|
  |
Able's clinic was an active and prosperous machine shop before he acquired it, gutted it, and converted it to better suit his purposes. The front door opens into a scrubbed, sterile trauma clinic with all the appropriate trimmings. Clearly unlicensed, but still comprehensive. An enormous stage curtain separates the medical suite from a small laboratory that's surprisingly well-equipped for a private operation.
It's been a relatively slow day. An accidental gunshot wound. Able has completed treatment, discharged his patient, and is finishing the cleanup. The last of the soiled linens are tossed in a hamper along with his lab coat. Without it he looks almost too casual for the setting; a dark blue sweater with the sleeves pushed back past the wrist, grey slacks, and a pair of comfortable, well-shined shoes.
*
Elizabeth lingers outside of the building at first, simply staring inward. She glanes down at slip of paper in her gloved hand, then up, and down once more. Straightening her spine, the rather well dressed (well enough, anyway) enters the building, her heels clicking against the floor. Making sure the door shuts behind her, locking away the chill outside, the brunette sniffs, taking in that antiseptic aroma and wrinkling her face as she tries to drive the sting out of her nostrils.
Ruby lipped and ready with a warm smile, the woman continues forward, dressed in a winter coat that hugs to her hips and flares out, reaching to the tops of her stockinged knees and cover up her dress beneith. Her hair is carefully curled in sweeps, and a hat completes the look, along with a matching handbag that hangs from the crook of her arm. "Excuse me," she begins, her accent not native to New York, but definately marking her as a Northerner. "I'm looking for the Doctor?"
*
The sight of a new arrival elicits a brief raising of Able's eyebrows and a small smile offered in return. He rakes his fingers through his hair, then dusts off his hands and crosses the room to wash up at a small lavatory sink. "How can I help you?" he acknowledges, raising his voice so he can be better heard over the the sounds of soap and water. He has an accent as well; it's faint, but still decidedly Eastern European. He tilts his head just far enough to catch the newcomer from the corner of his eye. "I hope you won't mind my saying that you don't look like you need medical treatment."
*
"Oh! Well that's lucky for me." She smiles, taking a few more strides forward, offering a hand, but then withdraws, allowing him to clean up first. "Very perceptive of you." She muses, smirking gently and pressing a dimple into her cheek. "It's not for me. It's for my mother. I, well, I heard about this place from a friend, of a friend, of an asshole, of a friend. You know how it goes." She shrugs gently, and then continues. "I'll be blunt. My personal…circumstances has made it difficult for me to keep my mother's current care. I was told that you could help me." A pause, she swallows, and offers her hand out once more. "My name's Betty."
*
Once he's finished up and dried off, the Doc takes Betty's hand in a firm, still slightly damp handshake. "I'm Able, but some people prefer to call me 'the Doctor.' Whatever suits you."
It's only a few steps from the sink to a careworn wooden desk. Able leans back against it and supports his weight with both hands. "I'm sorry to hear about your mother. What's wrong?"
*
"Able. Don't hear that name often. Beautifully biblical." Smiling as they shake, she rests her hand on the flat of her stomach, her eyes dancing around the room and drinking in its details. Finally, she focuses on Able and nods. "Don't be sorry. Bad things happen, y'know? It's over and done with. Somewhat." She blinks and nibbles her lower lip briefly. "Oh, years back, we had some goons attack out apartment. Mom was knocked out cold and fell into a coma for awhile. She came to, but needs care when I'm not around. She's, well, she's sick now. I think the cold has gotten to her, and I'm not no nurse or doctor."
*
The circumstances of Betty's arrival are anything but unusual. The vast majority of Able's business comes from word of mouth advertisement through friends of assholes of friends. It's the circumstances concerning her mother that elicit a single sympathetic nod of his head. Sadly, his line of work involves more unfortunate stories than pleasant ones. He pauses respectful for a few seconds before he speaks. "Not A-B-E-L, he explains. A-B-L-E. Common misconception. But enough about me. Your mother, how long has she been ill and what are her symptoms?"
*
"Sounds the same to me, dollface. I like the 'second son' link instead of military jive." The woman smiles once more. "But, as you wish, A-B-L-E." Once the conversation returns to her mother, her expression softens, and becomes more somber. "Only a few days, but I don't have the funds for her regular nurse anymore. To me, it sounds like a cold. Coughing, sneezing, she's stuffy and having trouble breathing now and then. But, she has a fever as of yesterday. I thought it broke this morning before I headed in to work, but it returned. So…I'm here."
*
Able locates a notepad and pen by touch without taking his eyes off of Betty while she's speaking. The top sheet is ripped off, balled up, and set aside, then he starts scribbling down notes. As she gets further into her description his features start to soften as well. When he's done writing, he sets the pen back down and meets Betty's gaze squarely. "I can put together a care package for you, but I'd have to ask you a million questions about symptoms," he explains. "We can do that, but it'd be better if I could examine her. Can she move?"
*
Elizabeth was a rather pereptive one. You had to be in her line of work, and once his gaze meets hers, she holds his look and then sighs. "Whatever works for you." She begins, but then comes the idea of a personal examination. "No, I…no disrespect, but I don't want to bring her into a neighborhood like this. She's suffered enough at the hands of punks, and bringing her here would just be offering up for dinner." Thinning her lips, the woman looks off briefly, seeming to consider something before looking Able's way and walking closer. "Do you make house calls, Doctor?"
*
"No apologies." One hand is waved to dismiss the comment concerning the are. "I picked this spot for a reason. Call it my attempt to gentrify the neighborhood."
Several heartbeats pass while he steeples his fingers into a thoughtful triangle. "I don't make many home visits," he admits. "But this occasion would seem to call for it. If it's urgent enough to bring you here, it's urgent enough for me to close the clinic for a bit. Would you like to go now?"
*
"Please. Thank you." Once all is said and done, and Able is ready to head out, the woman leads him back to the street and down a few blocks. After hailing a cab, the two are on their way to the edge of Queens. It's not in the nicest house, but nice enough; small and very cozy. After paying the caby and addressing him by name, Betty opens her hand and ushers Able toward the front door. Unlocking it, she allows him first and follows after. "Ma? I'm home. I brought someone to look at you, ok?"
A horking cough grumbles up before an elderly voice answers her. "You didn't have to do that, Elizabeth. You know I'm /fine/. This is just a bug."
Betty eyes Able and then leads him into a spartan living room, where an older woman sits infront of a heater, blankets somewhat covering her, and partially kicked off. "Ma, this is Doctor Able. Doctor, this is my mother, Eleanor. I'll make you some coffee, doctor. How do you take it?"
*
"Black, thank you." In no time, Able has shed his heavy overcoat and rolled his sleeves back. The old-fashioned black satchel he's brought with him hardly seems large enough to hold everything he might need, but he /does/ have to reach awfully deep to come up with a sterile cloth and a bottle of alcohol. After dampening the cloth, he wipes his hands while he speaks. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Eleanor. I'm just here to make sure this bug gets better instead of worse."
Once he's freshened up, he produces a stethoscope and shines it on his shirt to warm it before he reaches out. "I heard you have a cough. Let's have a listen to the ol' bellows, eh? Doctor's orders."
*
Betty disappears into the building's small kitchen and starts her work, leaving the pair along. The older Brant eyes Able carefully, though her eyes are a bit pale and clearly tired. "Alright, handsome. Be nice to an old broad, will ya?" She jibes, showing where Betty probably gets her quick wit. Sitting still, the older woman breathes, and even without the press of the scope, he can hear the phlegmy rumble from chest to throat with each passage of air.
*
"Don't you flirt with me, Eleanor. You're a heartbreaker, I can tell." The scope is shifted from one side of her chest to the other, both front and back. Now that Able's working, he moves with a crisp efficiency that belies the lightness of his words and his easy smile. Everything happens very quickly and there isn't a single wasted motion. When he's finished, he uses his fingertips to gently check for swelling around the glands, as well as testing for the telltale burn of a high fever. "I heard you've been sneezing, too. A little stuffy, maybe even a fever and some trouble breathing? Have you been having any headaches or body aches?"
*
"Use to be. That's Elizabeth's show now." El murmurs jokingly. She sits, allowing him to do what's needed, and responses when asked to. There's mild swelling under her line line, and the patchy texture of a light fever. "Look at me, dear, of course I have body aches." She ruefully points out. From behind them is the heavenly aroma of java. Clicking back into the front room, Betty sets two mugs down, one of pitch for Able, and the other of pale tan for herself. "Ma, be honest with him, please." She urges, causing the older woman to sigh and nod. "Yes. Headaches come and go, but it hurts to move and to sit still. Don't get old, Doctor. It's not a fun place to be."
*
The arrival of the coffee prompts a brief break from the physical inspection. Able accepts his cup gratefully and takes a sip, but as soon as he puts it back down he's back to being a machine. Temperature is recorded, Eleanor's throat and ears are gently but thoroughly checked, and all the while every used piece of equipment goes into a small sack (again from within the satchel) so that they can be sterilized or disposed of later.
All in all, the exam takes very little time and he makes it seem that much shorter by keeping up a steady flow of banter. "I'd say the worst thing your mother has to worry about it me sending her flowers. She's won me over." He reaches up two fingers to touch his forelock in a dapper gentleman's salute to Eleanor. When he continues, it's while he's selecting the appropriate medications for her. "It sounds like you had a cold and it turned into bronchitis. It might be a really bad flu, but I trust my ears. Still, I'm going to give you an antibiotic in case there's any bacterial infection. Here's something for the cough and the sniffles. And if you start feeling too stiff in the joints, take one of these for the pain. They're gentle, but they work pretty well."
*
"Ah, ma. I was going to ask the Doctor out."
"Tough rocks, kitten. Your old ma's still got it." Winking toward her daughter, Betty offers a smile in return, and takes a seat close by. Sitting on the coffee table, she crosses her legs in one smooth motion and watches as Able goes about his business. She's studying him, attentively, and once he talks about what's happening with her mother, Betty nods to each answer, and instruction. Another sip, she sets her coffee down, and stands once more, looking over the medication provided to remember their names, and what they're used for.
"Ok, ma. I'm going to get you some tea and water, ok? We'll start your medicine now before you get some rest." Eleanor nods, watching Betty as she heads off toward the kitchen once more. "Thanks for the home visit, doc. I'm not sure what you charge, but know my Betty is good for it, ok?"
*
"The instructions for everything are on little slips inside the bottles. Just don't get them mixed up." It's a fair concern, as the bottles aren't labeled and the cough medicine looks an awful lot like the painkillers. Once Able is finished prescribing, he picks his cup back up and takes a second, longer drink. "Mmm." There's a pause, then he he shrugs and smiles. "The coffee is all I'm charging for today's visit. And your promise you'll have me over again if you're not feeling better in a few days. Do you mind if I help Betty with your tea? I'd like to speak with her for a moment."
*
Elizabeth had heard, and after opening the bottles, she carefully reads from each one, getting out the amounts suggested and setting them aside, all in a row. Putting the bottles away, the high-pitched whistle of a kettle cries out, and soon fades when Betty removes it from the stove top, and begins making the tea she promised her mother. Beside the saucer and cup is a small glass of water, and resting across the cup is a tiny strainer full of black, loose leaf tea.
Blinking, Eleanor stares at Able for a moment, trying to figure out if she heard him correctly or not. After a clearing of her throat and a cough, she nods his way, both in understanding, and giving the 'ok' to head of into the kitchen.
*
"Don't worry about it," Able says to stall any protests. "Your mother is a lovely woman. You two are lucky to have each other." His smile takes on a wistful edge, but only for a moment. "Just make sure she eats and gets plenty of rest," he continues. His now empty cup is rinsed and placed in the sink, but he somehow manages to come off as respectful and respectable while he's making himself at home. "I think she'll be fine in a few days, but if she isn't or if she gets worse, let me know straightaway and I'll come back."
*
Elizabeth looks toward Able once he joins her in the kitchen. Allowing the tea to steap, she nods and rests her hip against the counter top. "Thank you. Really, it's not just a cup of coffee. Not for a visit /and/ medication." Her cherry lips purse at the idea of it not being anything more than her brew. "I know my coffee is good, but not /that/ good, doc." Crossing her arms casually, she glances toward the living room, and then back to Able. "Yeah, she's about all I got left. I'll let you know if anything happens with her, though." A pause, "May I get you another cup? I don't want to keep you from your office if you need to head back, though. At least allow me to pay for your cab?"
*
"I'd love another round, but I should be getting back. I try not to stay closed for long." Able shoots a longing glance in the direction of his cup, then shrugs his broad shoulders. "If you're determined to repay me, you can bring pie. I positively adore pie."
He seems serious enough. Then again, small details like his watch and cuff links tell tales of a man who doesn't have to worry about his pocketbook. He offers his hand for their second shake of the day. "Deal?"
*
"Understood. I should be getting back to my office, too." She explains, her voice soft with understanding. Finishing up the tea, she tops it off with milk and sugar, but that gaze toward Able's cup is not missed. Clicking to a side cabinet, she presses up on her toes and reaches, pulling down a simple, metal thermos. Filling it with enough coffee to almost drain the pot, she twists its lid on securely and hands it over. "Sounds like a plan. What flavor?" She beams, slipping the coffee into his palm instead of her hand, her touch resting on the top of his own, making sure his fingers circle around it and accept the vessel.
*
Sometimes it's the small things that make a day special. The extra care taken to prep the thermos isn't lost on Able. He meets Betty's eyes and gives her a small nod along with a brief, grateful brush of his thumb against the back of her hand. After a moment he clears his throat and takes a step back before offering up an answer. "Sorry. Apple's for me. Don't get me wrong, I never met a pie I didn't like, but you can't beat the classics."
*
Elizabeth doesn't mind the touch, and she allows the connection for as long as Able does. Nodding, she holds up a finger and strides back into the living room. "Here you go, ma. Swallow each one, ok?" She waits, too, waiting for each pill to be taken, and washed away with water. "Here's your tea, and I'll flick on the TV for you." Doing so, and showing great care in her mother's comfort, Betty then returns to Able, offering him his jacket, and bag. "Apple it is, doc. Would you like me to deliver it or should I bring it along to dinner sometime?"
*
"Both." This is the first grin Able's offered up. It makes him look younger; even boyish. He shrugs his way into the long coat and tugs his lapels, then accepts the bag. It's quite a bit heavier than it looks, but he seems comfortably carrying it. "That is, you're welcome to make a delivery whenever you like, but dinner sounds lovely. Eleanor?" He holds up one finger to ask for a half-moment. "It's been a pleasure, love. Get some rest and feel better soon, yeah?"
Once he's said a quick goodbye to today's most entertaining patient, he returns his attention to her daughter. "You know where to find me when you're ready for either."