Participants:
| Scene Title | Area Of Expertise |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Since ambulances were forbidden, Devon stops off for the doctor's opinion of Ms. Reynold's illness on his way to the studio. |
| Date | May 13, 2011 |
Medical offices of Doctor Brennan and Doctor Brennan
Mornings at a doctor's office are usually the busiest, but it's the only time Devon could assure to catch one of the Brennan's without wasting company time. After his meeting with the studio's producer, regardless of whether she believed him or not, he felt it better to keep his concerns off the clock.
Appearing far more professionally than he usually does in full suit and tie, the intern waits patiently for notice at the receptionist's counter. He's not there for an appointment, no, simply seeking a doctor's opinion. He fidgets, not with the tie cinched around his neck but instead with the cuffs of his sleeves. A glance goes over his shoulder to the handful of others waiting to be seen then swivels back to the reception area.
Hesitantly, Devon clears his throat.
"Just a moment, sorry" The mid twenties perky receptionist in her floral scrubs apologizes to Devon, grabbing charts from where they have been laid, already the day is looking like it might be hectic, either that or the woman behind the counter and sliding windows is just having a bad morning. Likely the latter.
"Roberta, have you got the Jameson file? Mish needs it, she's bringing in her twins and she needs to look up what they were prescri-" Brennan's come waltzing in from a side door that leads to the back of the clinic proper, words halting at the sight of Devon in his get-up and at the window. "Devon. Something wrong?"
"He was looking to talk to you or Michelle, says he knows you" The harried receptionist offers up, hoping that she's not about to get into trouble. Brennan lays a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "I'll take him, don't worry. He's a family friend Roberta. You just find that file and get it to Michelle and if my lunch isn't filled, block it off would you?" He gestures to the door to the side, where he knows it is in the waiting room. "Meet you on the other side, it's unlocked, go on through"
"Sorry," Devon murmurs, directing an apologetic, partial grin to Roberta. He wasn't trying to get her into trouble, but sometimes it takes making yourself known more than once to get things moving. The hazards of working in show business. He nods when Brennan acknowledges him and moves around to the indicated door, letting himself through to the other side.
"Sorry," the teenager says again. "It's… If I tried calling when I got to work, life would have gone to hell." It's already chaotic, Devon doesn't care to add to to the crazy that's studio life any more than necessary. "Just… Something's come up."
Brennan's there, suited up, no white coat on yet, nos crubs - no ones thrown up on him yet - but he does have a clipboard, still scruffy jaw'd but in that hollywood, neat and tidy kind of way. "It's okay, I get drop in's sometimes. I don't have anyone right now, just doing paperwork. What's come up. This isn't about Ms. Pierce is it?" Concern on the doctors face.
"No, no sir." Devon's hands tuck into his pants pockets. "There's um… Ms. Reynolds, the producer at the studio, is sick." There's no eloquent way of saying it, though even as he speaks, he tries to find a nicer way of putting it. "She called me in yesterday for something, and… She visited that prison, Arthur Kills, to get a story about this family. The mother was taken from the prison by guys in HAZMAT suits."
That gets his attention. "Sorry, Devon, did I hear you right, she visited the prison that's been the site of an outbreak of.." Gones the genial smile on Harve's face and he's now focused completely on the teen. "How sick Devon? What's her symptoms?" He motions for the teenager to follow him, heading down the hall to an office marked with two Dr Brennan nameplates. One an H, the other an M. "How long ago did you see her?"
"Yesterday afternoon." Devon falls into step behind Brennan. "I don't know how sick, I'm not a doctor. She's coughing though, looked like… Like she'd been sleeping there." Which isn't all that uncommon, but his tone holds volumes of how unusual it was to see Kristen in that state. "She had the heat on in the editing room. Said she wasn't hungry then asked for some high sugar latte."
"So fever. Probably had the chills and was why she had it high. Coughing, decreased appetite." Brennan motions for the chair across from the desk, offering it to Devon to sit on. "How long ago was she at Arthur Kills and was there anyone else with her? This is important Devon, anything you can remember, at all. Because if she's got what's there, she could be passing it on to everyone and everyone and far as I know, we don't have any vaccinations for that strain"
He's already flicking through a handheld, looking for numbers. A number to call.
Removing his hands from his pockets, Devon lowers himself to the chair. "She took her assistant. He usually goes most places with her. I tried to get her to go home but she refused. Even said the HAZMAT suits were just sensationalism and not actually necessary." He drags a hand through his hair, brows drawing together as he tries to remember finer details of the encounter. "Within the couple of days is when she'd have to have gone. She said it was just a cold, said I was overreacting by wanting to call an ambulance. But she said she went to that prison."
"Hazmat suits are not sensationalism. They allow medical professionals to enter into situations and area's that they might otherwise not be able to enter because they might contract and spread an illness or become sick from the surroundings. So they can give medical aid, clean up contaminants and keep the rest of the population safe. The moment Kristen heard about what was there…" People.
"Can I get you to write down the address and name of her assistant, Kristen's address. I need to let the CDC know. Far as they are aware, they had it contained, but if Kristen visited and what she's displaying is symptoms of infection from this strain…" That would make then, three strains running around the city. The one with the heightened mortality rate, the one that cropped up in Queens and Greenwich and now the Arthur Kills one. "If you get fired for this, I'll find you another job, thank you for coming to me. Do you know if she's been anywhere else for certain, the past few days? Any public spots, if she has any boyfriend?" People she might have been intimate with, swapped spit and therefore potentially exposed.
"S'all stuff I told her," Devon says, shaking his head. "Told her there was a reason for it, the suits and everything." But such is the life of an intern, your word doesn't mean anything. "I warned her, though she should've known anyway. That those jails were quarantined for a reason. Seemed pretty insistent that it was just a cold."
His head begins shaking again, as he's asked for names and addresses. "I don't see her outside of work, Doctor Brennan. And besides, she's scary." This from the kid who stared death in the face inside the Dome. "I have no idea what her private life is, but I'm sure she's registered. Her assistant is Dirk… something. And there's so many people coming and going from the studio."
"They'll figure that all out, I had just hoped that you would know more than I did. I know who Dirk is, he hit on my wife on television" But then, if a red blooded male didn't, well, they'd have to be dead. "We'll get things sorted Devon, get her medical help. Worst, it's a flu, run of the mill and she's just being a work a holic which is understandable. Or it's from the arthur kills and by all reports that I've seen, it's nowhere near as virulent or hard on the body as the H5N10 that went through the population this winter" As far as he knows.
"Sorry, I'd tell you if I knew more." Devon lets out a slow breath, brow still slightly creased, though he makes to stand. "There anything else I should do at the studio? I posted a note outside the editing room to keep people away." If they heeded the warning. "Didn't seem terribly likely she'd emerge soon, and it really did look like she'd slept there. I don't really have authority to do much else but… I can take suggestions to Mister August or Ms. Quinn."
"Yeah, you can call ahead" A gesture to the other desk in the room that belongs to his wife, the phoneline there that he can use. Tell them to stay away from the room, One person, preferrably SLC expressive, who's checking in to see if she's thirsty or still there. CDC will be down there soon, I'm sure of it. Also have them find Dirk and see if he's exhibiting symptoms. If he's at the studio, same deal, keep him there, in his office, or somewhere away from others. Like I said, at the best, it's a normal influenza, at the worst…" at the worst, his bosses boss is about to likely get shunted into the hospital. "You okay Devon?"
Devon's eyes follow the gesture, head tipping in a nod. "I'll call from the bus, let Kincaid know what's going on. Faaauh.. I should have just called the paramedics yesterday." He stands and pulls his cell phone from a pocket, thumbing through the contacts. He should have the assistant producer's desk line in there. "She's going to be pissed, you know that," he says quietly, not really expecting an answer. The question to his own wellbeing draws his attention up again, however, and he blinks owlishly at the doctor. "Yeah, I am. Just… it's been a strange week. I… thanks for taking the time out to help, Doctor Brennan."
“Should have, could have, would have. What counts, is that you did something now. She can be pissed, but you had her health and wellbeing at heart and that should count for something. I think she'll be more pissed at me. Somehow, I don't think that I'm going to be guest spotting on any of her shows anytime soon" He winks at Devon, punching in numbers on the phone. "I'll get who I can down to the studio, probably swing on by there. You keep yourself scarce too, you may not catch it, but you could be a carrier. On your clothes and such. I suggest washing the clothes you're wearing today and yesterday, in really hot water and detergent a few times. Get the suit cleaned"
"Yes, sir." Devon grins faintly. He was planning to leave early today anyway, whether there was reason to or not. "Once I've put in a few hours I'll get out of there and clean up again. Just to be safe." And let those at work know, too, Evolved or not. "Thanks, Doctor Brennan. Really. This isn't my area of expertise."
"When Marlena starts acting like a teenager, I'll come to you for help. Right now, get on your way, if you need a ride I can have someone drive you, save you the bus ride" Either way, he's not going to keep the teenager parked here when he can help on the other end. "Just get there before you get in too much trouble Devon"
"I don't think I could help with that either," Devon says with a grin. "Girls are just… different. The bus is fine, though thanks for the offer." He starts to extend a hand to shake, then thinks better of the action and just gives a small wave instead. "Thanks. I'll call if anything else comes up." Turning, the intern lets himself out of the office and finds his way back to the waiting area, his attention going to his phone to tap out a text to the assistant producer.