Clarice & Clint | Bloodwork & Pineapples
Aug. 6th, 2023 02:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsClint goes in for his monthly check-up with Clarice. ((Note: No actual prostates were examined in this log.))
Clint leaned against the entrance to the medlab and paused for a moment before cracking his neck to one side, then the other. "Hey, Reese-y," he said, grinning. "I'm here for my general checkup. You didn't forget about me, did you?" He waggled his eyebrows.
"Who me? Forget you?" Clarice asked, scoffing. "I wish. You just keep coming around here, Barton, whether I like it or not. But, lucky for you, I like it. So. Checkup. Go get a gown," she waved him off to the partitioned off room which already had a paper gown sitting on the exam table. "And then once you're nekkid, we'll get started." Could they get started with him clothed? Of course. But nah.
Having long ago lost any sense of body modesty - or, as his brother would say, any modesty - Clint just snorted and pulled his shirt off as he walked toward the door and toward the weird medical chair. Those things had always weirded him out for some reason. "What's on the docket for today?" He asked, raising his voice a little as he unbuttoned his jeans and let them drop next.
"Prostate exam!" Clarice chirped, sounding way too excited. "And you know, standard bloodwork, make sure you're not carrying any wayward passengers you shouldn't be, the usual."
"Oh Jesus fuck," Clint said, rubbing his eyes. He supposed he was getting up there in age or what the fuck ever, but he always thought prostate exams started at fifty or something. That said, he didn't have much in the way of historical information from his biological parents when it came to their medical conditions and --
"Ugh, I hate you, not really obviously. I guess just get it over with," Clint muttered, stepping out of his jeans but leaving his socks on because the medlab was cold.
If they were actually doing that, there would be a witness, at the minimum. Ideally another man. Jean was around somewhere doing her own work, but that was not what was meant by 'witness,' "I hate me too," Clarice informed him, pulling her gloves on with a snap and a smile like a shark, "but, you still have a few years before we make prostate exams mandatory. Unless we have a reason to start them sooner."
Straightening up from where he'd started to bend over, Clint cast Clarice a scalding glare. "No reason that I'm aware of," he deadpanned. "So what're we actually doing?"
"Just your yearly," Clarice replied, "making sure you aren't hiding any injuries and trying to walk it off or whatever other nonsense everyone here comes up with to avoid me. You'd think they didn't like the medlab. Or maybe it's me," she sniffed at her sleeve, "no....I showered. Probably not me."
Clint rolled his eyes again, but pulled the little medlab paper tunic thing on anyway. "Alright, have at me. I assume you want to suck my blood, too?"
"Of course. Gotta make sure you don't have any wormhole blood gremlins," she started pulling things out of a drawer and arranging them on a tray, "Besides, if I didn't get any blood, you can't make vampire jokes!"
"I will always make vampire jokes, regardless of whether you want my blood or not," Clint responded, somehow managing to keep a straight face. "Did any of Dracula's wives have actual names?" He asked, having already reached for the squishy ball so he could start squeezing it. Never having had any problems with his veins popping before, he didn't wanna start having trouble now. "Cause I'd call you one of their names. Or Elvira."
"No idea," she replied, "I'd assume so. They were people, people have names. Elvira is the Mistress of the Dark, no relation to Dracula. But sadly I don't have her cleavage," alas. It was pretty epic.
"I mean, sure," Clint said, considering that for a moment without actually staring at Clarice's chest. "But there's the rest of the costume and everything." Then he shrugged and held his arm out for her to palpate. Being the excellent patient that he was, he kept squeezing the squishy little ball. "Man, we should get some pizza when we're done."
There wasn't much chest to stare at, especially in scrubs. "I am good for pizza," she slipped the needle in smoothly, connecting the little vial as the previous one filled and then sticking them with the appropriate labels as Clint held the cotton ball to his arm. "Opinions on pineapple?"
"Got nothing against it," Clint said. "Not on pizzas or in smoothies or fresh or out of a can. You want ham with the pineapple?"
"Lets live dangerously," she agreed. Once everything was cleaned up and put away properly, she was ready to go. That was a benefit to working in the medlab. Flexible hours.
Clint leaned against the entrance to the medlab and paused for a moment before cracking his neck to one side, then the other. "Hey, Reese-y," he said, grinning. "I'm here for my general checkup. You didn't forget about me, did you?" He waggled his eyebrows.
"Who me? Forget you?" Clarice asked, scoffing. "I wish. You just keep coming around here, Barton, whether I like it or not. But, lucky for you, I like it. So. Checkup. Go get a gown," she waved him off to the partitioned off room which already had a paper gown sitting on the exam table. "And then once you're nekkid, we'll get started." Could they get started with him clothed? Of course. But nah.
Having long ago lost any sense of body modesty - or, as his brother would say, any modesty - Clint just snorted and pulled his shirt off as he walked toward the door and toward the weird medical chair. Those things had always weirded him out for some reason. "What's on the docket for today?" He asked, raising his voice a little as he unbuttoned his jeans and let them drop next.
"Prostate exam!" Clarice chirped, sounding way too excited. "And you know, standard bloodwork, make sure you're not carrying any wayward passengers you shouldn't be, the usual."
"Oh Jesus fuck," Clint said, rubbing his eyes. He supposed he was getting up there in age or what the fuck ever, but he always thought prostate exams started at fifty or something. That said, he didn't have much in the way of historical information from his biological parents when it came to their medical conditions and --
"Ugh, I hate you, not really obviously. I guess just get it over with," Clint muttered, stepping out of his jeans but leaving his socks on because the medlab was cold.
If they were actually doing that, there would be a witness, at the minimum. Ideally another man. Jean was around somewhere doing her own work, but that was not what was meant by 'witness,' "I hate me too," Clarice informed him, pulling her gloves on with a snap and a smile like a shark, "but, you still have a few years before we make prostate exams mandatory. Unless we have a reason to start them sooner."
Straightening up from where he'd started to bend over, Clint cast Clarice a scalding glare. "No reason that I'm aware of," he deadpanned. "So what're we actually doing?"
"Just your yearly," Clarice replied, "making sure you aren't hiding any injuries and trying to walk it off or whatever other nonsense everyone here comes up with to avoid me. You'd think they didn't like the medlab. Or maybe it's me," she sniffed at her sleeve, "no....I showered. Probably not me."
Clint rolled his eyes again, but pulled the little medlab paper tunic thing on anyway. "Alright, have at me. I assume you want to suck my blood, too?"
"Of course. Gotta make sure you don't have any wormhole blood gremlins," she started pulling things out of a drawer and arranging them on a tray, "Besides, if I didn't get any blood, you can't make vampire jokes!"
"I will always make vampire jokes, regardless of whether you want my blood or not," Clint responded, somehow managing to keep a straight face. "Did any of Dracula's wives have actual names?" He asked, having already reached for the squishy ball so he could start squeezing it. Never having had any problems with his veins popping before, he didn't wanna start having trouble now. "Cause I'd call you one of their names. Or Elvira."
"No idea," she replied, "I'd assume so. They were people, people have names. Elvira is the Mistress of the Dark, no relation to Dracula. But sadly I don't have her cleavage," alas. It was pretty epic.
"I mean, sure," Clint said, considering that for a moment without actually staring at Clarice's chest. "But there's the rest of the costume and everything." Then he shrugged and held his arm out for her to palpate. Being the excellent patient that he was, he kept squeezing the squishy little ball. "Man, we should get some pizza when we're done."
There wasn't much chest to stare at, especially in scrubs. "I am good for pizza," she slipped the needle in smoothly, connecting the little vial as the previous one filled and then sticking them with the appropriate labels as Clint held the cotton ball to his arm. "Opinions on pineapple?"
"Got nothing against it," Clint said. "Not on pizzas or in smoothies or fresh or out of a can. You want ham with the pineapple?"
"Lets live dangerously," she agreed. Once everything was cleaned up and put away properly, she was ready to go. That was a benefit to working in the medlab. Flexible hours.
