2007-02-24: Do You Get Combat Pay For That?


Lee_icon.gif Nima_icon.gif Bekah_icon.gif

Summary: After smacking his head when falling out of his bed, Nima takes Lee to get some stitches. A bit of cheeky banter later, he also leaves with Bekah's phone number. Red lollipop supremacy, Peter Gabriel's hair circa 1973, A Flock of Seagulls, and Kojak are all mentioned. As is blood on the ceiling.

Date It Happened: February 24th, 2007

Do You Get Combat Pay For That?

Mount Sinai Hospital

Lee sleeps restlessly the night after the fire. Nima can hear him in his room - a guest room now, technically, but to them, it is always his room - tossing and turning. Smoke fills his mind; he chases a girl with yellow hair, crushed beneath timbers and flame. Coughs emanate periodically, as well. He can't seem to breathe. She's just about to come in and wake him from his nightmare, for she can sense that's what he must be having, when there's a CRASH followed almost immediately by another CRASH. When she comes in, he's fallen out of bed, blood coming from a split scalp, his hair matted with it already. Scalp wounds bleed a lot even when they're not deep - he'll need stitches.

For all the banter and the bickering, the siblings Jones are extremely close, as befits the stereotype of twins. Naturally, Nima makes a cheeky comment about the incident, even as she assists her brother. At this hour, despite the distance, Mount Sinai is where they arrive. Nothing but the best for Lee, even if only for Stitches. Check-in. File-forms. Wait. Crack a few jokes. Get some bottles of water. Wait some more.

Lee holds the ice pack on the wound, leaning his head back. He looks pale, but he's alert enough.

Having a head wound, even one that only needs stitches, their wait isn't as long as some of the people sitting in the room. A nurse comes out for them with the forms in hand and a smile on his face. By the size of the guy, this must be who they call on to restrain the crazy people. "Leto Jones?" He calls out in a voice deep enough to match his massive size. Bet no one makes fun of his choice of jobs, at least to his face.

Lee says, "Me, that's me. Leto E. Jones." He gets up with his sister. "I got StateCare,” he explains. "School insurance?"

"Y'know, we wouldn't be here if you were Wolverine," Nima quips, even as she's right there with her palm lightly pressed against Lee's back. Having tucked her bottle of vending machine water into her coat pocket, she relieves her brother of his bottle, which once more gives him a free hand. As they approach the nurse, she flashes a bright and friendly smile. "Hi. I hope you're having a lovely evening."

The nurse nods. "We've got all that here." He lifts the forms that Nima filled out up a bit. "Come on back, and we'll get a doctor to see you." The man turns and just blinks at Nima. "Absolutely wonderful," he says dryly before he leads them back to a room with several beds around with curtains can be pulled. At least they're moving towards an end bed. And none of the other patients look like they're too contagious.

Lee follows along obediently, a good patient. "If I was Wolverine, I'd be fictional. So I'd at least have that going for me," he points out. He sits on the bed carefully, having to keep looking forward and up. "You could just draw me without a wound."

"That's good," Nima tells the nurse, still smiling, unconcerned with his tone. With someone like Lee as her pseudo-symbiont, she's used to such. "I could," she tells her now-seated brother, standing next to him, briefly and lightly running her fingertips across some of his non-clumpy hair, "but I'd sooner draw you with your underwear worn outside of your pants. Want some more water?"

Lee says, "I think I'm okay." He keeps saying that. He might even believe it soon.

The nurse sees Lee settled and then sticks his head out the door. He spots Bekah coming down the hall and calls out to her. "Hey, Bek! I've got your next one!" And that brings Bekah on into the room. She stops at a sink to wash her hand as she looks over. "I'm Dr. Morgan. Give me a second to get clean here, and I'll be over to take a look."

Lee says, "I'm Lee, this is Nima. Thanks." To Nima, he adds, "And just think what you could do with a real subject for a sketch."

Nima knows that he's not okay. Ordinarily, the beatings would not cease until morale improves. As it currently stands, Lee's snark comes and goes. Very not normal. "Hi. Thank you for seeing us," is smiled to the doctor, before she goes back to needling her brother. "Why bother? You're already quite the character, and I like characters." And then she steps back to lean against the wall.

Bekah finishes up and grabs a pair of gloves, pulling them on easily. She takes the paperwork from the nurse, who's hanging around to look useful and gives it a quick look before she gives Lee a smile. "What happened?" She asks as she moves closer to him to get a look at the wound in the matted hair, removing anything that was being used to help contain the bleeding in the process.

Lee says, "I… fell out of bed. It's been a stressful day. I was in a fire earlier." He seems to be pretty much over it. It's just a thick towel, now soaked through. It seems more severe than just falling out of bed. He might have hit his head on a nightstand or something else, but just a minor fall wouldn't create a slice that long most of the time.

"He hasn't smoked all day," is Nima's contribution to the conversation, as if that is somehow meaningful. Judging by the way she looks at Lee when she says it, there is actual significance to the statement. And a hint of concern.

"Maybe he got enough smoke in the fire," Bekah says with dry humor as she looks at the wound. She touches his head, moving a bit of hair aside. The bleeding seems to have slowed down since the towel was removed, but she hasn't healed the gash enough to make it all that noticeable what she's done. "Did you hit your head on something on the way down? This is a long cut for falling out of bed," she notes before she looks up to the big nurse. "I'm going to need a sutures kit. Make sure it has a razor in it." The man heads off to another room for that as Bekah puts the towel back on and grabs a flashlight. "Follow the light with your eyes, please," she says, moving it from side to side.

Lee says, "I woke up on the floor. I really don't know what happened. I might have. I have my old weights set down next to the bed." Nima can tell this version is not quite true. He follows the light properly - no apparent mental damage. "Actually, yeah. I decided I'm going to quit. Or try," he says with a pained half-smile.

As far as his sister is concerned, the smoke sucked out more than air from Lee's lungs. "Nah…" Nima muses to Bekah, "It has more to do with being a control-freak. My brother is a selective masochist. The fire didn't have his permission to constrict his flow of oxygen. By refusing to smoke, he is now asserting his dominance." All joking aside, Lee would know that his twin doesn't believe that's /entirely/ true. "He'll live, though, right?" she then asks, as the wounds are being examined.

Lee says, "You're always on me to quit, now you're getting your wish: a grouchy brother constantly complaining. And, apparently, falling out of bed like I'm 80."

Bekah nods. "Any holes in your memory? Has he been asking any questions multiple times?" She directs the second question to Nima, using the rest of the time before the nurse gets back with the kit to grab her stethoscope from the pocket of her lab coat, worn over highly stylish scrubs, to listen to his heart and lungs, giving his lungs and extra listen after the news of the fire. "Well, if you can manage to quit, I think you'll be making a great move, health wise." Of course, she does.

Lee says, "Not that I know of… do you smoke, doctor? I saw a bunch of guys in scrubs puffing away around where the ambulances drop off, and they didn't look like lawyers."

"You're already slowly killing yourself in so many ways. What's one less?" By this point, Nima has fished out a small pack of Twizzlers that she also got at the vending machine. Opening it and tugging out two that are stuck together, she dryly notes, "I've had a grouchy brother constantly complaining, for years. Seems like you must've suffered quite a bump if you've forgotten that." Pulling apart the two pieces, she informs Bekah, "He's always asking questions multiple times. Like: don't the nerds ever go home? And: you know you look like an idiot dressed like that, right?" Back to Lee, she quips, in response to smoking doctors, "Not everyone can be a junior high civics teacher." And then she starts to gnaw on her candy.

Bekah rolls her eyes. "You'd think they'd know better with as many lung cancer cases as we've seen over the years. So, no. I don't," she states before she smiles over to Nima. "Ah, those kinds of questions are quite alright. If possibly annoying. I'm going to give you some signs of concussions to take home and watch out for. You'll need to check on him every couple hours the rest of the night to be safe." Oh joy. She raises her eyebrows over to Lee. "Junior High? Do you get combat pay for that?" She quips as the nurse finally comes back with the kit. She takes it from him and moves closer. "I'm going to give you a couple shots along here to numb this." She deftly fills the needle from a little vial as she tells him that.

Lee says, "Yeah, we get an exorbitant salary, limo rides to and from work, spinners on the school busses, and ten thousand dollar Rolexes. Three weeks paid vacation in Jamaica and penthouse apartments on the Upper West Side. It's a real racket. There should be a law."

Chewing on her Twizzler, of which she's yet to bite-off an actual portion, Nima tells Bekah, as an aside, "It's Jamaica, Queens, though. Departmental cut-backs."

Bekah nods. "Of course. Wouldn't want to spoil the teachers," she jokes dryly as she leans in to give Lee a couple of shots along the line of the gash. While the shots themselves likely don't feel good, they do bring numbness in their wake. "I'm going to need to shave off a bit of your hair to give me room for your stitches. I'll make it as small a patch as possible. I wouldn't want to ruin your do."

Lee says, "It'll add to our band's indie credibility if I have a bad haircut. I've been thinking about getting one for a while. A scar might be going a little far, though." He grits his teeth through the shots, but seems almost relieved that the doctor appears to think everything is normal.

Finally having bitten through, Nima chews a little and then swallows. "Too bad you didn't cut yourself right in the middle of your forehead's hairline. You could've been walkin' outta here with a Peter Gabriel 'do." Circa 1973 Genesis, that is. "Maybe you still can, if you ask nicely." Impishly quirking her mouth, Nim's deep blue eyes flicker towards the doc. "You'd still need to grow-out the back, though," is appended about the hair.

Bekah looks over to Nima with a quick laugh. "I'm a doctor. Not a hair stylist. I'd probably screw it up." She states. And isn't that comforting as she comes at Lee's head with a razor. She's actually quite gentle and not taking off anything more than necessary, no matter what she's joking. "I'll try to give you as little scar with this as possible. It's not bad, compared to what I see on a regular basis, but likely you'll end up with some amount of scar."

Lee says, "I'll live," to the doctor, and he actually gives her a smile for the first time. The drugs must be kicking in? "How long have you worked here?" he asks.

"Mike Score from A Flock of Seagulls was a hairstylist and, well…" Who can forget the hair from the band's Summer of 1982 video smash ‘I Ran’? Even Nima remembers and she was only 2 years old. Granted, that memory was formed years later. "Actually, that was some frickin' sweet hair."

Lee says, "That would definitely keep the kids at least /looking/ at me, if not listening. Whether they'd remember which amendment is freedom of speech any better, who can say?"

Bekah just lets Nima talk, addressing Lee instead. "I did my residency here. So, that was three years, and then I'm in my first year of being not a resident," Bekah answers before she shakes her head. "The day I understand the minds of kids that age is the day I watch hell freeze over." She reaches out to for needle and thread and adds. "Stay still now, please." And then she starts to use neat little stitches to close the wound.

Lee shuts his mouth as told.

Near-daintily gnawing on some more Twizzler, Nima watches the exchange. Wrapped around the candy, her lips curve in amusement and her blue eyes gleam, like she's about to tease her brother.

Bekah is speedy, since she's done this a million times. It doesn't take long before she's snipping off the end and setting it aside. "Alright, you can breathe again," Bekah states, putting her supplies back, checking to make sure she got them all.

Lee seems to sense it; he takes a big deep breath instead. "That was it?" he says. "Wow, not as bad as it looked." Scalp injuries never are.

Oh, but the way his sister is positively beaming can only mean trouble. To the rest of the world, Nima simply seems happy that her brother is all patched-up. "Fancy that. You'll live yet another day." Off comes another bit of Twizzler with a clean bite.

Bekah laughs outright at that. "Head wounds bleed. Cuts anywhere on your head often seem worse than they are." Not to mention she gave a little boost to its healing. "You'll live. So long as you don't get hit by a taxi on the way home."

Lee says, "I better. They're giving me a day off on Monday when they're setting up the temporaries, and if I don't live to see my first administrative day off in three years of teaching, I'm coming back from the dead." He nods to Bekah. "I'm being careful. I'm jinxed today, I guess."

Whatever Nima says next sounds dulcet, fluid, and much akin to Finnish without actually being Finnish. Lee would readily recognize and understand it to be Quenya. "Not entirely." Brightly, she smiles, and then adds in English, "I plan to subject you to all kinds of horrors, then cook you dinner."

Bekah gives Nima a smile. "That's only a horror if you cook like I do," she notes before she peels off her gloves, moving to toss them into the biohazard bin. "You were a good patient. I've probably got a lollipop around somewhere. Or at least a sticker," she jokes over as she steps to a cabinet to rifle through some flier type papers, taking out two.

Lee ignores Nima and says to Bekah: "Is speaking in tongues a sign of some kind of neurological problem? She does this every so often. And she can recite the writers and directors of every original Star Trek episode." He's got to hit Nima back first.

"So can you," Nima reminds her brother, oh so sweetly. She then laughs, which is a shining sound, and tells Bekah, "We grew-up with a mother, who couldn't cook. That's the one way I rebelled against my upbringing: I can make tasty vittles. Lee went a less-constructive route. On the upswing, if ever you should prepare him a romantic dinner, he probably will really mean it when he says it tastes good." Zing! There is the rebuttal, boy-o.

Bekah arches her eyebrows over to Nima at that none too subtle rebuttal. "Oh, really? Well, I tend to consider takeout a better romantic dinner than poisoning a man." She jokes before she turns back to the cabinet to fish around for a lollipop. "Ah-hah! And red, no less." She states as she turns around with one in her hands, as well as the papers. Sure, they're meant for the kids… "My mother didn't cook either, and none of my nannies chose to teach me. I don't have time now to take a class or anything. Or burn down my building experimenting."

Lee winces at Nima's statement, then takes the lollipop. "Thanks. But there are other options. Eating at a restaurant. They rarely burn down." Is that an invitation? The wince at Nima's tease makes it seem likely. But he's not putting pressure on, if she's not interested.

Having needled her brother in a manner that involved romantic overtures, Nima is content. For now. That is until the lollipop. "Look at that, Lee. It's even your favorite!" She's positively luminous with impish mirth. Then she goes back to munching Twizzlers. The Force and Nim both know that her twin certainly deserves to have an enjoyable dinner date and Bekah seems like a cool chick.

Bekah turns to look back to Lee with a blink at that before she grins. "Restaurants are good. For eating and for getting to know people you're eating with," she states. "And they don't usually burn down. Well, unless someone drives a van into it that sets fire, like my former favorite coffee place." Right. "Well, the red lollipops are superior," she notes to Nima with dry humor in her voice.

Lee says, "So… do you normally have the night shift? Maybe we could find a place for your breakfast and my dinner sometime this week. Assuming I'm not concussed and this conversation is actually happening." He shoots Nima a look. Don't interfere.

"Now, see," Nima tells the doctor, accentuating her words with whimsical shakes of her half-eaten Twizzler, the other one that had been pulled out being held in the other hand, which holds the candy packet and Lee's bottle of water, "It's that kind of racist talk that has the purples all up in sticks about affirmative action. And the green ones increasingly taste more of jealousy than lime." That's all she says, though. By the Power of Grayskull, her twin brother is adored, and she's not looking to ruin what might be a good thing. After that schutta Bonita, Lee's options can only be improving, right?

Bekah looks over to Nima, as well, before she answers. "Well, assuming she's your sister, like she acts, and not your girlfriend, you're on," Bekah states. "Yeah, I usually work the night shift." She looks down at the papers and grabs a pen out of her pocket. "Well, I don't think you're concussed, but just in case, let me write this down." She jots down her phone number and the name Bekah Morgan on the paper before she passes it over. The paper itself is about warning signs of concussions. "And here's care info on the stitches. Any doctor should be able to take them out for you in about a week or less." Probably less given the boost she gave him. "True, but I worry more about the tastiness of lollipops than their feelings," she adds to Nima.

Lee says, "Thanks doctor…ah…Bekah. Thanks, Bekah," he says, looking at the paper. He tucks it away in his pocket with care, then pops the lollipop into his mouth, where his grin is decidedly cocky around it, Kojak-style, and he knows it. "I'll be a good boy, at least until I see you again," he promises, bidding farewell to Bekah with a wave.

His sister takes him home and dutifully wakes Lee up every few hours to be sure there's no concussion. There isn't. As he drifts back into sleep after one of his wakeup calls, the pain meds fuzzing everything out, Nima also picks up the floor a bit. There are a few drips of blood on some clothes, but, perhaps oddly, not that much. She picks them up, then, on an intuition that even she doesn't quite understand, looks up.

There's a tiny crack in the drywall on the ceiling above the bed, and, illuminated by the pale light of the city muted by the curtains of the window, the smallest smear of blood. Lee hit the ceiling first, and hardest, a full eight feet up.

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