|
|
Tarrant calls, "Hello?" There's a pause and Tarrant appears at the door, leaning against the jamb and opening the door. "Ahh, c'mon in ma'am. Please pardon the place. It was a cleaning closet once."
Clara is at the door, arms folded and eyes all but blazing, foot a-tapping. She follows you in wordlessly, then offers a terribly sweet smile. "Good afternoon to you, sir. I hope this isn't an inconvenient time?"
When in doubt, be politely innocent. Perhaps not as simple a thing as it could be, as Tarrant is indeed having difficulty remaining strictly upright, that ankle is disagreeing wholeheartedly, "No'm, of course not. How can I be of service?"
Clara lifts a brow, pulling up to her full height and gesturing at the couch. "You can start by sitting down before you fall down," she nearly snaps out. "And then explain to me why and -how- you removed your own cast?"
Uh-oh, he's in trouble now, but Tarrant does limp over to the dilapidated couch, sinking onto it with relatively obvious relief. Some small amount of his normal color returns to his face as he's seated. "How was easy enough. I used a steel saw. As to why..." He looks rather chagrined for a moment... "Circumstances occurred such that I needed to access a certain location. I could not do so with the cast on."
Clara paces for a moment before the couch, every inch an Infantry officer for a moment, and a particularly perturbed one, at that. "Mr. Czolgosz, I do not question your business. It is no affair of mine, nor to I wish to intrude. But -that-" she stops pacing and stabs a finger out to point at the ankle, "is not going to heal properly if you keep disregarding medical advice. And if you're not careful, walking is going to very soon end up not being an option at all. Would you prefer to be chair bound for the rest of your days?"
Tarrant sighs rather softly, not looking particularly cowed, although he certainly is about to corner the market on apologetic. "I am sorry I altered your work, ma'am. I will not attempt to defend my actions, as I was...not in my right mind...when I went about engagin' in em'."
Clara grimaces, hands on her hips, then exhales a gust of sigh and nods. "I can certainly understand unwise actions when one's...thoughts are elsewhere," she agrees almost grudgingly, then unholsters her scanner and asks in a much gentler tone, "May I take a look at it?"
Tarrant reaches up to tug off his hat, but nods. "I'm not about to object, not after having already done so much to offend."
Clara can't stifle a faint grin, shaking her head and crouching before you. "The broken bones weren't in your head, sir. I need the boot off, not your hat," she explains, actually amused. "And you didn't offend."
Tarrant all but rolls his eyes, settling the hat aside. He leans forward to set about the rather involved process of getting the boot off. Any flippant comment he might've intended to make is lost by the time he's finished, as they're straight boots of hardened leather, no ties or zipper or anything, and that ankle has to be tugged out through their full length.
Clara forces herself not to help, but does wince, shaking her head. "Although I could about kick you for attempting to wear that right now," she notes wistfully, then brings her scanner into play. "Corian's going to be all right," she adds quietly, eyes on the readouts.
"She commed to say she wasn't pregnant," Tarrant replies, shifting back against the couch after settling the boot to one side. "Thank you for discovering the truth of the situation. She was very upset, the poor woman."
Clara nods slowly, brow furrowing again as she purses her lips. "I should have found the answer sooner. She didn't need to go through such discomfort." Rocking back on her heels, she lifts a solemn green gaze to you. "It's refractured...I'm so sorry..."
"Ma'am, it's my own fault, no need to be offering sorries. I did it to myself the first time, and the second time as well." Tarrant glances down, eyes on a small wooden puzzle box left on the couch. From the off kilter angle of it, that's what he was fiddling with when you knocked.
"Tell you what...rather than sit here apologizing, why don't I go get my field regenerator, fix this, and let you go back to whatever you were doing?" She follows your gaze to the puzzle, smiling faintly. "Looks like my drumsticks," she murmurs with almost absent fondness.
"I was doing nothing of real importance, simply thinking." Tarrant scoops up the puzzle box in his hands. "I would however appreciate the aid." The comment about the drumsticks causes his brows to life questioningly before he regards the box again. "It is a puzzle. Corian's father made it for her. Knowing my affinity for such things, she offered it as a gift." A brief exceptionally sappy look crosses his face at the memory, although it is swiftly supplanted by wistful sadness.
Clara drops a knee to the ground to balance herself, peering at the puzzle with an equally sappy smile for just a moment. "Mm-hmm. He made a pair of drumsticks of the same wood for Riley to give me for my birthday. Er, Chief Addison," she clarifies, then straightens to her feet. "Don't get up. I'll be right back with my medical kit."
Tarrant nods his thanks, tucking the puzzle into the inside pocket of his jacket, keeping it close. "I appreciate that. I won't go anywhere."
Clara lets herself out of the room, gone for perhaps only five or ten minutes before a soft knock precedes her poking her head in the door. "Mr. Czolgosz? Tar-...uh, sir? May I come back in?"
"Certainly," Tarrant glances back over the couch, giving you an amused look if a pained one. "And please, it's not 'Mr. Czolgosz'. That's my dad."
Clara re-enters the room, a hypo already in hand, and smiling faintly. "Corian said that you preferred not to be called that, yes. I'll try to remember." She kneels back down before you again, administering said hypo. "Anesthetic. It should help."
Tarrant relaxes rather visibly as the drug kicks in and takes effect. "Oh my, wonderful stuff..." The mention of Corian gets another rather sappily wistful look. He probably isn't even aware it happens. "Her cousin Jay swears I am ten, so the 'Mister' seems all the more odd."
Clara instinctively glances up to catch the look, then rapidly drops her eyes to her work, perhaps to hide the faint smile on her face. "I can officially attest to the fact that you're chronologically well past ten. I have the distinct impression you'd prefer that remain in your records though," she adds, hooking on electrodes.
"I was tempted to get them to change the official age to ten. Seeing as I can never remember anyhow... I think I'm legally thirty something." Tarrant watches you, perhaps a bit warily. "Yeah, it'd probably traumatize poor Master Jay."
Clara lifts her head to regard you again seriously, taking in the wariness. "Sir, you needn't worry. I'm a counselor. Patient privacy was well instilled in my training. Now...just relax and let me know when you're ready for this," she adds, holding up the generator unit.
Tarrant isn't wary of the discussion of his age, but rather the regenerator. "I'm not worried about it. Corian trusts you." He settles back against the couch, nodding, "Whenever you're ready, ma'am."
Clara inclines her head again without response other than to count off quietly, "One, two, three." Zzzap. The guard and electrodes are removed with all haste and stuffed back into the medical bag to make room for the scanner again. "Very good...fragile, but reconnected."
With a barely stifled hiss of pain, Tarrant slumps a bit against the broken support of the couch. At least this time he doesn't have to go anywhere afterwards. "Th-thank you, ma'am."
"Clara," she offers, eyes still on the scanner. "My name is Clara." She rummages in the bag again to prep another hypo, adding it to the same spot as the first before reholstering her scanner and looking back up, hands on her knees. "More anesthetic...you need it, I think," she muses.
"Then m'name's Tarrant, Clara," Tarrant manages a hint of amusement in his tone, although it obviously takes some doing. At the second hypo he slowly relaxes, all but limp against the arm of the couch. "Thank you, I appreciate it."
Clara reseals her medical bag and climbs to her feet, slinging it over her shoulder and peering at you thoughtfully. "Tarrant, then." She hesitates, then asks cautiously, "Is there something else wrong? Perhaps I can be of assistance?"
Tarrant is gone enough between suddenly absented pain and anesthetic to murmur quietly, "Not unless you have one of those regenerators for peoples hearts. Somehow however, I doubt medical science has progressed so far as that. I think we're still supposed to muddle through."
Clara folds her arms, circling around the table to lower to the other side of the couch, expression not only compassionate but understanding. "Consider that request carefully," she suggests gently. "Would you really want to do other than muddle?"
"Would I? I couldn't say. I haven't the experience to compare it to. Perhaps leaving well enough alone is indeed best." Tarrant really is rambling, well, at least for him. But the combination of his physical state and the fact that -Corian- trusts you...well, ramble he does. "I suppose though, that's part of the point of being in a muddle. Not knowing."
Clara leans sideways into the back of the dilapidated couch, settling her medical kit onto her lap, gaze focused thoughtfully on you. "Ah, but isn't the key to not knowing something to ask what the solution is? Have you -tried- to find what it is you don't know?"
"I have tried...insamuch as I knew how to try." Tarrant almost chuckles, folding his arms across his chest. "It is hardly something I was taught in school. But I think a decided lack of communication occurred."
"Then you have to try again," Clara urges gently, brows quirking up. She lets silence fill the room for a moment, then notes, "And be there for her. Close friendship is one of the most glorious abilities we possess, and a prize to treasure."
"That much I can do. And if it is all she wants," Oh hello? Hell? What's the temperature? Tarrant's not being vague. His eyes slowly sink shut, "Then it is still finer than anything I have had in seventy-some-odd years, or would ever have in three times, three times as many years."
Clara leans over, one arm reaching out, but only to very lightly rest fingertips at the edge of your shoulder, expression intent. Fortunately, in full counselor mode, she's next to impossible to embarrass. "Tarrant, I don't know what she wants. I know she cares about you a great deal, though. Have you told her how you feel?"
"I have tried," Tarrant says quietly, eyes not so much as flickering open, proof of how out of it he is. "But she has rather recently expressed that she feels no need for a relationship of such a type. So it would seem presumptuous at best, and altogether rude at worst, to press my case, yes? I do not wish to offend her greatly. I would far rather be forever merely a friend than be denied even that by dint of having offended."
"Ah, yes, I have heard her express such as well," Clara agrees, one edge of her lips quirking slightly. "Honestly? Methinks the lady doth protest too much," she notes sagely. "But I also see your point. Still, you needn't press your case. May I make a suggestion?"
"Goodness knows I would be more than appreciative of a suggestion. I find myself at the end of my rope as far as ideas go," Tarrant's words are thick with his drawled accent, and he is all but half-gone in his slumped seated position.
"She'll be essentially housebound for the next few days. As are you," Clara adds with a touch of firmness. "Take the crutches and go up the fourth floor. Be with her. Talk to her. Take care of her. Simple things like this can make a person remember that it really is all right to rely on someone else." She climbs slowly to her feet after giving the shoulder a slight squeeze. "At least think about it. And as always...comm me at any time if either of you need anything at all, all right?"
"Yes'm, and thanks for the advice," Tarrant's words are barely even comprehensible now, as he's functionally out cold even if a few braincells are still firing.
Clara shakes her head with a faint smile, and goes to tug at the wall unit just enough to pull off a blanket before replacing it, then moves to shake the blanket over her patient. "But sleep first," she adds in a quiet murmur before letting herself out as silently as possible.