capeandcowllogs | i ain't got a fever got a permanent disease

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i ain't got a fever got a permanent disease

WHO: John Watson, Rick Bradbury, Mitchell Hundred
WHERE: The Import Clinic
WHEN: An evening sometime this week.
WARNINGS: Swearing???
SUMMARY: Bradbury's nudged Mitch into getting a checkup, and he's found pretty much the only doctor he trusts to do the job to agree.
FORMAT: Quick!

[ somehow, bradbury's gotten mitch to humor him on this. while he was hardly expecting to expect mitch to walk out of the clinic like he'd got news of ball cancer or something, he felt a little trepidation about the whole thing anyway. he knew how mitch could be, when he was pissy, and it occurred to him maybe he should have warned john more about that.

still, here they were, after hours at the import clinic, bradbury barely managing to check the urge to steer mitch in. ]

Be nice. [ he reminded the mayor, before he held the door open for him to walk through. ] I'm not gonna be there to stop him if he decides to deck you.

[ though he might not even stop him if he was there, come to think of it. confirming their appointment at the reception was easy enough, and its just a matter of waiting around for john to show up and take mitch off his hands. ]

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[ He was pissed. He didn't go to the import clinic. The air here was different, or maybe that was just the way he thought it felt. Maybe it was all in his head, and it likely was, but the armada of different sounding machines was the first indication that something was wrong. The fact that they didn't sound like most hospitals, and he was intimately acquainted with real hospitals.

But he didn't want to be here, because he didn't need anyone else seeing him. He had doctors, and they gave him a clean bill of health. He had normal doctors, who looked for normal things, and ignored the gaping monstrosity on his face, his neck, his shoulders, arms, and sides. The obvious damage to a night that only he and Bradbury were privy to.

They ignored it, but an import might not, if they thought they could figure something out about it. The import mayor was not a normal person.

But while he was sour, it was mostly a silent sour now. He was still pissed with his bodyguard, and it showed. ]

I know how to fucking be nice, Bradbury. I'm a politician, not a six year old. You're just lucky I'm putting up with this bullshit. When this is over, you'll realize how fucking stupid this is.

Mitchell! I thought I recognized your dulcet tones.

[ john announces his arrival with an airy remark as the door creaks open, although his eyes are cast downwards, fixed on the phone in his hand while he texts. once finished, he slides it back into his pocket and shoots the long-suffering bodyguard with a smile – from the sound of it, he staked a lot on making this appointment actually happen, so taking a night off from patrolling with sherlock wasn't going to hurt anyone. ]

Hey Rick. Did you have a nice weekend?

Boss, I'd be happy as a pig in shit to find out it is just me being stupid.

[ bradbury would have said more, but john's arrival interrupted him, and he was pretty relieved to have the excuse to turn away from mitch and flash the doctor a warm grin. hopefully this wasn't a sign of things starting off on the wrong foot. ]

Could've gone better, but the change of scene wasn't bad. [ he turned to mitch, and though he stopped short of actually nudging him forward like an expectant mother. ]

[ Being the sort of man that had been trying to expand his powers, he was trying, very pointedly, to ignore the whispers of everything else around him for the moment. There were just some things that didn't need to be listened in on, and after he and Edward's conversation, he was trying not to pry, just expand.

Easier said than done.

But instead of addressing his bodyguard, he held out a hand to John. ]

Dr. Watson. Let's get this over with, since apparently, I'm doctoring my medical records or some shit.

Can't wait to hear the stories.

[ rather than offer mitchell his own hand, john gives him a thin smile. the temptation to take his hand and crush his fingers would no doubt be too overwhelming. besides, there was plenty of time for unwanted physical contact during the scheduled check-up. ]

All right... if you'd like to follow me, we can get this started. [ he then turns his head to address rick. ] You're staying out here, right?

[ bradbury's smile faltered a little, but he nodded. ]

Yeah, I am. [ he'd make a joke about how he's seen enough of mitch half-dressed for a lifetime, but he really didn't think it would be appreciated right now. ]

Try to get him back to me in one piece, all right? [ he's not entirely sure that's a joke, at this point. ]

[ He shot Bradbury a look, over his shoulder. Something of a dirty one, still rather annoyed with the entire thing, but he at least tried to start up a conversation with the doctor. ]

Let's just skip the weighing thing, huh? I don't want to be depressed for the rest of the day.

Sorry, but Rick will probably kill me if we skimp on anything. [ or maybe he wants to see mitch suffer, although the next thing he says dispels the notion entirely. ] He's worried about you... just humour him, okay?

[ and before he can reply. ] We'll start with a few questions first. Just the standard how much do you drink, smoke, your family history... all that. Basic stuff.

[ He didn't touch on the statement. He honestly didn't care that Bradbury was worried. He knew what he was doing well enough. He was doing this because if he didn't, he'd keep getting shit. Even if he had his own medical records released yearly.

It was a thing politicians did.

He didn't mention it, though, because he figured John Watson, sidekick to Sherlock Holmes, would have different opinions on that. Hell, he probably sympathized with Bradbury. ]

I drink one a night, if that. Smoke about a half pack to a pack a day, depending on time and how much shit is going on. [ He started to tick things off, on one hand. ]

Mother is healthy, no diseases. Father died in a cave-in when I was a baby. No family history of anything that's going to result in me losing any limbs, extremities, or my testicles.

[ He referred to her in present tense, just in case. His eyes remained neutral the entire time, almost bored. ]

Okay, that's very concise.

[ john isn't unfamiliar with this kind of attitude. after a brief spell of working in a london surgery, patients could usually be sorted into two different categories. some who didn't give a damn and those who were convinced they had something, especially after wielding a search engine. ]

Last question before we really get started. How much exercise do you get on a daily basis? Remember, pushing paper doesn't count.

Daily? Not much. I do plenty of walking, since it comes with the job, but I'm not going out of my fucking way to get it done.

[ It was a miracle Mitchell looked as good as he did, honestly. He didn't put much effort into his body. At least no more than he would need to, as a politician. ]

I'll mark you down as doing the bare minimum then. [ john nods and stands up, moving across the room to pick up the sphygmomanometer. ] If you want to remove your jacket and roll up your sleeve, we'll do a blood pressure test.

[ He released a soft sigh. He didn't want to, but--

Well, he did it anyway. ]

If the bare minimum, really. I have no delusions that I'm anything but a sedentary shithead.

Well, at least you're honest about it. [ john deadpans without looking at him, wrapping trhe cuff around his upper arm while mitch is actually complying. ]

You probably know this already, but this is going to get quite tight.

No, I've never been to a doctor in my life. [ He offered it with no extra emotion, equally as flat. ]

Go for it.

[ He offered his arm, after he'd pulled up his sleeve, but he'd only pulled up the shirt a scant inch or two above his elbow, and no higher. ]

Understandable. I'd hate to be your GP. [ john isn't going to test his luck by asking mitch to roll it up further. he can predict the real struggle will come when it's time to get him on the scales.

once he fastens the cuff, the device tightens uncomfortably around his arm while it pumps and he checks the reading. ]

116, 79... pretty good, considering the kind of career you've got.

[ He winces slightly, more from the tightness, but nods. ]

I keep telling you people, I'm fine. Just because a guy likes being stressed doesn't mean he's dying.

[ It's half-muttered, not necessarily for John, but rueful all the same. ]

Believe me, I give my GP plenty of shit to hate me about.

I'll save you the lecture about the cons outweighing the benefits of stress, since I'm pretty sure Rick must've taken you through them already. [ he scribbles down his blood pressure and removes the cuff from his arm none too gently; the satisfying rip of velcro is like music to his ears. ]

Mmm? Did you say something?

[ He winced. ]

Nothing. So what's next, Doctor Watson?

[ A little giddy thrill at that. It was still forever present, the childlike excitement at seeing and meeting people from fiction -- even if they didn't really like him. ]

[ that earns mitch a head tilt and a curious look. q did the same thing to him a little while back. ]

... Cholesterol test. Then we can wrap up everything after checking your weight and seeing if you're at the risk of developing diabetes.

[ a pause. ]

Then, if you feel so inclined, you can tell me about any health problems you might've had lately. Gotta be a good reason Rick asked me to do this, right?

Oh great, checking my weight. [ A little dry, but it was still there. Although he frowned, a leg kicking idly out from his seat. ]

You've fucking got me. The last time I had a health problem was when I hit my head. Over a year ago. [ When he'd had amnesia, and had absconded to a pot farm, but nobody knew about that particular detail, except for a few, very few individuals. ]

Wait, is the cholesterol test a blood test?

[ when mitch starts to give him attitude, john rolls his eyes and turns away to prepare for the next test. it can't prevent him from sighing out loud while the mayor curses in the background. ]

Yeah, I'll need to take a bit of blood from your finger. Just a little prick.

Ah, I see.

[ He held out a finger, eyeing the devices with a cautious eye. Mitch's blood tests had always been a little wonky, the machinery and electricity running through a portion of his face, neck, and side a bit much for even his blood chemistry to show up normal. They never released his blood samples, when he'd been in his home. ]

Just to be clear, this data gets deleted and burned, afterward. The blood sample destroyed too.

[ He remembered the man who'd ate plants fertilized with his blood. He'd thought him insane, as did everyone else, but they'd told him red was a color of their spectrum.

He was forever cautious. ]

Fair enough? It's not like I'm going to post all this on Rumblr or that weird gossip magazine. [ aside from the patient confidentiality aspect, john understands. vaguely. in a world where comic book superheroes live down the hall from you, you begin to accept the oddities of requests.

at least, that's the way john is beginning to view this the city. he takes the blood sample and begins comparing the results of his earlier test. ]

I'll use the lab downstairs before I get home.

[ in the meantime, in the waiting room, bradbury was bored out of his mind.

it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes, if even that, since mitch and john disappeared into one of the examining rooms, but there's nothing to do but perch himself awkwardly on one of the benches in the waiting area and stew, foot jigging nervously against the floor. god, he was used to waiting as part of his job, but this?

maybe if he wasn't so worried about mitch opening his mouth and saying something to piss john off, he'd be coping with the whole thing better. as it was, he was flipping through the magazines laid out in a desperate bid to find something else to occupy his brain. ]

I didn't have any thought that you would. [ But his blood was--

Well, Mitchell was just a touch paranoid, and with good reason. Suspicion and caution were the name of the game when it came to being a politician with superpowers. (Who also often indulged in a particular illegal substance.) ]

I'd prefer if you get it started while I'm here. Look, I know it sounds fucked up, and it's not that I don't trust you, but I don't really know you.

No, you just make sweeping generalizations about people without getting to know them first. [ way to stay professional, john. ]

Fine, I can do that. Just hold on a minute.

Great, thanks.

[ He didn't even comment on it. He could fight it, sure. He'd been drunk, and almost thought he'd been about to go through a car accident.

Sherlock hadn't helped, either--

But he didn't have anything to prove to John, so he just nodded, and waited for him to leave, closing his eyes, and listening for the hum of a machine being activated. He needed to hear, and listen. If Dr. Watson did any tests that would look for anything other than cholesterol, he needed to know. ]

[ john left the room without another word, closing the door behind him with a soft click. as he passed bradbury in the waiting room, he shot him a look and continued walking toward the elevator, but called over his shoulder. ]

Don't let him leave.

Huh? [ bradbury blinked, looking up from where he'd finally resorted to scribbling into the margins of the children's magazine he'd picked up to stave off boredom. that hadn't been that long. tucking the magazine under his arm absentmindedly, he stepped over to the door of the examination room, pulling it open so he could poke his head in at mitchell. ]

Has he stuck a thermometer up your ass yet?

[ you're thinking of vets, bradbury. ]

[ Mitch didn't really react, for a few moments, his hands on his knees, eyes closed, like he was indulging in the rare moment of TM, and thankfully, his bed was on the side that meant the mass of circuits on his face, gently glowing, but it dimmed when he opened his eyes. ]

I'm pretty sure I'm not a fucking dog, Bradbury. What, did he send you in here to make sure I don't escape?

[ Resigned. He still listened, communicating on autopilot. ]

Like your fat ass could even fit through the window. [ The response was automatic, but though he stepped in and closed the door behind him, Bradbury didn't step any further into the room.

He'd never been a fan of hospitals, and he didn't think Mitch had much reason to be either. Not after the accident, anyway. ]

What'd you do to scare him off, take off your pants?

He needed to do a blood test.

[ If Mitchell sounded a little mocking, his head tipping with his words, well, he wasn't so happy about it. ]

I told him to run the tests now rather than later.

[ He was still listening, waiting. Making sure Dr. Watson would only run one test, and one test only.

He didn't need him poking around in his blood. ]

You know that just means you're gonna be stuck here longer, right?

[ if bradbury looked unimpressed? that's because he was. but it was a bit rich of him to be asking mitch to trust the guy when he refused to trust someone else just because mitch asked him to, so he didn't. ]

I had a feeling, yeah.

[ Mitchell would sacrifice his work, if it were important enough. This was one of those moments when he needed to. He didn't trust the doctor because this was bigger than him. This was the kind of thing he would never trust Edward with, let alone anyone else. Some secrets needed to be kept close. ]

[ he grunted, shaking his head and leaning back against the wall. ]

The hell are you expecting him to find, anyway?

Fuck if I know, honestly.

[ He lifted a shoulder, casually. It wasn't like he was going to say that he worried about the THC that swam in his blood. ]

But I figure the NSA kept my records sealed for a reason.

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i ain't got a fever got a permanent disease

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LMFAO GOD KYTHA I DIDN'T CHECK MY EMAIL BEFORE I POSTED

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