poly_chromatic | 023: VIDEO

[A view of the good doctor and a small team in surgery. Chase is wrist deep under yellow, iodine-swiped skin.]

And that's what it really means to have your stomach tied up in knots. Well that looks much prettier than it did before - the rest seems clear. Book scans and barium for five days to check things are moving through clearly and the other adhesions shouldn't be problematic...

[He lifts both hands free, gloves bloodied to the wrist, and backs up.]

If you can close up here... Have me paged when she's through recovery so I can explain the switch to open. I'm going to-

[Wipe out.

Whatever Chase was going to do, it's interrupted by him suddenly crashing out of view behind the table. Surgical tools and kidney bowls of unidentified matter shower to the ground. There's a groan and, just at the edge of shot, a foot clad in a bright red stiletto being tentatively stretched out to one side of the table.]

I'm going to go and strap my ankle.

[ooc: still unwell so still backdating, sorry sorry <3]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

No, not 'til tomorrow.

I'm getting you a wheelchair.

[Woah there young grasshopper. His hands settle on her shoulders.]

No you're not.

You can't walk on that.

[She looks up at him, hands on her knees. A nurse comes in the room then walks right out like there's a revolving door.]

[Chase looks round, sighs and tips his had back (which doesn't, in fact, improve the way it looks).]

I'll walk on the other and lean on something.

Fantastic-

No.

[She scowls]

You're using a wheelchair. We have enough gimp with House.

Eden, one leg down and you're still not big enough to strongarm me into a chair. I'd rather limp.

I can call that big burly nurse from peds. The one with the mustache.

Or, you could stand within leaning distance while you walk me to my office.

If you fall I'm getting a wheelchair and the restraints we use on the crazies in psych.

[But here she's standing]

Now you're just making it kinky.

[He puts as little pressure on her as possible as he gets to his foot.]

For fuck's sake I'm short I'm not fragile. I was a soldier, you know.

[She's just rolling her eyes]

[He can mirror that expression.]

Sorry, I'll try to have worse manners in future.

[The arm he wraps round her shoulders is tan and bare, short sleeved in scrubs. A few new-ish, fine scars thread over the inner forearm, hidden behind her neck.]

[He touches her skin and she looks up at him suddenly]

Why'd you lose blood recently?

[Unexpected, he stumbled over the reply.]

I donated.

Not here you didn't.

[Of course she'd know.]

Not to the hospital. Right.

[It is her bloodbank.]

Oh my fucking god what the fuck did you do.

[It's not easy when you only have one viable foot and your crutch is flipping out on you.]

Nothing you need to yell about! You know I work at other clinics.

[City solutions, very occasionally. A place in the underground, now and then.]