Participants:
| Scene Title | Sounding Boards |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Grace and Megan talk business, politics, projections, and maybe open the door for personal issues, too. |
| Date | March 14, 2009 |
The Hangar
The apex of the Hangar is a single large room with skylight-inlaid vaulted ceiling, windows that stretch the height of the walls, a warm-toned hardwood floor and a few carefully placed landscape prints on the walls. The kind of art that isn't really out of place anywhere. The doors which lead from the mezzanine to the balcony are presently closed, sheer white curtains drawn across; it's cold outside, despite the early afternoon sunlight which brings a more springlike atmosphere to the ballroom. Grace presently stands on the mezzanine, leaning against the railing and looking across the room towards the windows on its opposite side; past the large Oriental-style rug covering the floor and the handful of chairs scattered haphazardly around the room. Both phone and computer presently occupy one of the tables down there, far enough away that Grace can ignore both.
Although Megan rarely makes appearances at the Hangar, it's not the first time she's been either. The call today came in because a young family getting ready to be moved out of the city had an infant with a 103-degree fever. As is usual with small children, the only real threat with a fever that high is dehydration, but Meg wanted to be sure that it wasn't something more serious before the family undertakes their travel arrangements. When she's through there, she slips up to the top floor ballroom. "Grace?" she says, poking her head in to glance around. Though the women are not precisely friends, they've certainly spoken in passing a few times. When she spots the other woman, she steps in and closes the door behind her. "Hey…," she greets. "The Blakes can travel — munchkin's got a virus, not much I can do for her except fluids and acetaminophen." She pauses. "You okay up here?"
Grace turns her head as her name is called, offering Megan a smile which is more implied than explicitly formed. Her expressions tend towards the subtle, where her ruined voice is anything but. "Good. I would rather get them out as soon as possible." So they're not calling across the length of the room, the harsh-voiced woman descends the stairs, joining Megan on the floor proper. "I'm fine, yes. Just thinking about —" A vague wave of her hand. " —various things." A beat. "Thanks for coming by; I appreciate it."
"Mmmm. Various things covers a lot of ground," the redhead tells the brunette. Meg tilts her head. "Anything you want to share? Got two ears and I'm here — doesn't happen often," she offers with a faint grin as she leans against the wall.
Grace chuckles quietly, the grating sound not easily ever described as soft. "That sounds about right." A lot of ground. She regards Megan for a moment, before one shoulder rises and falls in a careless shrug. "Some of it's personal." The younger woman will admit that, though she doesn't seem inclined to expound upon that subject. "We've also got a couple new collaborators upstate to work in."
Megan nods briefly. In general, her knowledge of the network is limited to the people she needs to know to get people out of the hospital and into safe hands. Names can be dangerous, and 'need-to-know' holds weight with her in this organization. "You're welcome to use me as a sounding board if you like," she tells the younger woman easily. It's already well known that Megan can keep her mouth shut. She leans against the wall. "Been hearing some things down at the hospital lately that don't bode well — you heard about this test kit they're coming out with, right? Buncha doctors have been falling into camps about whether they'll give them to patients. Lots of arguments over confidentiality and patients' rights." She grins a little. "I think they," the ubiquitous 'they' that we all are sort of working against, "may have overreached themselves with this one. Even law-abiding citizens are up in arms about whether or not they're willing to have America turn Gestapo."
Glancing over at Megan, Grace inclines her head. She sits down on one of the chairs as the nurse settles in against the wall, crossing her legs. "Maybe. Maybe not. There's pretty strong sentiment on the other side, don't forget," the safehouse operator disagrees. "Besides, it remains to be seen what official policy will be regarding the kits and hospitals. I don't think a move to instate them there will pass the politicians until a lot of other things have." Grace waves a hand at the windows and the view outside; just a view of Greenwich, but outside also holds the spectre of Midtown. "You take a good look at history, and you realize that equal rights are a luxury, and a recent one at that. People argue now, but as long as there's cause for fear, as long as the economy's in the gutter and there isn't enough of anything to go around, that luxury will get chipped at until it falls apart. Once that happens?" Grace shrugs again, lets silence speak for itself.
There's a faint shrug as Megan looks out over the city. "I hear a lot of negative stuff about the Evolved out there. Hell, I see a lot of shit that make me think Registration might be a good thing. But I still don't think it should be a required thing except in criminal cases. And most of the doctors that I work with don't much care about equal rights — they just care about the fact that patient files and medical status are supposed to be sacrosanct under the law. They want to keep their power structure intact as much as they care about people's rights." She smiles slightly. "Regardless of the rationale, I think if the politicos try to push mandatory for all, it's going to be the equivalent of a street war. It's a hot potato topic right now — far moreso than the war effort in Vietnam or any other military action in decades."
The younger woman smirks faintly at Megan's reply. "That sounds like the human race we all know and love," she replies with humor as dry as old bones. "I don't think they will push it," Grace agrees. "For now. They got it on the books, and they can afford to let it sleep there for a while."
There's a thoughtful nod. "Hope you're right. And I hope the increase in railroad traffic isn't a harbinger of things to come… you know what they say about rats right? They're always the first to flee a sinking ship. Sometimes they just know things we don't." Megan shrugs and looks at the brunette. "Tell me what's on your mind. I could use something not-medical to think about for a while, if you don't mind much."
"And that there's more empty seats than usual on a plane that crashes," Grace concurs. The slight curve of her lips is an amused smile. "Rather less than politically correct to call our passengers rats," she points out next, though there is nothing even remotely resembling rebuke in her comment. The amusement fades as Megan continues speaking, supplanted by a stiffer expression. "Family issues," Grace replies after a moment.
There's a faint smirk as Megan shrugs. "As if I give a rat's ass about political correctness," replies the redheaded ER nurse. But she tilts her head when she notes the other woman's sudden tension, and she says quietly, "You know… everyone needs a sounding board. If you already have one, more power to you. If you need one, you're welcome to use me." Her tone is matter-of-fact. She won't push Grace, she'll merely offer and let her make her own choices. Megan's generally not much of one to bring her personal crap into conversation either, so she understands just keeping it to herself. "You've got three more evacuees getting ready to head out from St. John's to the staging area tomorrow, along with the Blakes. Everyone's got a clean bill of health."
Grace shrugs in return, for a different reason. "It's old news." Except not, given that it's bothering her now. Despite the dismissal of the subject, she offers the nurse a slight nod, acknowledging the offer. At some point, she may well take her up on it. "All right. I'll make sure Alistair knows how much to bring along. Is there anything you need?"
Meg grins a bit. "About 10 more hours in a day. A shipment of medical supplies for St. John's? A cigarette." She nods sagely. "Knew I shouldn't have picked them back up after the bridge. Always goes badly."
Grace snorts softly. "Give one of us your wish-list before you go, and we'll see what supplies we've got, can beg, or can borrow. Cigarettes, you're on your own." No support for that habit! Even if the woman relates that statement with a rueful smile. "And if I ever figure out how to stretch the day, you'll be the second person to know."
Megan laughs softly. "Okay, then. That's about all a woman in my position can ask for," she says with a grin. She shoves off the wall and heads toward the door. "You need it, you call, lady."
 March 14th: Welcome Home |
 March 14th: You're A Freelancer |