Warren and Jean -- Medical woes
Aug. 10th, 2018 03:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logs Warren is having a no good, terrible day and Jean isn't taking his crap.
It was a Friday, apparently. Or so his phone said. Warren wasn't really sure about that, considering he was almost 100% confident yesterday was Wednesday.
Okay, maybe 90% confident.
Sitting up felt like his head was caught in a vise grip. The pounding felt like bad rave music, and no matter how tightly he closed his eyes, he could almost see how hung over he was.
This was bad.
Fumbling at his nightstand, he realized two things: 1) he was at the Mansion (and oh shit did he drive there??) and 2) he had no Tylenol or spare mickey in the bedside table. Hair of the dog. Thankfully, he knew at least once place where there would be some. It was a long stumble to the med lab, and his annoyance grew with every step. All that kept him going was the sought after relief, which made it a million times worse when he realized the med lab was empty of supplies. He searched frantically around, even going so far as to open one of the locked cabinets but no luck. He didn't want opiods or anything serious, just some fucking Tylenol. And this was a goddamn med lab!
Gritting his teeth, he stalked towards Jean's room. She was the first person he thought of, and all that residual shame and embarrassment towards her was fueling this anger. He banged on her door loudly. "Jean! Open up! I need to talk to you!"
It was the first full night's sleep Jean had had in weeks, or it would've been. The endless string of patients had finally started to get manageable, to the point where she was no longer needed or required to be on a daily shift so she took the opportunity to catch up on sleep. The scientific community said that 'catching up' on sleep wasn't possible but Jean thought that was bullshit. Not every scientist had to agree with every study.
Jean started dreaming about feathers just before she heard the banging that was heavy enough to knock a nearby photo of the wall. Shooting out of bed, she crossed the room in five seconds without grabbing her robe, throwing open the door while still in her nightgown. "What?!" she said, shoving her hair out of her face. The tone of his voice hadn't been that of someone who was in mortal danger, otherwise she would've approached it differently.
Warren winced at the sound of her voice. For some reason, his yelling was fine but hers? It was beyond irritating. "There's no one in the med lab," he said through clenched teeth. "What the fuck. I thought you doctors had to be available all the time for emergencies."
"Are you dying?" Jean said, staring at him blankly.
"I may as well be, and no one fucking cares. I have the world's biggest headache, so I go to the med lab and guess what? No fucking pain meds. This is unacceptable!" He ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair. Was that always shaky? Fuck, he needed food too. "Fix me, damnit."
"I'm sorry that the weeks long medical crisis got in the way of your hangover," Jean said sarcastically, folding her arms as she leaned against the doorway.
"We're a little low on supplies right now, and staff. There's a general practice doctor and a Duane Reade in Salem Center. I'm sure you can get someone to drive you."
"There's always a crisis here," he retorted, one hand up to his head. The throbbing wouldn't stop, and now he was starting to hear that weird voice, the one that kept pushing him harder and harder to mess up. "You know, I bet if I was Scott, or someone more important in this Mansion, you'd be jumping all over yourself to help. Is this because I turned you down? I didn't think you'd be vindictive, but fine, I'll fuck you for Tylenol. Whatever."
Jean arched a brow. "Wow, super offer but I'll pass," she said with faux chipperness as she finger gunned him with a click of her tongue after the word 'wow.'
"Like I said before, we're low on supplies. A truck will be in tomorrow, or you can get what you need in town. I. Literally. Have. No. Tylenol. To. Give. You," she said, staggering the words like she were talking to a five year old.
"That means, 'Goodbye Warren,'" she said, stepping back into her room as the door closed in front of her.
"What the fuck ever," he growled, turning away and stomping back to his room. His phone was out and he was furiously texting Jolene, ignoring all the hundreds of calls that he'd missed while on his bender. He was rich, damnit. That meant he shouldn't have to wait for anything. And jesus, what the fuck was Jean's problem? First she throws herself at him, and then she refuses? Fuck this. He didn't need her. He didn't need anyone.
It was a Friday, apparently. Or so his phone said. Warren wasn't really sure about that, considering he was almost 100% confident yesterday was Wednesday.
Okay, maybe 90% confident.
Sitting up felt like his head was caught in a vise grip. The pounding felt like bad rave music, and no matter how tightly he closed his eyes, he could almost see how hung over he was.
This was bad.
Fumbling at his nightstand, he realized two things: 1) he was at the Mansion (and oh shit did he drive there??) and 2) he had no Tylenol or spare mickey in the bedside table. Hair of the dog. Thankfully, he knew at least once place where there would be some. It was a long stumble to the med lab, and his annoyance grew with every step. All that kept him going was the sought after relief, which made it a million times worse when he realized the med lab was empty of supplies. He searched frantically around, even going so far as to open one of the locked cabinets but no luck. He didn't want opiods or anything serious, just some fucking Tylenol. And this was a goddamn med lab!
Gritting his teeth, he stalked towards Jean's room. She was the first person he thought of, and all that residual shame and embarrassment towards her was fueling this anger. He banged on her door loudly. "Jean! Open up! I need to talk to you!"
It was the first full night's sleep Jean had had in weeks, or it would've been. The endless string of patients had finally started to get manageable, to the point where she was no longer needed or required to be on a daily shift so she took the opportunity to catch up on sleep. The scientific community said that 'catching up' on sleep wasn't possible but Jean thought that was bullshit. Not every scientist had to agree with every study.
Jean started dreaming about feathers just before she heard the banging that was heavy enough to knock a nearby photo of the wall. Shooting out of bed, she crossed the room in five seconds without grabbing her robe, throwing open the door while still in her nightgown. "What?!" she said, shoving her hair out of her face. The tone of his voice hadn't been that of someone who was in mortal danger, otherwise she would've approached it differently.
Warren winced at the sound of her voice. For some reason, his yelling was fine but hers? It was beyond irritating. "There's no one in the med lab," he said through clenched teeth. "What the fuck. I thought you doctors had to be available all the time for emergencies."
"Are you dying?" Jean said, staring at him blankly.
"I may as well be, and no one fucking cares. I have the world's biggest headache, so I go to the med lab and guess what? No fucking pain meds. This is unacceptable!" He ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair. Was that always shaky? Fuck, he needed food too. "Fix me, damnit."
"I'm sorry that the weeks long medical crisis got in the way of your hangover," Jean said sarcastically, folding her arms as she leaned against the doorway.
"We're a little low on supplies right now, and staff. There's a general practice doctor and a Duane Reade in Salem Center. I'm sure you can get someone to drive you."
"There's always a crisis here," he retorted, one hand up to his head. The throbbing wouldn't stop, and now he was starting to hear that weird voice, the one that kept pushing him harder and harder to mess up. "You know, I bet if I was Scott, or someone more important in this Mansion, you'd be jumping all over yourself to help. Is this because I turned you down? I didn't think you'd be vindictive, but fine, I'll fuck you for Tylenol. Whatever."
Jean arched a brow. "Wow, super offer but I'll pass," she said with faux chipperness as she finger gunned him with a click of her tongue after the word 'wow.'
"Like I said before, we're low on supplies. A truck will be in tomorrow, or you can get what you need in town. I. Literally. Have. No. Tylenol. To. Give. You," she said, staggering the words like she were talking to a five year old.
"That means, 'Goodbye Warren,'" she said, stepping back into her room as the door closed in front of her.
"What the fuck ever," he growled, turning away and stomping back to his room. His phone was out and he was furiously texting Jolene, ignoring all the hundreds of calls that he'd missed while on his bender. He was rich, damnit. That meant he shouldn't have to wait for anything. And jesus, what the fuck was Jean's problem? First she throws herself at him, and then she refuses? Fuck this. He didn't need her. He didn't need anyone.
