it easy my whole life. But I do what I need to. Hasn’t killed me yet.”
“You have regular check ups before? Any issues? Arrhythmias or anything?” Wes asked him, figuring that he’d need to have more detail, and itching to give the guy a proper check up. They didn’t have access to any facilities however. He also wondered, if he asked, whether the administration would give him access to medical notes.
“Sure. Every so often. Maybe that thing. It’d give me trouble sometimes. Get going too fast. When I got shot I was sure I was going to die from my heart not the hole in my gut.” But he hadn’t and Angel was taking that as a sign. Fishing into his pocket he pulled out the bottle of medicine they’d left him with. He’d gotten it in prison too, but when he was moved here they’d actually given him his own supplies. “This is supposed to keep it from beating too fast.”
Wes reached out and checked the prescription. It seemed legitimate, and it would certainly get the job done. “Any other problems I should know about?” he asked, passing the pills back to the other guy.
“I’m not that worried about it? If something happens to me and I die, then fine. The Lord’s been threatening to call me up my whole life.” Angel wasn’t the type to fear death. Not like that. Years of Mass had taught him God had a plan and he trusted that.
“So, I’m not sure if that’s a yes or a no,” Wes said, easily. “Would you have any objections to me asking the administration if I can take a look at your medical notes? See if we can’t keep you here a little while longer. I’m sure god doesn’t need you just about yet.”
Angel raised an eyebrow, wanting to say no, but wound up just shrugging. “Sure, whatever you want Doc. It’ll make the little pájaro happy anyway.”
“Yeah, someone’s worried about you,” Wes said with a laugh. “I’ll see what I can do. If you have any troubles, let me know.”
“Not at all sure why, but yeah apparently she is. Not used to strangers being that damn nice.” Angel shrugged his shoulder. “So what do they got you in here for?”