Pete Wisdom is saving the world...from itself. (mister_wisdom) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-06-17 16:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, moira mactaggert, neena thurman (domino), pete wisdom |
"Tasty apple juice."
Who: Domino, Pete Wisdom, Moira MacTaggert
What: Domino goes to the doctor! Needles happen. So does terror. And spider monkey clinging. Guess what? It wasn't allergies. :|
When: Yesterdayish!
Where: Lucky Shots gun shop and then MacTaggert's lab
Rating: PG13 for language, and 5 needles.
Status: Complete!
Pete was staring at his watch, leaning back against the counter in Domino's place of employ, waiting for her to do one of the following: cough, wheeze, sniffle, drip, ooze, clear her throat, touch her forehead like it was hot in there (it wasn't), go running for the apple juice he left on her desk like an object of temptation, or otherwise be grumbly because she was ill.
Then, and only then, would he grab her by the ankles, and drag her clawing and coughing, to MacTaggert's lab.
It wasn't hot in there, and she wasn't feeling wheezy, drippy, oozy, or any of that. Domino was feeling absolutely fine. She'd even put on her 'I'm feeling totally fine today' shirt, and put some eyeshadow on before heading out to work today, because she was feeling so fine that she needed to decorate herself with womanly adornments. The fact that Wisdom was sitting in her shop watching her like a hawk, though, was really starting to grate on her nerves. She decided to tell him so while taking a break from engraving something in her workshop, after grabbing a cup of coffee and leaving the very tempting apple juice alone, "Get out of my shop. I'm fine. Go do work."
The fact that she was wearing that shirt just made it seem like she was trying to hard to prove a point, and Pete was suspicious enough not to be buying into it. Because he knew, as soon as he walked out, something would be amiss.
However, he looked up from checking his watch, shrugging a shoulder and announcing in a Britishly aloof way, "I've got the FBI on summat and nothing to do, otherwise. So I'll simply wait and see how the day plays out. Unless there's a reason you'd like me out of the shop." And then he stared at her. In that way. Which basically was like he was saying, 'IS there a reason why you'd like me to go, hmmmm?'
A looong, casual sip of coffee was taken, then Domino eyed him, "Nooo, by all means. Stay in the shop. Take up space and scare my customers away with your trenchcoat stench and general superior aloofness. It's not like I care."
She wrinkled her nose up a bit at him, mostly out of annoyance for how much of an ARSE he was, then marched back into her workshop and curled back up with all of her tools. The coffee mug was nice and warm, and she cuddled it momentarily before getting back to engraving things. She was determined to wait this out. Surely Wisdom would get really bored and decide to go crash his car into some random passersby or hold someone up at gunpoint for no reason at all.
Having been a detective and been on stakeouts, and having dogged determination to plod along until things that needed doing were done or had come to some resolution? And that's even if life in general liked to piss in his face and have a larf about it at regular intervals? Pete showed no signs of leaving. Nope. None. He stayed put. He gave his trenchcoat a cautious sniff and decided it smelled like febreze and cigarettes and that was acceptable. The superior aloofness was bred into him, so there was nothing he could do about that. Even if he wasn't rich, the British had a way of sounding like they were somehow above it all, unless they were selling violets on a streetcorner and giving handjobs behind a corner shop. Then maybe they didn't sound like they were looking down their noses and correcting others. But only maybe.
Pete took a folded up newspaper from his coat pocket, said nothing, continued leaning, and began reading. Unbudgingly.
It was a very long 30 minutes of Dom waiting for Pete to leave and Pete stubbornly reading his newspaper, before the tiniest little sniffle escaped the workshop. Dom eyedarted around for a second, looking for a tissue without trying to look like that's what she was looking for. She didn't want to GO to the doctor, damn it. Sadly, the only tissues were on her desk, next to the apple juice bottle that Pete had left, like he was baiting a trap. And if she moved anywhere near that direction, he would definitely catch her at it. She wondered if she could come up with some other convenient reason that she needed to be in her office.
Not that she really wanted to move. But she soldiered on anyway, getting up out of her chair and plodding into her office, muttering something about needing to check an order form. She shut the door behind her, then she plunked down into her chair, and took 3 seconds to rest her head on her desk. With one hand on the tissue box, like actually grabbing them and applying them wasn't worth the effort.
That's all right. Pete calmly folded his paper and slowly, silently walked over to the closed door. He knew what she was doing there. That is precisely why he leaned in, his head turned and his ear toward the crack of the door, to hear what was going on inside the room. Which had wonderful acoustics, he thought, because it wasn't too big a space, and it was pretty well contained. It was so quiet, that if she so much as pulled a tissue from the box, he'd hear it. He was mostly holding his breath, and letting it out very slowly and evenly so that he couldn't be heard. Obviously he's done this before. Who knew mister obnoxious arse could be so quiet? Amazing.
The tissue box was so far away, damn it. Why couldn't there be some tissues that automatically applied themselves to people's noses? That would be awesome. When she was done being sickdealing with these allergies, she was going to think up a way for that to happen. Somehow. Eventually though, she managed to sit up in her desk chair, and pull a tissue out of the box. what followed was her making an effort to blow her nose without sounding like that's what she was doing at all, except it failed miserably. Like a kid expecting to be caught with their hand in the candy jar, she immediately crawled underneath her desk and hid, afterwards. Maybe if he opened the door and didn't SEE her it would all be fine.
Did she lock that door? Because Pete didn't hear her lock that door. He thinks she only shut it. So there he goes, in an instant, hand on the doorhandle and one foot against the door to send it flying open with a rousing, "AH HA! I GOT YOU THERE!"
Of course, she wasn't immediately in view, so Pete strode into the room, and began a visual inspection. No way to crawl out the window? Probably not. It was a gun shop. Bars and alarms and things that went zap and killed you. Or, at least, that's what HE would have if he had a gun shop. Good thing he doesn't. Behind the filing cabinet? No. He made a hmm noise, then KICKED the chair away from the desk and popped his face down so he could peek at who might be beneath it. "MM hm."
Domino eyedarted, "There's a perfectly good reason for why I'm hiding under here with a bottle of apple juice." She would just have to make one up really really quickly, while Pete gave her that very dry look that he was giving her right now. She eyedarted to the other side, and smiled a bit at him, like she was completely innocent of any wrongdoing here, then began to construct her story. "You see... I came in here to check on an order form, but while I was there, I ... tripped over the rolly part of my desk chair," Good thinking, Neena! "... then I was falling, so I grabbed on to whateve was available, which was, of course, this bottle of tasty apple juice... but it didn't help at all, so I went down." And that was the story of how she came up with an elaborate excuse for being under her desk, all so that he wouldn't take her to a doctor.
"Tasty apple juice. Right. Is that anything like delicious biscuits?" he dryly asked, to match the dry expression he was giving her. The fingers of one hand began to drum on top of the desk, in a deliberate and unforgiving rhythm. "Is that also why your nose looks a lit'le red, petal, because you bumped it like a big bad bloody boo boo on the way down, and the tasty apple juice no save yeeeeeeew?" Pete stood up, folded both arms over his chest, and waited. "Get out from there, we're goin' t'see MacTaggert."
The lips on Domino's mouth thinned into a teeny, tiny line, and her expression took on one of ... well, it was obstinace, mixed with terror. The drumming on the top of the desk was doing nothing at all to help with the headache, either, and Dom was absolutely certain that he was doing that on purpose.
"No. Fuck off. I'm not going. I'll die first. You can't make me. I have..." she looked around her, "I have a bottle of applejuice and I'm not afraid to use it!" Also, her voice was starting to take on that hoarse, scratchy sort of tone that people who are sickhave allergies tend to end up with, when their throat is sore. Maybe Pete wouldn't hear!
Oh, he heard that scratchy. He still has a slight amount of scratchy himself. And the feeling that a draft is constantly blowing on him, and it's cold, and yet he is radiating heat like a mother fucker. He heard that, and that is why he announced the following like it was a death sentence, "I am taking your arse to see MacTaggert. There will be no prostitutes. Your apple juice will not save you. You are not going to shoot me. You are not going to escape. I know where you live, and I can probably get into where you live, very easily. So fuck off and get in the ruddy caaaaahhhhrrrrrr, Neena."
Oh. OH. He is pointing out of the office. Someone means business. Of the srs variety.
That he meant serious business was not lost on her at all. She pouted a bit, perhaps because he was making her go through with this, but also likely because he told her that she couldn't shoot him over it. That was going to be her last resort! Of course there was a gun under the desk. Everyone kept guns under their desks just in case of invasion and needing to hide under the desk for protection, right? They didn't? Well maybe they should. She let out a very, very long sigh and rolled her eyes, the very picture of a 3 year old who's been told they can't have candy in the check-out aisle, then started crawling her way out from under the desk.
"I hate doctors," She reminded him, plaintively.
He kept a gun under his desk, in London. So yes, everyone - in his book - keeps guns under their desks. His coworkers look at him funny but he just stares back at them, funnily. Because some day, when their space gets invaded, he's going to be the only one able to do anything about it, without looking obvious. Of course, no one in their right mind would invade anywhere that Pete's been working in, because it's piled high with so much crap that they wouldn't be able to see him immediately, and he'd practically have his own shoot out barriers already in place.
Pete only gave her a little pat on the back and said knowingly, "All doctors need t'die, that's true. But if I gave you this shite, then you need t'get rid of it before you get worse like I did. So off we go." He began walking with her to the door, picking up her things for her and making sure she had her keys to lock up.
There was no one to cover the shop on the weekends, so she really did need to lock the place up as they left. She cuddled her apple juice bottle against her, like somehow it would still save her from all of this, and she just hadn't come up with one yet. Or maybe it was a tasty and refreshing life preserver. Anyway, it was something comforting that she could cuddle, which she desperately needed right now. Shop tightly locked up, she stared at Pete's car like it was driving her to her funeral, before climbing in. She hated every single part of this, and while it was likely she would have hidden that from anyone else, it was Pete, and she didn't care.
Pete guided her to the funeral car, which looked as though it was ready to die too. It was basically 3/4ths of a car, and someone had stolen 3 out of 4 hubcaps off it. Not that he cared, because at any point now, it would stop working entirely, and he'd have to get another one because he'd label it 'defective.' Convertible car? Here he comes. Domino? There you go, into the car, and Pete shut the door with the sort of finality of a crypt being closed for the next thousand years. Then he was in the car and had it running and moving, before she could try to paw at the windows or make an escape. On went the radio and Pete hummed along with 'I wanna be sedated' as he drove like a maniac, smoked, and otherwise looked like he made this sort of commute on two tires every freakin' day.
He might have even reached over and patted Dommy on top of her aching head like 'there there, will make it all better, with medical torture.' Once or twice.
Like the song on the radio, Domino wanted to be sedated. That would be really nice, right now. His driving only made the entire situation worse. She thought through several ways that she could kill herself on the way there, so as to avoid the whole thing with having to go into a hospital or doctor's office and then be in the presence of one. On the way there, she creatively added a few more that had to do with accidents because of Pete's driving. Then she started coming up with creative methods of killing herself with an apple juice bottle.
"Stop eyeing your apple juice bottle, you can't stab yourself with it," Pete knowingly told her, as they went through a red light. What? He was going to call it an emergency situation. No one could say it wasn't. Before too long, the hospital was in view, and he pulled into the parking lot, right behind an ambulance with its sirens on, taking advantage of their speediness so he could get to the doors. Too bad he wasn't a lawyer, but the way he was driving after that ambulance? It certainly looked like he was one. He veered off at the last moment before the emergency room, and swerved into a parking space, close to where the hospital doors were to Moira's lab. Then he stared at Domino, like it was time to face the music. "Out we go, Dommy. C'mon then. It's not like you have to do this, on your own."
Also? He made it there before the song was over. That's record time. Go him.
The look she gave him in return was so pathetic it was laughable, "Do we have to?" She was certain he was wrong about the apple juice bottle, too. There were probably 2 or 3 ways she could, in fact, stab herself with it. Though at this point, sitting in a car right in front of the hospital, she'd probably just get swarmed by seemingly well-meaning doctors. Who would then hurt her or retrain her or poke and prod her or steal her dna for science or some other ... she didn't even know, she just hated them. They did bad things, not good ones.
"Yes, we have to. I'm not going to sit idly by after having coughed all over you, and watch you come down with the same rubbish that I had. Out of the ruddy, bloody car." He poked a finger at her shoulder, poke poke poke. "And you can take the bottle but you'd best not aim it anywhere toward your face or throat." He got out of the car, taking the keys with him, but was smart enough to leave the door open until she got out of the vehicle, as well. That was because they both know how to hotwire things, and he was going to leap in and stop her if she even dared to try it.
She surprisingly didn't even dare to try hotwiring the car and making an escape. Instead, she slumped her shoulders a bit, like someone who had finally given in to the inevitable and was miserable over it. She expected to die any moment, the doctors were going to kill her or Pete was going to smite her or... oh it was mostly an act, but she really did hate the whole thing. Still, Pete kept sounding guilty over the whole thing, which was her major motivation to get rid of it. He didn't need to be all guilty. Even if she was going to blame him, repeatedly. She got out of the car, hugging her juice to her like it was a teddy bear or security blanket. "... let's get this over with."
Moira was on the top floor, in her lab as usual. There'd been no surgeries that day that had required her - delegating responsibility was a wonderful thing and her surgeons, Jean Grey in particularly, knew what the feck they were doing. Dr. Linus had made a good choice, with her. She was doing a lot of research. But right now, it was a coffee break, and she was playing Pandemic 2 on her phone. Because of course.
"That's my girl," he said as though to encourage her, with a bit of a smile around his freshly lit cigarette. After all, he had to get Moira's proverbial goat somehow and smoking seemed to work. Otherwise, he'd go unfulfilled and unsatisfied being there in that pit of medical horrors, himself.
Being oh-so-supportive and making sure she didn't bolt at the last second, Pete put one arm around Domino's shoulders and walked with her into the building. He promptly raised his hand up and flipped off the receptionist as they headed to the elevator, grumbling, "Here t'see MacTaggert." Then he punched the door while puffing on his cig more, to really smoke the place up. Into the elevator they go. And no elevator music. So it was uncomfortably silent.
Even after the doors opened again and smoke wafted out. "MACTAGGERT!" Cough cough. "Someone needs seeing to. Oh, and go t'hell." He'd drag Dom out, heels skittering and everything, if he had to.
Dom's heels were going to be skittering a bit, the closer and closer they got to the actual office. Because as resigned to this fate as she'd been when she got out of the car, survival instincts were kicking in and she desperately wanted to be anywhere else but here. Anywhere else. Even on the recieving end of a glory hole in taiwan, yes, that would even be better than being here at the doctor's office. The smell of the place, especially, was so off putting. It triggered wierd feelings in her. Why couldn't doctor's offices smell like good things, like cotton candy or popcorn or coffee? She wasn't getting much of anywhere, however, because all of the smoking Pete was doing was making her lungs want to crawl out of her body and die somewhere. The result was that she was too busy coughing to really make a good escape.Glory glory hallelujah "Put out that deathstick ye bampot. An' what's this? Ye've infected another!" Moira pointed at them. In horror, "Och...och this isnae good, I knew it would be contagious but I thought it had gotten past that phase. Och..."
"Not on purpose. This is a...coworker." Pete kept right on smoking, until he was good and ready to put it out, himself. Which he did, right in a conveniently empty beaker. A quick rattle and the embers died down enough that he could simply let it smolder itself out of existence. He stuck right by Domino's side, like glue, even resting one hand on her back to let her know it was all right and hopefully she wouldn't be so tensed up. "Though that's enough of your Scottish moaning on about it, you harridan. Can you nip it in the bud before it gets worse, or wot? And she needs to stay within arm's reach of me, the entire time. No exceptions."
"We were supposed to be getting prostitutes," Domino informed Moira, with the tone of some petulant child who had been denied a promised trip somewhere, or something along those lines. Which wasn't at all an acceptable way for a woman her age to be, but she didn't really care. She gulped back wave of nausea as Pete lead her into Moira's lab by way of that reassuring hand on her back, and tried not to look around the place too much. If she looked around at the place, she'd have to face the fact that she was actually in it. Instead, she looked at the floor.
"In yuir state, I'd have tae say nae tae the prostitutes," Moira informed her dourly. She had Domino take a seat, and proceeded to check her over. She gestured for Wisdom to distract Domino while she drew some blood. The woman was shaking so hard she thought she might faint at a needle, "At least until ye temperatures are down. That goes for both of ye. An' dunnae be eejits, go tae Naevaedae."
"Bugger off. I wouldn't take her anywhere else, otherwise," he said, sticking close by. In fact, he was so close, that he reached out and held her hand, because that was what friends former co-workers do for eachother. Her back? He has it. There will be no one leaving knives or things between her shoulder blades, not on his watch. "Another thing, dumb arse, I wasn't getting one for meself. Stop nagging. My temperature's leveled out now, as it is. I'm not worried about it, only that she's caught summat and it needs dealt with."
He even gave Domino a reassuring hand squeeze, to let her know it was all right. He didn't like doctors, but it was really very apparent that she had a really deep set phobia or something, if she was trembling already.
"I have very high standards," Dom nodded her head up and down and up and down, because it was true, she had very high standards when it came to who was allowed to introduce their genitalia to hers. She glanced over at Pete, because there were going to be needles, she was sure of it, and yes, there it was, the pinprick of a needle. Her eyes felt like they were clouding over, but she absolutely wasn't going to pass out over a needle to the arm. Not when she'd managed to take 4 bullets and a broken leg and STILL crawl back to base that one time in Afghanistan. How was a needle able to do that when nothing else did? Needles were the devil, that's why.
"I keep telling you that it's allergies, and that I don't have anything at all, and I'm not even running a fever," her tone was very even, and she kept right on looking at Pete. Did he always have those little dots on his nose? She wanted to connect them with a sharpie.
Moira thought the two of them were absolutely adorable together. Quickly, She slapped something against his forehead, and then clucked her tongue, "Yuir temperature is over 101. Ye need tae rest tae. Both of ye do! I'm prescribin' bed rest an' more antobiotics! An' I mean bed rest! Nae leavin' the bed except for t'potty!" Then she slapped that somethin against Neena's forehead to prove to her she has a fever, too!
Adorable as friends former coworkers, who didn't particularly enjoy seeing eachother being shot up or the likes. And there were no spots on his nose, so it could be concluded that the spots she was seeing were the sort that people sometimes get floating in their vision before they passed out.
"It's one oh one point seven," Pete protested, grumpily. "I'm not stayin' in bed, when I have things to do. It's been that way for days now. Hasn't faltered, hasn't wavered, hasn't gone up or down. I'm barely even bothered by it and I've taken all the antibiotics you've given me. Leave well enough alone and you can bloody well concentrate on her. Oh, and stop yelling at us, you cow." He eyed the the slapped something on Neena's forehead, to see what the result was, out of curiosity.
The magical forehead thermometer seemed to have equalized out at 102 degrees. Dom didn't even FEEL feverish, she just felt cold. Which was probably because of the fever, but that was playing semantics. Everything was fine, and she had no reason to be sitting in here. Of course, her point of view was suspect entirely. She didn't even realise she was shaking, or the fact that Pete's nose didn't normally have any spots on it. "I have a shop to run and things to do, and if I stay in bed, then no one will clean my apartment. It needs cleaning, because Pete made sure to mess it up last night," She glanced at Moira, like maybe that doctor could be reasoned with and would let her go right now, since Pete was obviously not letting her leave, "He left globs of toothpaste on my sink, it was horrible. I really need to get out of here, Okay? It's just allergies."
Oh no, he'll make sure SHE rests and no one was going to make him do so, because it really was do or die with him. Pete's expression shifted into British aloofness, with heavy eyelids and looking down his nose at the little Scottish doctor lady, as if she belonged in a circus side show.
"Fair enough," he finally said, "I'll make sure she rests. Now, wot about he antibiotics an' the likes, hm? She'll need some. While she's resting and leaving my toothpaste and germ army in her sink, alone."
Dom twitched.
Moria eyed Pete, "Only if ye rest tae."
"No deal. I feel well now. She doesn't. Give her the bloody prescriptions, or I'll be forced t'drag her down to another doctor and she'll pass out and it'll be on you." He eyed her back, unwaveringly, like he was waiting for her to call or fold her cards. And if Domino twitched even more because of it? All the better to make Moira comply sooner rather than have things degerate further.
Mainly, at this point, Domino was sitting there in the neutral brain zone of not really paying attention to anyone or anything. Off in her own delightful Domino land, where all the guns she could ever want were right there for her, and she could just go around shooting whoever she wanted to! It was a great world to be in, and it was one where there were no doctors, because she'd shot them all already, and absolutely no one was getting shot with antibiotics in any part of their rear ends. Not that Moira had ever implied that's what she was going to DO to Dom, but Dom remembered Pete saying it had happened to him.
Moira gestured to Wisdom, "Flip her arse up, I need tae give her the big gun."
"All right, petal, 'ere we go." He started to lean Domino to one side, so the world probably looked like it was having a little lay down, when actually, it was her having the lay down. In fact, it looked like he was moving around a comatose critter, because he sort of just pushed her around on the table until her bum was facing toward Moira. "There we are."
"I like guns," Domino replied, cheerfully, while the world went sideways. She liked sideways things, it reminded her of sleep time. Sometimes, a good nap was the best thing in the world. Maybe she'd take one.
"Okay look away lad." Moira pulled down Domino's pants, whistled, then jabbed five. FIVE. Needles into her butt.
"I know you do," Pete said, while petting a hand over her forehead. He sounded like he was talking to a two year old, about tinker toys. "I like guns, also."
"Guns are the best--" Her eyes popped open to the size of dinner plates.
"There ye go." She patted Dom's butt with a cotton ball. Five was to stop her from getting as bad as Pete did. PREVENTIVE MEDICINE!Pete might have other issues, but that's because he always has issues, anyway.
"See? All better. Now let's get you some more tasty apple juice an' put you into bed, with the remote t'the telly and some nice fluffy pillows," Pete was saying, while wondering if he needed to poke her eyeballs back into her face, before they popped out her skull holes.
The only thing that registered right now that seemed to matter to Domino was that A: She was going to get more tasty juice and B: Pete was safe. There were very unsafe things in there that had been poking her with needles, but it was okay, because the safe man was going to get her apple juice and take her home, where there was television. Later on, she'd either black this entire episode out, or tell Pete it never happened in that kind of tone that someone uses to imply that even if it DID happen, it NEVER did, or else. Right now though, she put her eyes back into her sockets herself, and grabbed onto Pete's arm. It was a small wonder she'd ever managed to make it through the last major injuries she'd had,but if anyone asked about that, the doctors at that facility would probably reply with the word: valium.
Moira was considering that, but, you know, side-effects, "Follow t'directions on these bottles here." She shoved bottles at Pete, "An' I'm serious. Stop smokin' or ye'll never get better!"
"Never," Pete stated, flatly, dropping the bottles into his coat pockets. His cigarettes could be taken away, when they were pried out of his black, cancer-ridden fingertips. Also, Domino? Death-grip on the arm was a go. However, Pete seemed to put up with it, because she seemed to at least be in a semi-catatonic state of compliance. She'd probably forget this even happened, later on. And he'd remind her of it, every chance he got.
Because that's how friends former coworkers roll. It would be like watching two siblings poking each other in the face with sharp sticks and saying 'ha! missed my eye!' until someone screamed bloody murder and real blood happened.
"Cheers, MacTaggert. Now back away, before she goes nutters an' starts shooting things." He began to help Dom off the table...no, nevermind, he picked her up. Complete with a 'I'm really not well enough to do this but I'm doing it anyway' stubborn teeter swaying while standing there. "Anything else? Or can we simply fuck off now."
"Feck off." Moira retorted.
Unaware at the moment of the fact that Pete probably couldn't carry her all the way back to the car, Domino clung onto him for dear life.
Sighing, Moira called for a wheelchair.
"I got this," so says mister cranky arse. He was only trying to get a cigarette out his pocket while clinging!spider-monkey!Domino clung onto him.
A nurse arrived, with wheelchair!
Domino was totally clinging onto him like a spider monkey. In any other world, this would be adorable.
It was adorable in THIS world too.
It was adorable, but...coworker adorable! Pete sat down in the wheelchair with Domino on his lap, and unceremoniously told the nurse, "Well? Move yer arse. We don't have all day. Start pushing."
The nurse looked at Moira as if to say 'you don't pay me enough' and then? Started pushing.