Pete Wisdom is saving the world...from itself. (mister_wisdom) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-06-07 17:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, moira mactaggert, pete wisdom |
"Send a janitor with a mop and bucket."
Who: Moira MacTaggert, Pete Wisdom
What: Pete and Moira continue to...get along as canonistically expected. XD Needles, blood tests, and snarkery!
When: Uhh...after the text messages!
Rating: PG13 for the usual culprit: language
Status: Complete!
Moira was waiting at the hospital. She was going to take care of Wisdom in her lab. He'd probably complain 0.00032% less that way, due to privacy. Plus she had most of the equipment she'd need.
Pure evil. Pete swore he was foaming at the mouth at a couple of points during the text messaging.
He wasn't going to get better. He didn't even want to get better. Just finish the job and be done with everything. Requiescat in pace.
What made matters worse, is that he had to lug everything with him. That meant the one piece of luggage with a shoulder strap, standard black, that contained his clothes and now the laptop, as well as files and notices and other things best left unmentioned. Sure, it counted as a carry-on, but that didn’t make it less heavy.
He slammed the door on the cab and walked while wheezing toward the hospital doors. For the inconvenience, there was no way he was going to pay even one pence to that driver. Cent? Money. He's not paying anything to the cabbie. Moira could do it, if she hadn't already. She called them anyway, so it was on her.
Pete strode in looking like he was ready to kill everything that moved or dared to speak to him.
The mission: To get his phlegm back, and therefore his genetic identity. Once the item was obtained, he needed to extract himself out of there, quick. There was no room for error. Now, to locate the target.
"MacTaggert!" The name was coughed out, more than spoken.
The nurse on duty looked up, eyes frightful, "If you're Wisdom, just take that elevator up to the top floor. She's waiting there!" He looked like he wanted to pee himself. Wisdom had that effect on people!
"Send a janitor with a mop and bucket. For the blood," he rasped out, all clammy white skin and blue eyes blazing out from under a mop of damp hair. He began dragging his feet to the elevator while in a cold, shivering sweat. Once there, his fist began to PUNCH the button until the bones in his hand hurt and the elevator door opened. Then he got in, clenched his teeth and PUNCHED the button to the top floor, glaring straight forward as the door shut.
Moira looked up from her equipment once Pete made it to the top floor, "Have a seat, I've almost finished analyzin' the samples I didn't send tae the underground bunker."
"You bitch, give me that phlegm back," he growled as he moved toward her, looking very much like he was ready to rip off some heads and start spitting down gaping neck holes. "Now."
"Tae late. Now come here an' take a look at this, lad." She swiveled the screen so he could see better, "See that colony there? Ye have the entire bloody thirteen colonies in yuir lungs."
"Fuck them. They wasted their tea dumping it, and just look at the mess they've made of things here." He pointed at her, not the screen, and his finger was trembling with barely contained fury. "Wot do you mean, it's too late."
"I've already run the sample. See?" She pointed at the screen and the mess of bacteria, "I'll wager ye have somethin' viral tae. Yuir like a petri dish."
"Fuck you and fuck your petri dishes," he said in such a way, that he sounded about ready to gargle on his own bodily fluids, followed by keeling over dead with a smile on his face.
Moira got up, shoved him into a chair, and started to do a proper check up. With relish.
Pete sat down, glared at her, and started to thwart her proper check up by slapping his hands at her hands, like a petulant five year old who didn't get a lolly for sitting still. Only lollies for him, were cigarettes. And scotch. Combined.
There was a glare of unmitigated scornful hate, the likes of such could compete with the burning of a thousand suns. That was what Pete was doing to Moira right about then. As well as one last hand slap.
Why? Because he can do it.
He's an asshole.
That's why. It's all the reason he needs or ever needs.
Moira eventually finished. She was extra pokey and proddy. Just because he was being an asshole.
His eyes had rolled into the upward position. They appeared to be stuck there. He turned his head and fake coughed on her. Followed by a real cough. Because he knew she was being insufferable.
Moira had put on a surgical mask. Because she'd been expecting that! She pointed and twirled her finger, "Turn 'round. I'm givin ye the good stuff."
"No. I can't see what you're doing back there. That's a sensitive area. Shoot it into me neck or summat."
"Nae, it has tae go there, or ye dunnae get it at all. It's nae like I haven't seen t'likes of it before, lad." She rolled her eyes.
"Brilliant. Cheers. Goodbye." He already started to get up and was grabbing for his things, to leave. "I should burn this entire building down, with you in it."
"I could set up a mirror so ye could watch."
He wavered while standing, like he couldn't decide which her he could focus on, or which one he loathed more than the other.
"How many fingers am I holdin' up?"
"Fuck you, I don't care. One...two...four...eight....eleven...no,
Make the cold go away. That's all he's interested in.
Moira looked him over, walked over, grabbed him by the ear, and yanked him back over to the examination table. She positioned a mirror, then bent him over, yanked his pants down, and jabbed about four needles into his pasty white arse. Because she is Moira MacTaggert and she don't put up with that shit!
"Ow...ow...OUCH! TART!" That hurt. The needles felt like a splinter of ice in his left bum cheek. The minute it was over and done with and the needles were out of him, he whirled around, while pulling his trousers up and glared in fuming rage at her.
Needles. Plural. She was holding a fistfull of four of them. And grinning at him, "That should take care of t'most virulent parts. But there's more." She shoved a bottle of horse pills into his hand, "I wouldnae even give ye these if ye weren't a law officer. Take them as direct, until they're gone, or it won't go away. ADDITIONALLY ye need tae stop smokin' for the duration." Into his other hand went a box of nicotine patches, "Finally, ye need tae reduce yuir alcohol intake tae normal human standards."
"Give up smoking?!”
"Only for a month. Maybe tae!"
"No smoking?" That was not happening. "Wot about lights? Ultra lights. ULTRA lights?"
Those were girl cigarettes, but he was desperate.
"Nae." Moira was stubborn about this.
"Right." Pete coughed a little and made sure his trousers were not in danger of falling down. He was zipped, buttoned, and buckled. And ready to go. Home. Where he could do what he wanted, including smoking. "Did you say how long, then? Chills. They'll go away...."
He squinted at her like they had better go away.
"The chills will come an' go. If ye smoke, they'll stay longer. So will the bacteria. An' I'm pretty sure it's gone viral an' I need tae study it." Because Pete Wisdom had become a walking incubator and thus? WAS FASCINATING! "So I'll be callin' ye in a few days, tae let ye know if I need to feed ye any more pills."
"Wot. Ever." He picked up the bag, took two steps, wavered, righted himself, and flipped her off as he was leaving.
"Mr. Wisdom. I'll be sendin' a report tae ye superiors."
He turned and glowered. "WOT? Sod off. You'll do no such thing. I need t'do this and I swear that if you have me kicked off this case, then I will spend the bitter remains of my life, making sure you pay for it. Comprende?"
"Then dunnae smoke." Moira smiled at him.
That earned her a loud pfft, of the dismissive sort, but he was smart enough not to respond either way to her and her stupid Scottish smiling dumbassery.
Moira called out after him, after a second thought, "Ye dunnae know a Katherine Pryde, do ye?"
Pete stopped entirely, brakes applied, and turned just enough to look over his shoulder at her, suspiciously.
"Why'd you ask."
"Nae real reason." But now she needed a blood sample. Feck.
"No, tell me why you want to know. And how you know her," he was turning to face her, chin tipped down so it was as though he was looking up at her, under lowered brows. It was a full on, no hold bars, glower. Of the dangerous variety. That wanted answers.
"Have a seat, I need tae run one last test," She replied. "We've talked before, that's all. "
"About what. What's that last test for."
He wasn't budging.
"Blood test. I need tae make sure nothin' has moved tae ye blood stream. If ye like, ye can watch me run the tests and dispose of the blood?"
"I've never heard of pneumonia moving into blood," Pete grumbled, as though every single conspiracy theory alarm was sounding in his head, along with a conga line of penguins wearing top hats bounding through his thoughts all of a sudden. There was no reason he could discern, why those penguins popped into his mind, either. That will probably pop up, later.
"Because I dunnae think ye jus' have pneumonia, bampot."
"Then what else is it."
"Why do ye think I want tae look? I want tae make sure ye dunnae have a virus of some sort."
"I'll let you take that blood," Pete was saying, like he knew when it was worth it to compromise, even if he hated doing it and left it as a last resort, "if you destroy wot's left o' it, and if you tell me why you would ask me if I knew Katherine Pryde."
"I dreamed we went on a pub crawl with her an' everyone threatened ye within life and limb if ye hurt her feelings." She took out a needle.
"Another of those bloody dreams. Fucking daft. So how do you really know her?" He was taking off his coat, and filing that information away in his head, where dreams and strange things were concerned.
"We met tae discuss the dreams." Moira prepped Pete's arm, "Something called Excalibur. We've both had that pub crawl one."
"Right. And you both think that I was there. Is that it?" His tone and expression clearly said that he thought it was ridiculous. Inwardly, though, Pete wasn't so sure. "What else about it?"
"Pretty much." She wrapped some rubber around his arm, found a vein, and jabbed him with a needle. She started drawing blood, "Me daughter was there, tae. Some man named Brian Braddock. A Kurt Wagner."
"I haven't met anyone named...ouch," he scrunched one eye up for a second. "You're evil with those. Well Braddock is some rich snobbery type family in England, but I've never met any of them. Or your daughter. Or you, before. And I don't know any Wagners."
"Och. I figured as much. But I thought I'd ask. I've a curiosity about some of these dreams." She peered at the vial of blood. Fresh samples. For MEDICINE! "I dunnae know what they mean, but I've seen enough in my life tae not discount anything. Especially if it means medical breakthroughs."
"Don't care. It doesn't have anything to do with me," he said, and he sounded pretty convincing. He almost convinced himself. "Are we done then? Or do I have to sit here waiting for you to look at me blood and find nothing, like I think you won't."
Already feeling a chill set in, Pete began rolling down that sleeve and putting that arm back through his jacket sleeve, followed by his coat sleeve. Then the scarf went winding around his neck as he held the coat closed by the lapels.
"Just remember my instructions," Moira replied. Helpfully, she'd written them on EVERY SINGLE BOTTLE AND BOX, "An ye'll be fine. I'll check up with ye in a week."
"Heh, fine then. I've things to do, tomorrow or the next day. I can't miss it." He sourly watched her for a moment, then got up, grabbed the bag, and began looking like he was dragging his feet toward the nearest elevator. This should buy him enough time to get this case done. At least.
On his way out, he began looking at the instructions that had been written on everything, in the sort of phrasing that made it so simple, a retarded blind amputee caveman could do it.
"O'course, lad." She watched him go, for a moment, then put his blood into her brand new advanced genetic scanner. She didn't want to know where it came from - dreams were one thing, but items you've dreamed about? Quite another. She murmured to herself, "Aye, lets see if ye've got it, tae..."