Participants:
| Scene Title | Unannounced |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Injured, Devon and Graeme show up unannounced on Brennan's doorstep, with nowhere else to go. |
| Date | September 13, 2011 |
Brennan Residence
For the majority of the distance that it's taken, Graeme has followed Devon's directions, with no real idea of where they're going. Time was taken to rip up his shirt into a makeshift bandage, a sweater that's not covered in blood thrown on over it. And he's been talkative, to a degree, encouraging the teenager and pushing onward, but when they arrive where the teenager has been leading them, the teacher takes a step back, a glance given to his younger companion. "Alright…" Considering that Devon still hasn't told him where they are, Graeme's certainly not going to be the one to go knocking on doors. Or at least, he'll do the knocking, but only if Devon's right there to explain, given the state of the teenager's arm at the moment.
For the most part, Devon hasn't been speaking much more than to give direction. He hadn't been paying the streets much more notice than to make sure they were still on the right path. It wasn't until the houses began looking nicer, the neighborhood better kept and more homey, that he started showing some interest in his surroundings. Eventually he points to one familiar house with a tip of his head, turning not for the front door but for a lower, sub level door partially hidden from the street. "Doctor B's place," he explains, glancing toward the teacher.
Eyebrows raise, but it's late, nearly curfew, and Graeme trusts the teenager's judgment enough to begin to descend the stairs to the lower door, carefully, one hand still applying pressure to the wound on his shoulder, his other hand now holding his own skateboard up and off the ground. "Alright," he says, a note of cautiousness still very much present in his voice, regardless. At the bottom landing, his skateboard is put down once again, hood drawn back, and it's only then that the teacher knocks on the door. Not sharply, but loudly enough that should someone be paying attention, it's there.
No response is raised to the questioning look or cautious tone, Devon staring back at Graeme with a blank expression. By now his judgement should be trusted when it comes to who he seeks out when he's injured. He sinks back in the short stairwell when the teacher knocks, a glance sent up the stairs then returning back to the door. His fingers tighten around his own skateboard and arm adjusting its load of board and damaged arm. "Not sure if he's home, but…" He'd rather not go somewhere else.
Brennan's home, the knock heard and his shape looms behind the door and seen through frosted glass as he peers and then opens the door for the two behind it with a quizzical look. Much like before, black is the color for clothing and the serious expression on his face is not one that is normally seen on his face. "Graeme." A glance to Devon and frowning. Hurt. The both of them. There's a soft sigh and he holds the door open for the both of them. "In you come, both of you."
"Dr. Brennan," Graeme says, words tense, cut short by whatever concentration on something other than the injury that's keeping his mind occupied enough to deal with and nearly ignore the pain, but otherwise level and even. He grabs the skateboard that he'd put down to knock on the door, wipes his feet, comes in, pressure on the shoulder the whole time, where red has stained the sweatshirt as well. "I'm sorry to show up on your doorstep like this, but." But where else could they go. He could go to a hospital, but there would be a lot more questions, and Devon, well … a shrug is offered, along with an immediate wince.
"Sorry, Doctor B." Devon trails in after Graeme, casting another look behind before pushing the door closed behind him with a foot. He works his fingers loose from his board enough to set it by the door, a feat interrupted by his breath catching, the exhale that follows laced with a restrained whimper. Straightening again, a tightness around his eyes and jaw, he doesn't explain what he's apologizing for nor offers reason for their showing up unannounced and hurt.
Brennan's watching the injury menagerie thats showed up at the door to the office in the basement, a hand scraping across his jawline and sighs just a fraction. "Probably would have been better if you both had showed up at the office instead of here" With his wife not in, no one else here as the kids had been shuffled off to France, the household still in mourning. "How bad's the damage? I might not be able to do much." He does have some supplies but he hasn't replenished since Devon's last visit.
Graeme nods, mouth set in a faint line. "I got shot." Deadpan, said absolutely deadpan as if worse things happen to him every single day. "I think it just got the very upper arm," he says. "I'd say it's not bothering me much other than bleeding like hell, but we both know just how good of an indication that is of something." There's an attempt at a grin.
"We got jumped in the skatepark," he continues. "Some bunch of bikers who thought I was too pretty for my own good." Another pause, before he tilts his head towards Devon. "Broke his arm, and maybe cracked some ribs." Another shrug, this time only half of one. "I've been in enough fights to know what comes of getting stepped on and kicked, unfortunately."
"We can go to the office in the morning," Devon offers, though he makes no moves to leave. Nor does he make any move to go further into the home office space. He glances toward Graeme as the teacher offers up an explanation, then looks back to Brennan for a brief second. Easing himself back to lean against the door, he picks some point between the two men to watch while listening.
"Arms and ribs will need the office," but Graeme he can likely take care of here, let them stay the night in the basement. He tells the two of them such, closing the door behind them and gesturing for Devon to take a load off. "Through and through's in shoulders, I can do here." Get Michelle to help when she gets home. "Set you guys up in the house, go in the morning." Bright and early so as to get them in and out without disturbing the real patients or take up too much scheduled space. "Might as well get settled in. Me casa, su casa."
"Thanks," Graeme says, quiet, his own skateboard left next to Devon's, before he and the teenager both follow. For not turning them out, after curfew. For everything that the doctor is doing. Whatever wary note there was is long and gone, though a cell phone comes out of Graeme's pocket, and a text is typed out at some point. To Aric, with where they are, that he's to let people know, and not to worry. Safer that way, before Graeme truly lets himself follow Brennan's instructions, to go wait to be patched up, even let Brennan give him the painkillers and sleep some later in the evening.
"Sorry," the boy says again, pushing away from the door to cross the room and sink into a chair. He settles carefully into a corner of the chair, wincing, ruined arm held against his chest with his undamaged one. "It seemed better to come here first than… Y'know…" Interrupting the workplace isn't something Devon really likes to do. "I'll repay you somehow, Doctor B."
"Some day," Brennan murmurs to Devon as he heads out of the room to gather things to bring back. "Some day I'll call it all in." And with that, he's gone, off to parts unknown and known in the house. Make some calls of his own.
