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Cheerful pink lettering invades your computer in the form of, "It's a girl! Er, the newest Edreeni in the Complex that is. Still at work? --Obstetrician for a day" (to Riley)
"Congrats to the new mom, and her brilliant doctor," Lettering returns, "Yeah, still poking away at the evil piles of work - C is for Cookie, that's good enough for me. O is for other cookie, which ain't too bad either."
"Well, poke away, darling. I've one last patient to visit, then I'm off duty. Want me to holler when I'm done? --What would the M stand for in CMO?" (to Riley)
"Holler away. Then I can drag you out and feed you. -- More Cookies"
[Travel to the VIP medical suite snipped]
You knock on a door.
Corian calls, "Come in."
Corian is perched in the chair next to the bed, looking rumpled enough that it's likely she's spend some time sleeping in these clothes. Tarrant has possession of one of her hands, the other is in the process of returning to her lap. "Good evening," she offers quietly, with a glance to see if Tarrant is still asleep. She's pleasant, of course. She's always pleasant. But it seems like there's something more, this time. Huh.
Tarrant sleeps, it's a talent he has, or rather one the drugs inspire. The various knocking and calling of greetings however serve as something to at least somewhat awaken him and he stirs, attempting to haul himself into the realm of the coherant and awake.
Clara lets herself in, a fairsized medical kit over one shoulder and comfortably dressed in scrubs, a mask pulled down to rest on her chest. "Evening," she offers quietly in deference to possibly sleeping people. "How's he doing? Any problems?"
Corian murmurs something vaguely reassuring in Tarrant's general direction, then answers, "There have been no problems, no--the cortrazime is keeping him fairly quiet," she adds, with a hint of whimsical humor.
Tarrant manages to drag himself close enough to awake to snicker at that softly, "Ah, the mystery's revealed, the stuff's just to knock me out so I don't annoy y'all yammering." He stifles a yawn, looking a hair more alert. "Nice drug, evil side effect."
Clara's brows lift in general amusement at that. If she's noticed the extra pleasantness or the held hand, and she likely has, she's not mentioning it. Instead, she unholsters her scanner while setting the medkit at the foot of the bed, and proceeds to use it. The monitor gets a quick check, as well as the IV, and an affirmative nod. "That's right. Just to shut you up. Arm up, Tarrant...I need a look at the wound."
Corian tsks softly at Tarrant. "The drug was also supposed to make you unaware enough that you would miss my comment," she teases gently.
Tarrant agreeably shifts the arm to the side, offering Corian a sheepishly apologetic look as he must let go of her hand to do so. "There are easier ways to shut me up. Duct tape for example." He grins at Corian, chuckling.
Clara glances at Corian briefly, brows lifted, then back at Tarrant almost questioningly, but the question goes unvoiced as she bends to unsnap the side of his shirt and examine under the bandage. And then remove it entirely to reveal new scarring. "I have good news and bad news," she offers. "What do you want first?"
Corian returns the glance with another of her patented innocent looks--only this time, she really is a little too cheerful to pull it off with her usual believability. At the inquiry, however, she sobers somewhat, leaning against the back of the chair as she listens.
"Which way makes a better story of it?" Tarrant asks, rather irrepressibly cheerful despite the circumstances, although it is dimmed somewhat.
Clara is trying to hide a smile by this point, removing electrodes before she resnaps the shirt. "The bad news is...I'd like you to stay until morning." She loops the electrodes back over the monitor and turns it off before heading over to her bag to start prepping a hypo.
Corian's brows lift fractionally at that, and she starts to ask a question before pursing her lips, concern evident on her features. She gives Tarrant's hand a gentle squeeze, likely barely perceptible.
Tarrant looks rather saddened by this particular news indeed, somewhat taken aback perhaps. He is however, as has been mentioned, irrepressible, and doesn't let it phaze him long. "Morning. I'm gonna holdja' to that you know," he says teasingly.
"Never hold a doctor to anything, Tarrant. Look where it got Corian's brother," Clara warns, rather amused. She presses the hypo directly over the scarring, then sets it aside to start carefully removing the IV. "The good news is, I'm taking you off the monitor and IV. The bed monitor and a local should do you quite well."
Corian's hand must be frightened by these unfamiliar hands removing the IV, as it retreats to her lap once more. "Ah, but Riley seems happy," Corian observes, keeping her smile pleasant--rather than letting it become rather oversweet--by sheer force of will.
Tarrant perks up at that at least, although he does glance at the fleeing of Corian's hand. His eyes track back over to the IV being removed however. "Really would be awfully nice to get out of here though, not to malign your lovely room and all, Clara. I've even been behaving."
Clara half smiles back at Corian, pausing as she winds the tubing over the IV stand. "Finding out he loved me was perhaps the best thing that's ever happened in my life," she agrees, then returns to straightening up before laughing. "Save the conniving till morning, mister. I'm nothing if not stubborn."
"Everybody's stubborn," Tarrant protests with a quiet laugh, "I'm without hope I tell you, without hope. Not a soul in this building will back down an inch." Clara's first comment elicits a rather fuzzily bemused look. Pardon him, he's just disgustingly happy. Do not pay aaaaaany attention to the lovesick lunatic.
Oh, dear. Clara's comment did it, Corian's smile escapes and runs prancing about the room, strewing wildflowers hither and yon. She chases after it and tucks it away, looking sheepish as she realizes just how obvious it was. The flowers kind of gave her away. She doesn't say anything, though. Her hand, attempting to be subtle, moves to re-capture Tarrant's hand.
Clara returns to start sealing up her medical bag and sling it over one shoulder, then steps back and folds her arms to regard you both, not even bothering to hide the smug grin. "Utterly without hope, that's right. So I'll tell you what. I'll leave the invalid in your care, Corian. Don't toss him out the window, please. That'd be a lot harder to fix, and Arthur would hunt me down about the mess."
Tarrant's hand has been tamed, and is by no means difficult to capture, instead interweaving quite happily with Corian's. Tarrant however erks quietly, "Out the window would not be on my to do list, that's for sure. I'll behave, honest."
Corian casts a thoughtful look towards the window, then shakes her head. "He would probably struggle if I attempted that," she advises Clara. "That would be somewhat distressing." After a pause, she adds, "Clara, could he possibly eat something more substantial than applesauce? I was not thinking anything extreme, but real food might be beneficial."
Clara blinks several times, then turns back to snatch up the chart in the small holder on the wall by the door and glance it over before groaning. "Vryce. He's a dead man. Yes, of -course-. He should have been eating real food since yesterday." She gives Tarrant a look of utter abashment. "What would you like?"
Tarrant brings up his other hand to ruffle idly through his hair, half sitting up now that it's much easier, un-encumbered by tubery, wireage, and cortrazime. "It can wait, it can wait, please, don't worry about me any." He's a southerner, he is usually far too proud and far too embarrassed to ask for help or random feedings. If politeness requires acceptance, he'll ask for water. It's in the -rules-.
Clara rolls her eyes, shaking her head. "Corian? What does he like?"
Corian just looks at Tarrant for a moment, then shakes her head, with an ominous-sounding murmur in an obscure-sounding language. Turning back to Clara, she's pleasantness personified as she suggests, "Would grilled cheese sandwiches be too difficult? Honestly, I believe he should be hungry enough for real food by this point to eat whatever is brought."
Clara executes a dip of a curtsy, an extraordinarily odd gesture from a woman in scrubs and hair going every which direction after being freed from a skullcap. About-facing, she heads out the door, only to be gone for perhaps twenty minutes.
You leave the room, pulling the door shut behind you.
[Clara goes to get food from the dining hall...]
Tarrant is still looking sheepish, perm or not, the phrase 'terribly embarrassed' comes to mind in fact.
Corian hasn't really moved that much in twenty minutes. Imagine that. She's still in the chair, still holding Tarrant's hand. She offers a pleasant smile to Clara.
Clara nudges her way in carefully, a tray held in both hands and sporting a plethora of sandwiches, all vegetarian, a tray of sliced raw veggies and dip, a pot of tea, and a batch of sugar cookies. "Dinner enough for you both," she explains, settling it on the bedside table. "And no arguing...or would you like me to take your sugar count, young lady?" she adds to Corian, grinning.
That last admonition on Clara's part banishes the worst of Tarrant's embarrassment, and now he simply looks amused. Funny, he was just saying... Anyhow. "Thank you Clara for your care."
Corian blinks at Clara, innocence overlaying that pleasant smile. "That is unnecessary, Clara," she replies smoothly, likely because she knows just what it would be. "And, yes, thank you very much. This is most appreciated."
Clara steps back to reclaim her medical bag, then pauses to regard you both with a faint smile. "Is it safe to leave you two to take care of each other now? Of course, as always, if there's -anything- wrong, comm me. Middle of the night or no."
Tarrant can't help it, he reaches to swipe a sugar cookie. Yes, it's cheating. He does it anyway. "I think we can manage, yes, mrrrm."
Corian casts an amused look at Tarrant--but, hey, he's eating. She's not going to complain. "We'll be just fine," she reassures. "Thank you, Clara."
Clara grins at Corian, then casts a quick wink at Tarrant, and turns about to leave once more, this time humming cheerfully to herself. Likely something by that dead guy.
You leave the room, pulling the door shut behind you.
You say "Heeeeeeelp!" cries a tiny voice over the comm, trying not to snicker unsuccessfully. "Heeeeeeelp me! Saaaave me!" into the communit.
Your communit crackles to life and says "Either there's a little person trapped in my comm-unit or..." Riley chuckles quietly, "What am I saving you from?"" in Riley's voice.
You say "*snicker* It's that tiny man in the tiny boat syndrome. And just saving me. I need saving, today. I've been evil all day long." into the communit.
Your communit crackles to life and says "You wish to go to a ravine?" Riley chuckles, "Saving I can manage. Would you like me to sweep you off and feed you, or cook? I can do either. But feed you I shall." in Riley's voice.
You say "Naah, I'd trip and break myself in the ravine at this time of night. It's up to you, though, love. I'm game to be dragged out or to stay in, so long as it involves food. I could eat a moofla. With lemon." into the communit.
Your communit crackles to life and blares "Decision making, not my finest talent. Let's head home, that way there's less distance to walk after eating. I'll be creative." in Riley's voice.
You say "Hmmm. I don't know whether to fear creativity or hunt up that dress from the ball. Sounds good, though. I'll meet you there." into the communit.
Your communit crackles to life and blares "*laugh* Hey, I wouldn't complain, I like that dress, but you might want to give it a miss, this'll likely be a mess." in Riley's voice.
[Travel home snipped]
Clara is still in scrubs, having tossed her medical bag on the couch, and has switched on some sort of unobtrusive background music. She finishes opening the window and flops onto the seat there, grinning. "Hey there, sailor. Busy day, wasn't it?"
Riley comes padding in, having gotten rid of the awful dress uniform. He looks rather cheerful despite perhaps a tired edge to his appearance. "Yeah, it was. Still, a good day, yes? You have a new doctor and all...And the baby..." He heads to the kitchen area, "How about hot-wings and fries? It's not fancy, but it's fun, and I think we could use some fun."
Clara sinks back against the window, one hand coming melodramatically to her chest. "Food. -Spicy- food, no less. If I were a civilian, I'd haul you off to that group marriage thing right here and now. What'd you think of our new doctor, anyway?"
Riley glances back at you, grinning broadly as he goes to rummage in the fridge and freezer. Frozen fries go in a cooker, and chicken wings on a tray as he sets about mixing up sauce. "Not a group marriage, I don't share well." He grins, "I think we scared her."
Clara sets about untying the mask from around her neck, glancing up and waggling her brows in amusement. "Riley Addison, don't they teach Kashidian children that sharing is a good thing?" Yes, she's very obviously teasing. "I think we scared her too, poor girl. She was -highly- surprised to find out I was shacked up with the CO. And she thinks you're charming. You are, too."
"I'm charming now?" Riley questions, looking amused as he drizzles spice and sauce over the chicken. "I think they must have re-defined the word when I wasn't looking then." He chuckles, "Still, better we scare her now than scare her later. Immure her to the place."
Clara climbs to her feet to cross over and swipe a finger under the drizzle midstream to taste said sauce, grinning impishly. "It's Kathlyn. She's the scary one. I've never been scary in my life," she explains with emphatic innocence as she flounces off to the closet.
Riley acks softly, snickering as he reaches to thwap at your curls lightly as you leave, "Interfering with my be-cooking-age! You are too scary," he protests, amused as he tucks the pan into the oven. "Evil scary medical lady, not as scary as Vryce though, but lots prettier."
Clara pokes her head out of the closet as a t-shirt goes past the curls to drop down over her form and baggy sweats, grimacing. "I should hope to shout I'm prettier than a man thirty years older than I am. Still, I'd have thought I'd get brownie points for hiring a Navy girl," she adds, making her way to the fridge.
"Oh you do, you do, but all the brownie points in the world will not make you un-evil." Riley says, grinning in amusement as he leans back against the counter to await the cooking of the food. "But I like you evil."
Clara rummages in the fridge for a container, asking, "Want something to drink?" before reaching a stockinged foot out sideways to nudge you in the leg. "Evil, indeed. I'm learning how to be evil from you, then. I've always been sweet and innocent. Pure as the driven snow, and kind to small children and animals."
Riley grins at the nudging, "A soda if you don't mind?" That last gets a decided laugh, "Me? Me corrupting you? I think you have this all backwards."
Clara tugs out a red can and sets it on the counter near you before rummaging a glass from the cabinet and filling it with iced tea from the pitcher, which is in turn put back in the refrigerator. "I suppose I could attempt some poetry and see if it comes out re-verse," she muses, taking a sip of the tea.
Riley groans in rather amused pain, shaking his head as he scoops up the soda, pulling it open. "That my love, was terrible." The heating unit chimes and he leans down to scoop out the fries, emptying them into a large bowl."
Clara beams at what she considers a great compliment, and precdictably swipes a fry and munches, then gasps and downs a measure of her tea. "Hot." Such brilliance from one supposedly so bright in her field.
Riley swipes a fry as well, despite the fact that you warned him. He's a little more careful however. "Mrum, hot, but good." Rummaging in the heater again he pulls out the wings and another bowl. Adding them to it, he then rummages for plates. "Not real fancy, but it's food."
Clara snags one of the bowls and a handful of napkins from their holder on the counter and takes them over to the table before sinking into a chair and rubbing at her eyes. "Food of any sort, and this is wonderful stuff. I promise love, even the neighborhood I grew up in had food like this. Everyone does. It's -fun-."
Riley snags the other bowl as well as the plates, bringing them to the table. "And it's easy, which is nice at one in the morning."
Clara groans and buries her face in her hands for a moment, then reaches out a fork to scoot items from each bowl onto her plate. "Someday we're going to go to bed at a decent time, turn on the vid, and make fun of the late show. We'll probably be retired by then, but someday."
Riley scoops up food as well, in opposite pattern of you, licking sauce from his fingers afterwards, then scooping up a fry. "We're terrible, awful, and horrible, and you wonder why I avoid my annual?"
"I haven't a clue, honestly. Really, darling, it's the easiest thing in the world. I can already guess what the results would be. I mean, I happen to sleep next to that body of yours every night. Why won't you at least let me run a scanner over it?" Clara waggles a fry at you, almost imploring.
"Because then I'll get harassed more about things. It's irrevo...irrev...it always happens. I'd hate to get a medical retirement because of these things," Riley looks a little sheepish, snagging a wing.
Clara stops eating for a moment and sits back to just stare at you, brow furrowed in sudden concern. "Riley, is there something going on I should know about? Something you think would get your commission resigned?"
Riley shakes his head quickly, very quickly, "No, no, no, not that I know of. I just get paranoid. I don't know exactly what the health requirements -are- just that they exist."
Clara shakes her head in exasperation, absently tugging a hair pin out to toy with it, food forgotten for the moment. "This is ludicrous. Damnit Riley, if there's something wrong, I'm not going to file the information to get you discharged. I'm going to -help- you. Tell me, please."
Riley shakes his head again, a bit more slowly this time, "Love, no, I feel rough, but I don't think anything terrible is wrong. I worry about this every year."
Clara settles her hands on her lap, regarding you with complete seriousness. "Let me examine you. Please? Not as CMO and CO, but as the woman who loves you, who just happens to have medical training. Just for my peace of mind?"
Riley pauses a moment, looking a bit sheepish, "You mean just checking me out, without publishing the results in my record?"
Clara exhales a soft sigh, glancing up at the ceiling and shaking her head as if in a silent upwards expression of amused frustration before she holds a hand to you, nodding. "That's exactly what I mean. Just you and I, not the Fleet. So -I- know there's nothing wrong. Please?"
Riley nods to that, looking sheepish, but without pause. "Of course love, in a heartbeat for you love."
Clara nods once, then sets about finishing her dinner. "We'll get it done and over with before bed, then. That way you won't have anything to worry about to keep you from sleeping." She pauses, glancing back up. "Is there something wrong you haven't told me about?"
Riley shakes his head again, "No love, like I said, I feel a little rough, but then considering my habits anyhow...As far as I know I'm fine, love." He sets about his own meal again as well, although a bit slower.
Clara doesn't hurry through her own dinner, but does finish it off with a methodical thoroughness that suggests her mind is well elsewhere, and frighteningly well awake with a full measure of adrenalin. "You do know I'm only doing this because I love you, don't you? Not because I'm really evil."
"I know love," Riley replies quietly, settling aside his plate. "If you were just evil I'd be hiding under the bed."
Clara can't suppress a grin at that, rising to scoop up dishes and take them over to be set in the dishwasher. "Go ahead and get changed, then have a seat on the bed. I figure we may as well keep this as comfortable as possible."
Riley scoops up his own plate, following you to the dishwasher and attempting to swipe a kiss before he does as has been indicated, ducking into the closet and rummaging to change into shorts and a t-shirt before padding back out to go sit on the bed's edge.
Clara predictably stands there with the water running unheeded for a moment, eyes still closed and smiling over-contentedly at the kiss before she remembers to finish dishes, then wash her hands carefully. She snags her medical bag from the couch and follows you, settling down at your side and tugging out her scanner. "Okay, aside from fatigue, any pain or discomfort?"
Riley shakes his head in a negative gesture, "Not a thing. The only sore I've been is -at- various diplomats. Windbags the bulk of them." He offers an amused grin.
Clara smiles right back, rolling her eyes before turning her gaze back to the scanner. Finally she tucks it away and rummages for a hypo before taking a blood sample from your neck. "Vampire time," she announces, then inserts the sample into a portable computer in the bag before pulling out her stethoscope and gesturing. "Shirt off so I can make cat calls."
Riley laughs softly at that, shaking his head, "You're going to meow at me?" He does however tug off the oversized t-shirt, causing his hair to crackle lightly with static. He is, FluffMan!
Clara meows obligingly, and even manages a half-leer, although she's really not any good at such an expression. Instead, she reaches up to smooth your hair fondly while warming the stethoscope, then presses the disc to your chest. "Deep breath. I have to admit, this is a far more congenial setting that the last annual."
Riley takes a deep breath, although it is released more as a happy sigh than anything else. "Yeah," yeah it is," he says quietly. "Oh what a difference a year makes?"
Clara pauses in listening to lean in and attempt a careful, if emphatic, kiss, then returns to her work. "And what a year it's been. I must have done something very, very good in a past life to end up here. Well, if I believed in reincarnation that is. I prefer roses, though, really."
Well, now Clara gets to hear what it sounds like when someone groans through a stethoscope, as that joke was bad enough to garner one. This is of course after he returns the kiss with equal emphasis. "Love, I may be fine now, but I am not going to be if you keep telling jokes that bad."
Clara flutters her eyelashes at you under a few curls slipped carelessly down from the pin she'd removed earlier. "Aaah, if laughter is the best medicine, then puns browbeat the patient into getting better." She drops the scope about her neck and pulls another instrument out, this one shining a wide spectrum of light across your shoulders, and moving down to your waist. "Mmmm. -Still- underweight, Addison. Only fifteen pounds this year, though. Keep working on it."
"Hey, considering how much I dropped this year, gaining back this much is something I'm proud of," Riley answers in a bemused tone. "It's taken setting my alarm to remind me to eat, but hey."
Clara quirks her brows and half nods, grinning at the readout before she snaps the instrument off and trades it for the small computer. Seeing as you're right there, she attempts to turn and scoot back to lean against your chest while evaluating the results. "Low glucose. Eat more chocolate. Sheesh, not many patients I get to tell -that- to."
Riley shifts his arms amiably about you, providing chairage as well as something of a hug. "More chocolate. Oh the horror, I don't know that I'll be able to comply. It's such an evil command!"
"I figure we've already established my relative evilness," Clara notes contentedly, leaning her head back to brush a light kiss on your jaw before returning to examining the results of the bloodwork. "I -definitely- like this exam better than the last one." She snaps off the computer and tucks it away before leaning her head back on your shoulder and grinning up. "I have the diagnosis. Want it?"
Riley squeezes you a bit closer, looking perhaps a bit apprehensive. "Sure, might as well hear it."
"Item one we discussed. Eat more," Clara responds simply, tracing a pattering on your forearm with a featherlight touch. "Item two...I'd like you to work no more than twelve hours in every twenty-four, and then only six days a week. You need to do this for at -least- a month."
Riley pauses at that, looking a bit skeptical, "Love, now, I'd love to say I could do that...But only six days a week? I mean... That's just... And can you imagine what Nick'd do if I had a schedule like that? I swear I work more than I did trying to keep that kid from working."
Clara pulls away to turn about and give you a puzzled, almost reproachful look. "Riley Addison, -listen- to yourself. That's a 72 hour work week. We're only required to work forty. I could officially bust you back down to that, but I know better. If you and Niko can't both get by on less than eighty hours a week, I'm calling Conley in."
"You get Nick to pull under eighty, I'll pull under eighty. Otherwise...Clara, love, I just -can't-," Riley pleads rather quietly.
Clara watches you for a long moment with extreme concern, then turns away to put her medical bag back to order. "I'll discuss it with him," she murmurs, setting said bag on the ground before reaching up to pull another pin from her hair.
"I'd appreciate it," Riley says softly, shifting to lie back on the bed. "He fell asleep in Security today. Keeping shifts longer than mine even, and I at least snag food."
Clara snaps her eyes back to you, brows lifting in dismay before she sighs and climbs to her feet and heads over to shut out the light, pulling out the rest of the hair pins along the way and setting them on the nightstand. Sitting back down beside you, she reaches out a hand. "I'll definitely talk to him then. I worry about him nearly as much as I worry about you. That isn't right."
Riley reaches from his half curl to take your hand. He's quite tired indeed, eyes already sagging shut. "I'd appreciate it. He blows the rest of us off, the way he does with anything he doesn't wanna hear."
Clara mutters something about genetic, and shakes her head with a sigh and a fond smile. "Under the covers now," she urge. "We'll worry it over in the morning."
Riley does manage to clamber under the covers, although it's a pretty near thing indeed, he's barely beneath them before his head is down and his eyes are closed, not quite asleep, but pretty danged close. "Love you..."
Clara ruffles her hair down with both hands, then slides out of the sweats, leaving the oversized shirt, and joins you to settle in comfortably, wincing slightly as her muscles protest the sudden relaxation. "Love you more than life. Now sleep, darling," she urges in a near whisper.
Riley doesn't seem to have any difficulty with that injunction, it is after all, quite late, as the chimes will attest. Snuggling in close he murmurs something in blurry Kashidian and is asleep.
Clara isn't quite certain what was said, but just the sleep-blurred tone of the words sneaks into her subconscious and snatches away any remnants of alertness and makes a run for it with them...and succeeds.