2007-03-13: Doctors Without Helmets


Namir_icon.gif Phillip_icon.gif Samantha_icon.gif

Summary: Bored and itching for something to do after his down-time, Namir returns to his roots at the Mounted Unit. He goes out to work a few of the horses with his fellow officer, Phillip Katsambis. The two run into Samantha and invite the good doctor for a ride…

Date It Happened: March 13, 2007

Doctors Without Helmets

Central Park

There are a few skills Namir has picked up in his day that he no longer uses, but likes to keep up-to-par. Horseback riding is one of them. Thanks to his having been a part of the Mounted Unit for some years when he first became part of the police department, he has access to horses that he can ride and work with. Today, he was able to pull a few strings and get onto the back of a horse that belongs to an officer currently down with the flu. The horse still needs working, and the Middle-Eastern man was more than happy to oblige. Having run into Phillip at the stables, Namir has joined the other officer in riding through Central Park.

Samantha likes the horses, which is part of why she often opts for a bench on the horse trails when sitting in Central Park. She's got a whole one to herself, and she's taking advantage of that by draping on it slightly sidelong while reading a paperback. She's in jeans and an NYU sweatshirt, absently popping popcorn in her mouth from a brown bag which she absently tosses the contents of to the loitering pigeons.

"I heard you were involved in that 'spill' on the ferry a while ago," Phillip comments to the side in his smooth baritone voice as he manipulates his well-trained palomino into a formal march for a few paces before allowing the mount to relax once again. A small, contained smile teases at his mouth. It's his day off, but having very little in the way of a life outside of the force, Katsambis opted to work his mount anyway. Dressed casually, he wears a plain pair of jeans and a classic black t-shirt.

Namir's mount is not nearly so flashy: a plain chestnut with a white blaze and socks, but she's a good sturdy mare. He instinctively urges the horse to match the pace of Phillip's, and she does so fluidly while her rider grins. "I was — but don't be jealous, it wasn't nearly as fun as they made it out to be. Besides, they forced me on two-weeks' leave after that, and I've been bored out of my mind since." He's only /just/ been allowed to play XBox again, now that his hands have healed. As they approach the bench on which Samantha sits, he happens to glance that way and spots a bit of familiar face around the paperback, and this only causes his grin to widen. "Excuse me, ma'am," he calls out to her. "I think you're loitering."

Samantha tilts her head upward. "Excuse me, sir." she says. "I believe your horse is getting a bit personal with me. Don't you have some houris to go save or a carpet to fly around on?" Only Sam could probably get away with that, and yes, she does know Namir's Israeli, not Persian. She tilts to the side in her seated position so she can see Phillip. "Excuse me." she says sweetly, "Is this man bothering you? You should consider a stun gun."

"Boils on your hands?" The slightly younger man smiles more, gently nudging with the heels of his feet to guide his horse into a light trot. "That's the /life/." The two gingerly circle Namir and his mare as Phillip's attention turns to the woman along with Namir's. His pleasant smile turns a bit lopsided at her comment, though he doesn't respond verbally.

Only Sam indeed could get away with such jesting, but it's still quite amusing and causes Namir to grin broadly. "No, I have only a horse and you," he sighs in mock-disappointment. "I've come to rescue you from the pigeons." To Phillip, he laughs softly. "Trust me, you have no idea how difficult it is to deal with blistered hands until you've actually /got/ them."

"I've seen his hands when they were at their worst. Tres unattractive." Sam assures to Phillip, her smile shifting from Namir to the other man. "And his chest rattled like a baby's plaything. I'm Sam, by the way. Samantha. You're…vaguely familiar. Have I seen you in the ER?"

Phillip raises his eyebrows. However warm his expression remains, there is still a hint of vague indifference as he makes eye contact, "You probably have, but I doubt I was in the mood for conversation." His head dips down slightly as he averts his eyes, closing and re-opening them before he looks back up, "Phillip." The gelding prances around, swatting his cream tail lightly at his flank as his rider leans gracefully down to extend his hand to Samantha.

While introductions are made, Namir gives a small pull of the reins, turning and backing up his mare until she stands alongside one ends of Samantha's bench. There he's content to remain, smirking at the pair. "You don't want to be in the ER when Sam is on duty," he informs Phillip solemnly. "Her stethoscope is cold and all she does is throw ice at you. Worst bedside manner I've ever encountered." Two can tease.

Samantha snorts. "He's still on medication, ignore what comes out of his mouth." Gently she situates herself where Namir's mare can see her, lays a gently hand on her shoulder. She then says to Phillip, "It's just as well, if you came in, I was either treating you or treating someone you know. Don't take this the wrong way, but may you never darken my doorway at my workplace."

"Well then we couldn't have met, then," Phillip concedes, smirking, "The only E.R. Doctors that I've ever come across have always been /perfect/ hosts." Unknowingly retaining eye contact with Samantha for a longer pause - or staring at her, depending - Phillip breaks away to smile towards Namir, "Of course, could just be you." His lips crack to show a row of teeth, his eyebrows and eyes sinking pitifully as they shift towards the other cop, "Better us than some other poor S.O.B., though, right?"

"Hey," Namir cocks an eyebrow and peers down at Samantha with the frown of a disciplinarian, and he raises a hand with index finger extended to point at her meaningfully, "you be nice or you don't get to ride the pony." No, he /didn't/ mean an innuendo there. And then Phillip chimes in with his jab and Namir rolls his eyes prayerfully heavenward. "Allah save me from these infidels!" he sighs dramatically. But the playfulness fades away at his fellow officer's last statement, though his grin remains. "Indeed. Even if some of them aren't /worth/ protecting." His eyes shoot pointedly to Samantha, and he even jerks his head a little to indicate her, just in case his subtle hint didn't come across.

Samantha's eyes go artlessly wide, and her smile is too incident. "Which pony would I be riding? Yours or his?" she inquires. Then she pahs. "Hey, I'm one of the Chosen people, even if we really would prefer that someone else get Chosen for a while." There's an eye roll and a slight grin, she doesn't take what's been coming out of her mouth too seriously. "I hope I'm not keeping you gents, all the same."

A deep-chested laugh rises up from Phillip, spanning well through all statements… making it rather difficult to tell which he was actually amused by. "Technically, his is on loan. I'm just making sure he doesn't try to fight crime with her." Long fingers wrapping loosely around his mount's reigns, he backs up slightly. He leaves Namir to give his answers, his hesitance about allowing someone else to ride …Phillip… manifesting in silence.

"Mine, of course," is Namir's scoffed response, said through a grin. "And you /are/ keeping us, so if you're coming along, get up here." He scoots back in the saddle to allow Samantha room to climb up, glancing at Phillip quizzically. Hmm. He probably should've asked permission first, but ah well. "You know, with a doctor and a SWAT-man on horseback, we could make a real difference in the fight against crime. Doctors On Horseback, hmm?"

Samantha considers, then throws her bag of popcorn away, tucking the soft cover into her jacket. With nary a fuss, she takes Namir's hand and uses the momentum of his pull to swing up onto the back of the horse. There's some awkward situating, but pretty soon she's settled in behind him comfortably, expression amused as she murmurs something in his ear.

"Too bad the SWAT-man is so rusty, eh?" Phillip mumbles teasingly, clicking his tongue against his teeth. His legs strain against the denim fabric of his pants as he rises up, ushering his horse into a brisk trot, winding around a bench and a cluster of shrubs before returning to the main trail.

Rusty? Once Samantha is up in the saddle behind him, Namir grins even more at what she whispers, but he doesn't make a response. Muaha. Let her think what she will. Instead, he chuckles low in his throat and nudges the mare on after Phillip, though he's careful to work her a little lighter now that she's carrying more weight. He sticks mainly to the trail, finding no desire to go showing off just yet. "It's only been three years since I switched units," he calls after the other officer. "I can still out-ride you, Katsambis. If I didn't have a passenger, I'd prove it." Excuses.

"I swear, if you two get into some testosterone induced competition while I am on this horse, I will do something horrible to both of you." Samantha threatens, her hands curving around Namir's waist. Western saddles have more of a seat, but she lifts and drops lightly with the gait of the horse, suggesting she may be accustomed to an English saddle, if not terribly recently.

"Uh-huh," Phillip submits gently to Dayan's logic. He does so too swiftly to be sincere and is likely just bing patronizing. At Samantha's warning, both he and his mount seem to sumbit in actuality, calming their stride despite remaining clearly more fluid in their movements and cooperation. Then again, they work together just about every single day.

Namir, however, is not cowed. Actually, that sounds more like a /challenge/ to him than a threat, and his eyebrows shoot up deviously. "Oh? /What/ will you do?" he presses, urging the mare into a lope and weaving her between a couple of trees before easing her back into a gentle walk and returning to the main path. Namir is not scared of Samantha. Nope.

"You are inevitably going to wind up in my ER, Dayan." she hisses. Then, "Seriously, Namir. I'm okay on a horse, but I'd really rather not fall and crack my head open. My brains are good where they are, inside my skull." She looks over at Phillip. The man, not the horse. "I'll give you a cookie if you don't encourage him."

Phillip smiles, shifting his eyes towards Namir, "You strain that mare and it's both our asses, you know." Crack your head open? What? "Might not be out in my name, but they've gotta know I'm out here with you." After picking up to keep ahead of the couple, Phillip the horse back-peddles some at his rider's command, coming up even with them before moving forward once more.
GAME: Save complete.

"Mm-hmm, we wouldn't want /that/. I've had more ice and cold stethoscopes than I can handle these past two weeks." Namir obligingly eases up on the horseback antics, despite his rather prankish mood, and settles into a more relaxed gait. "I think it would take a little more than chunky Doctor Applebaum to strain this mare," he adds in response to Phillip's quip, grin growing. "She might even be able to dance circles around your boy there. Officer Thewlis must love this horse." She's a nice horse, indeed.

Samantha squeaks in indignation. She can't outright yell, because then she spooks the horse, so there's a lot of strangled sounds of frustration from behind Namir. She'll get him, my pretty. And his little rats, too.

"Oh-ho!" Officer Katsambis pants, narrowing his eyes, "You're playing with fire, there." Leaning back with a chuckle, Phillip grins, "Don't fuckin' mind him. He calls everybody fat. He's trying to lower your self esteem so he's got a chance, yah know?" He just shakes his head, his grin widening. Shame on you, Namir. Shame. On. You.

Those squeaks and squawks of indignation and frustration are sweet music to Namir's admittedly odd ears. Ah, the rewards for being a bit brazen. He transfers the reins to one hand and curls his arm back and around in an attempt to offer an awkward pat to Samantha's back. Only teasing, only teasing. /Not/ that she needs any reassurance, what with Phillip leaping to the rescue. "You'd know that tactic better than I, Katsambis," the Muslim laughs.

Samantha says smartly, "I don't need him to bolster or drag down my self-esteem, thanks. He must like them a little zaftig then, because you wouldn't believe the effort he's made, and I don't even wear an aba."

The off-duty officer lets out another good-natured laugh, neither disputing nor really agreeing with Namir's statement. In truth, he really wouldn't know better than Namir - which is no real testament to the other man's guilt… so much as Phillip's pathetic devotion to the job.

Hey, hey, /hey/. Namir turns his head to regard Samantha over his shoulder, one eyebrow cocked. "Don't make me turn this horse around, young lady," he intones in mock-threat. He is soon smirking again however. "Actually, a little meat on a woman isn't a bad thing, you know — but that's hardly a subject to be discussing right now." What, he's suddenly bashful /now/? Maybe he's crossed some sort of internal line of appropriateness.

Samantha opens her mouth to say something, and seems to think the better of it. Instead she grins impishly, and says, "You like the junk in my trunk. C'mon, admit it."

Phillip scoffs out a breath, peering in an amused fashion out of the corner of his eye, "Hay now. Let's tone this down a little while our mounts still have some respect for us, hmmm?" His lips press into a thinner smile. Surprisingly enough, he doesn't blush.

Samantha innocently looks over at Phillip, points at Namir. "He started it." Yeah, that's adult.

Well, that /does it/. Just as the tips of Namir's ears are starting to turn a bit pink, he snorts indignantly and gently pulls the reins to one side, turning the mare around. "That's it," he states with finality, "I warned you." That's right. He has /turned this horse around/, missy.

Phillip does his best to frown, though a smile does sparkle through without his consent. Pulling back on his own reigns, he slows his gelding and turns to stop in the middle of the path, watching as the mare's direction is reversed.

Samantha simply waits to see what else Namir's going to do. "You turned the horse around." she says mildly. After all, that's what he said. Of course, he didn't say anything else about it! She grins at Phillip over Namir's shoulder. "Does he seem a bit testy to you?" she asks the other mounted man.

And still the mare continues to move back in the direction she came, Namir stubbornly at the helm. Reins. Whatever. "I turned the horse around." It's said with an authoritative and smug sort of air. That's right. /He's/ the one in control of the horse, therefore he is the man with the power.

Phillip smiles quietly, "No more then usual." The man clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, calling out after them, "Get her back safely, Dayan!" Needless to say, Namir has no power over /Phillip/, so he prefers to continue on his way. It'd be strange to take any other route but his own, after all. The palomino prances on his hooves as he turns back to continue on, seemingly unhappy with having to part ways with his companion… but alas, such is the life of a police horse…

"Well now see, that's /your/ loss, because now you're going to take me back and I'll have to get off the horse, and you'll have ended an otherwise lovely time. Of you calling me fat and incompetent. On second thought, maybe turning around was a great idea." Sam loves to look for the silver lining, doesn't she?

"I will, Katsambis," Namir calls over his shoulder, grinning once again as he raises a hand in farewell. "I make no promises about the /woman/, though." Sam is totally In Trouble. Only not really. The lawman settles into the new course with a smirk, glancing back at Samantha. "I can still call you fat and incompetent while you're /not/ on the horse, you know. It just means I'll have to walk you home."

"That's true." Sam acknowledges. "Of course, then my own two legs could carry me away. Maybe I'll go ask that nice looking friend of yours if he'd rather walk me home instead." She doesn't mean it of course, but he totally deserves the abuse.

He does /not/. "Oh really?" Up goes one of Namir's eyebrows as he peeeeers back at Samantha, as though trying to figure out whether or not she's serious. Then, just to test this theory, he starts to turn the mare again. "Well, he's not far off; if we gallop, we might catch him." Which does she like more: her skull, or her dignity?

"Well, if you're that eager to get rid of me," she replies mildly. Her hands tighten around his waist. Is she calling his bluff?

So it would seem. Damnable woman. Namir keeps the mare on-course, though she does toss her head irritably at being turned and turned again in such a fashion. Damnable man, /make up your mind/. "On second thought," the Muslim sighs, "I wouldn't want to inflict you on Phillip. He's a good man." Ha! He can save face even in the event of his bluff being called.

Samantha rests her chin on his shoulder. "Whereas you are a very bad one for calling me fat and incompetent." she reminds him. Man, is she going to work this grudge for - well, EVAR.

"It could have been worse," retorts Namir, leaning back into the pseudo-embrace lazily. "I could have called you fat, incompetent, and /old/." Remember that silver-lining thing? Mm-hmm.

"You're older than me, so what would that make you?" she counters sunnily. Silver lining!

The incorrigible smirk returns as Namir helpfully offers, "Impressive, because I'm neither fat nor incompetent." And then he grins, but he soon supplies it with: "And neither are you, really, but I won't take back what I said about the stethoscope. You really ought to look into getting a heated one, you know."

"You'll have to do a lot better to talk me into it, I'm afraid." she says. "By the by, I have these tickets to Rent - they're closing the show, you know. I tend to cry during it, but if you think you can handle me with raccoon eyes you can come with me. Else I'll find some galpal to go with upon who's shoulder I shall sob during 'Living In America'.

Namir considers this for several seconds as the stables start to come into view down the line. After an appropriately dead pause, he comes back with: "Can I bring a camera to capture the raccoon expression? I need to add more to my blackmail folder." He chuckles softly at his own joke before adding, "Or I suppose I'll just bring extra tissues and a shirt that will withstand the mascara." In other words: yes, he'll brave the bowels of Broadway for a date.

"Excellent." Sam would rub her hands together, evil scientist style, except she's sort of hanging onto him while on top of the house. Still, her tone conveys the evil hand rubbing. Which sounds dirtier then it actually is.

Well that's just not good. "Why do I get this sinking feeling that your intentions are not entirely honorable?" Namir jokes, squinting suspiciously ahead at nothing. Maybe if he squints hard enough, it will travel all the way around the globe and hit Samantha in the back of the head, as it is intended for her anyway.

Samantha's voice sounds innocent behind him. Uh oh. "Would they ever be less than honorable?" she asks. Then in good humor, "Naah, nothing up my sleeve. Promise."

Somehow, Namir is not convinced — or perhaps he's just Being That Way. As he draws up outside the stables, he glances back again, eyebrow quirked. "Mm-hmm. And when I least expect it: there you'll be with that frigid stethoscope. I know how you work, Doctor Applebaum." He sees what she's doing there.

Samantha waits until he comes to a stop, and starts to try and swing back down from the horse, only to realize it's a lot harder to swing off when you're a secondary passenger then to swing on. So she waits. "Why would I bring a stethescope to a Broadway show?" she asks, baffled.

"Spite." The word is punctuated by Namir swinging his leg over and dismounting, landing audibly on the ground. He peers up at Samantha with a lifted eyebrow before reaching both hands towards her waist to offer her some assistance in getting down. "Or perhaps in case you can't hear the actors well enough." A pause, a grin, and then, "But I suppose if I'm there, you wouldn't /need/ a stethoscope for that, would you?" It's /just/ vague enough to be said in public.

Samantha accepts the assistance, landing firmly on her feet. "I'm not going to bring valuable medical equipment to a show. You so crazy, Doctor Jones." she says in Short Round accent. "Go pass your horse off to the stable kid and walk me home." Bossy!

Indeed! Namir flinches back in faux-shock before going rigid and giving Samantha a stiffer-than-is-needed salute. He's ex-Army; he's /good/ at that. "Yes, /ma'am/!" he states, then grins and takes the horse's reins. Aside from a bit of small talk and joking with the stable hand, it doesn't take Namir too long to return, and once he does, he strides to Samantha's side and raises his arm, palm down and fingers spread as though awaiting a reverse "hi-five". It's more an offer to hold hands, actually. "Shall we?"

Samantha accepts the hand readily enough. "We shall." She seems content to walk along and remarks, "Your friend does seem nice." Impishly and full of not-serious, she asks him blithely, "What's his number again?" Then mock-winces in preparation of getting thwapped.

There is no threat of a thwap, but there is a playful glare and then Namir lengthens his strides and changes his course to steer him away from Samantha's side. Of course, his hand remains firmly clasped in hers, so inevitably he will come to a halt. "You know what? You're no longer allowed in my apartment." /Ha/. "You don't get to see my collection of Muslim Girls Gone Wild /or/ play on my XBox." So /there/.

Samantha stops, which means they're at the full extension of their two arms. But see, that's when she makes the nose. Sniffle. It's totally crocodile - they're both full of it, but Namir's just the sort who can't bear to see a woman cry, isn't he? She's kinda banking on it. Sniffle. Sniff. Pout.

Oh Lord. No, Namir is just the sort who really can't bear to see a woman cry. When he discovers that Samantha has stopped (this discovery is made by way of the anchor that has become his arm), he also halts. When the sniffling starts, he stares. "No," he utters, pointing accusingly with his free hand as he starts back towards the doctor. "Don't you start this. I mean it." No, he doesn't. They really /are/ both full of it.

Samantha turns her face away, head bowed so her hair hides her features, making little snuffle sounds and shoulders shaking. Of course, it could be giggles, but well…there's a reason she used to get the lead roles in high school musicals. No, not the kind with Zac Efron.

"Samantha." It is a warning. It is very threatening! As threatening as an angry kitten. Namir stops when he's directly in front of the woman and shakes a finger in her face. "Don't make me tickle you. I don't want to do it!" And if she doesn't stop crying, that finger that's being shaken will ultimately move in to tickle at her sides. What? Abuse?

Samantha lets out a yelp! But not too loud, because she doesn't want it to get mistaken for an actual assault. "Your embargo is needlessly cruel!" she giggles, and attempts to try and start walking again.

"Ha!" snorts Namir as he falls back in step alongside her. "You know it won't last. I want to teach you the ways of the XBox too much." The hand that he still holds is lifted to his lips and a kiss is placed on the back of it. "So that I can defeat and humiliate you." Beam.

Samantha sniffs. "When -you- can perform a tracheotomy using a pen knife and a plastic straw, then I'll worry about feeling humiliated." With that, off they stroll.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License