02-24-2014, 08:18 PM
She waited for recognition, and there was no doubt when she received it.
On the wall above Michael's head was displayed his current vitals. The spikes and oscillations in his heart rate, breathing and temperature told her the truth she wished to glean. He didn't know, then. It was one part unsurprising and another part fascinating. Then Torri's mind was always splintered. Empathy for a patient, for instance, was a distant glow compared to the burning artistry of knitting them back together.
Rapt attention compared the display behind him to the mask presented on his face. When he grew cold there was no reading him. Soon, Torri stopped trying. Her shoulders slumped and she felt the fatigue of the last few days weary her bones.
Michael's cryptic answer didn't help to clear the muddied waters. Perhaps the Ascendancy knows what precisely? Michael was never a guest of the Facility. If he had known Michael's history, wouldn't the man be under lock and key rather than walking freely in the open? Was Michael another Alric? He remained under observation, but he was essentially released and in the Ascendancy's personal employ.
Much like Michael.
Torri rubbed her temple. She'd forgotten her scrub cap was still wrapped around her hair. It was a good reminder. She had her orders the same as anyone else.
"You should rest, you're right. What a great physician I am?"
Her sarcasm lacked the heat of a true wisecrack. She looked upon Michael's form then and the outline laid beneath the thin hospital blanket. He could get up and leave if he wanted. Figuratively anyway. With such derision of war, why was he here?
Perhaps for the same reason I am.
To make it better?
"I'll see you in the morning. Call the nurse if you need anything. I'll be a few doors down."
Although she turned off the lights when she left, the room was far from dark. Hospitals never were, after all. Meanwhile, she planned on crashing in the on-call suite. Literally.
On the wall above Michael's head was displayed his current vitals. The spikes and oscillations in his heart rate, breathing and temperature told her the truth she wished to glean. He didn't know, then. It was one part unsurprising and another part fascinating. Then Torri's mind was always splintered. Empathy for a patient, for instance, was a distant glow compared to the burning artistry of knitting them back together.
Rapt attention compared the display behind him to the mask presented on his face. When he grew cold there was no reading him. Soon, Torri stopped trying. Her shoulders slumped and she felt the fatigue of the last few days weary her bones.
Michael's cryptic answer didn't help to clear the muddied waters. Perhaps the Ascendancy knows what precisely? Michael was never a guest of the Facility. If he had known Michael's history, wouldn't the man be under lock and key rather than walking freely in the open? Was Michael another Alric? He remained under observation, but he was essentially released and in the Ascendancy's personal employ.
Much like Michael.
Torri rubbed her temple. She'd forgotten her scrub cap was still wrapped around her hair. It was a good reminder. She had her orders the same as anyone else.
"You should rest, you're right. What a great physician I am?"
Her sarcasm lacked the heat of a true wisecrack. She looked upon Michael's form then and the outline laid beneath the thin hospital blanket. He could get up and leave if he wanted. Figuratively anyway. With such derision of war, why was he here?
Perhaps for the same reason I am.
To make it better?
"I'll see you in the morning. Call the nurse if you need anything. I'll be a few doors down."
Although she turned off the lights when she left, the room was far from dark. Hospitals never were, after all. Meanwhile, she planned on crashing in the on-call suite. Literally.