Participants:
| Scene Title | Pushy Boys |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | More history between Len and Odessa is revisited. |
| Date | October 15, 2009 |
There's some sort of feeling of relative safety that comes from a locked bathroom door in an empty apartment. Odessa - No. Joy, now - wipes the steam from the mirror after her shower, leaving the towel in a pile on the floor as she leans forward to inspect the ugly scar across her throat. She fastens a sparkling blue necklace over it, masking the mark.
Absently, she inspects herself. The scar on her left hand is from where she slipped with the scalpel while dissecting a frog. Or maybe it was a pig. A burn scar on her right knee, nearly faded evidence of a childish fight with Ellie Bishop. Pulling back her hair, there's a scar toward the back of her neck, below her right knee. Some children fall out of trees, Joy fell off a library ladder, attempting to retrieve a book on astronomy.
The small series of scars along her left hip and thigh draw a frown. Tracing her fingers down her side as though connecting the dots, she remembers the night she got them.
October 15, 2000
Odessa, Texas
Frank Sinatra croons from the antique radio of an office that hasn't been redecorated since the 1970s. Thick shag carpet in a shade of burnt orange covers the floor where a stunned blonde lays on her side amidst debris of shattered glass and the broken wood frame of what used to be a coffee table. She's staring up at a young man shrowded in shadow. His face she can't see.
"Get out!" she spits petulantly.
"It was an accident," the boy contends. "You shouldn't have slapped me."
"I said get out." She holds in her tears until the boy's ran from her office. Slowly, she lifts herself to a sitting position, and looks down her body, where her side is aching. Small pieces of glass shake loose from where they merely pricked her sides, though a larger pieces protrude from her hip and her thigh. A tug of a cord brings the phone toppling off the desk and onto the floor next to her, where she lifts the receiver and dials a number with bloody fingers.
Len Denton was at the facility still. He was typing a report when his phone rings. He has had a full plate these days, finding that he rarely has time for the wife, but she does have her own projects that keep her busy. They've discussed time and again the fact that Len keeps all hours at his job, though what that job is, she isn't entirely let in on. He finishes his sentence, letting the phone ring several times before he picks it up. "Denton." He reaches up to run his hand over his smooth head. If he has to go out on another call today..
"Len?" On the other end, Odessa's voice sounds younger than usual. But she always has sounded much younger over the telephone line. "Are you still at work? C- Could you come down to my office? I didn't know who else to call…"
"On my way." His voice softens a little as he responds and turns off his monitor before standing and making his way out of his cubicle. He heads towards the infirmary, nodding as he passes a few individuals now and then.
As he arrives, he pokes his head inside. "Everything alright, miss?" he asks as he steps in afterwards. "What happened here? Are you alright?"
Odessa looks up from where she's seated on the floor, tears streaming down her face, fighting off hiccuping sobs. "Close the door, could you?" Once he's complied, she tugs up the side of her sunny yellow sweater, darker at the hem where blood's soaked in. Her fingers are trembling. "One of the boys tried to… I slapped him, and he pushed me." She gestures vaguely to the remains of her coffee table. She tips her head forward and starts crying harder, unable to quite explain what exactly went on.
There's a flash of anger on the facial features of Len Denton as he closes the door behind him and walks towards her. He kneels down next to her and places a hand on her shoulder. It's a gentle movement, just in case she decides to shy away which would be understandable considering the circumstances.
"Which boy?"
The words are soft and meant to pull the name from her even if she's terrified to say it. "I need to know." He then removes his hand and stands and walks over and grabs the waste basket and begins to pick up the shards from the coffee table.
"I didn't mean to lead him on." Of course whatever transpired as left the girl believing she's the one to blame for what happened. "He hurt himself playing football with some of the other boys and he was trying to tell me that it wasn't that bad, but his ribs were swollen. He said I was full of it, so I showed him mine and put his hand over them." She rakes her fingers through her hair, leaving streaks of blood on golden strands. "I didn't mean to… I'm sorry."
Len stops what he's doing, having picked up a good deal of the glass already. He moves over to try and help her to her feet. "Let's stand up here and make sure you're okay. He didn't hurt other than pushing you?" She was doing her job, and the others here should respect that. It's something to irks Len to no end. He's actually angry over this. "This was not your fault. I still want to know which boy it was. Did you log the visit?" Medical personnel are supposed to log each visit and the reason. This visit may not have gotten that far though." Len reaches for some bandages. "Let's get you patched up."
"We were just talking…" Odessa hisses painfully when Len helps her up. "Uhm, just grab that white kit on the shelf over there. I think I might need a stitch or two. Oh, and grab the brown bottle of alcohol next to it. Cotton should be over there somewhere." The girl leans against her wood desk, gingerly pressing her fingers around the piece of glass still sticking out from the side of her hip. "If you can have the gauze ready to press down, I can pull the glass. I don't //think it's too bad…" But the way she winces suggests it sure hurts. She rubs one thumb under each eye to brush away some of her tears.//
Len helps her over to the exam table. "Up." He orders. "Don't touch that glass yet. I'll take care of it." Yeah, he can be bossy when he wants to be. He'll be a good boss one day. He pulls some gauze from the kit as well as a self ready stitching kit, still sealed. "I wish I could say this won't hurt, but.." He places his fingers on the glass. It isn't lost on him that she still hasn't given the name of the boy. He'll have someone check out the camera feed and he'll have a 'talk' with the young man. "Are you ready?" He has the gauze ready.
Odessa very nearly scowls at Len. "Who's the doctor here?" But who's the teenager? After a brief staring match she quickly realises she isn't going to win, she crawls up onto the table and lays on her un-hurt side. She glares at the wall across from her and grips the pillow under her head with one hand. She hisses in one breath, a second. It seems for a moment that she might start crying again, but after five breaths, she finally tells him, "Ready."
Len deals with crazy evolved folks all day long, so a teenager's scowl doesn't seem to phase him too awful much. He makes it quick, snatching the glass as fast as he can, then dabs some iodine on it before gently applying some gauze. He reaches for some tape as he pulls it from the reel with his teeth and begins to tape the gauze in place. Once he's satisfied with his work, he helps her to carefully sit up onto the table. He reaches for his radio. "I need cleanup in the infirmary. Broken coffee table. I also need video feed from outside here within the last half an hour." He looks at Odessa, "..unless you want to tell me who it was and make this easier for us all."
Well, except for the boy, of course.
Odessa grabs Len by the front of his shirt to pull him close enough to whisper a name in his ear. "Don't tell anybody," she emplores. "I'm not supposed to talk to him." Maybe because of things like this. Lips tremble with the effort it takes not to begin crying anew. "Please don't tell anyone, Len." She shakes her head quickly. "Please." She looks down at her hands and the blood on her fingers. She flexes them experimentally. There's no pain, so maybe it's from the blood trickling from her side.
"I'm supposed to assist on my first surgery tomorrow. If you tell anybody what happened, they're going to say I can't— I can't be held back. I've worked so hard for this." Frustrated fingers tug at the girl's sweater and she starts sobbing angrily. "This is my favourite sweater," she wails. "And now it's ruined!" Odessa tugs her legs up to rest her heels on the edge of the table, pressing her face into her knees. The brown suede of her skirt brushes over her stockinged feet, rustling with movement each time her shoulders shake from emotion.
Len eyes her for a moment, then nods. "I won't get you into trouble. That doesn't mean I won't have a chat with the boy." Do they have a wood shed behind the building here? They may need one before long.
He gives another look at her. She is a mess. "You should get a shower in and then we can put another bandage on. How about you do that while the workers clean this mess up. I'll see about getting you a new coffee table and this time it won't be so fragile." he gives a grin, though it's forced at best. He'll handle this Len-style. "Let's get you out of here before the others show up." He calls and cancels the check on survellience, then offers his hand to her.
With a sniffle, Odessa looks up and then takes Len's offered hand after only a moment of hesitation. She knows in the back of her mind that he's going to handle this in a way that won't end well for the boy that put her through her coffee table, and there's a large part of her that feels guilty for that. "Be careful when you talk to him, Len… He's one of them." The emphasis is given with no contempt, but as a warning.
Len leads her from the room, "I'll be careful. I always am," he reassures her. He walks her to her room and waits outside while she showers.
In days that follow, every one who enters the infirmary treats the Doc with nothing but respect.
As Len goes over some of the information he's gathered from Minea Dahl's autopsy, he knows that he'll have to ensure she's buried soon. The family has been insistent on that. But the memory of his time in Texas and that young doctor who, he believes, has taken a wrong turn somewhere in life. He hopes that one day, she'll turn back to the right way. And if she wants, he'll be there to help her pick up the pieces.