2019-11-20 - Old Wounds

It's actually a relatively quiet night at the hospital. For a small town, Addington Memorial does seem to get more than its share of patients, and some of them in rather strange circumstances. Hm. Odd. But in any case, Lalo is currently sitting at the nurses' station, one AirPod in his ear as he bobs his head to whatever he's listening to, the other ear clear in case he needs to actually, you know, hear something. That sometimes happens in hospitals. Codes and whatnot.

Down the hall, something definitely can be heard -- Quyen is arguing with one of the doctors. It's too far to hear every word, but it's loud enough to draw attention. She's more than a foot shorter than the tall and wide doctor who looks like he might have been a lineman in college, but that doesn't stop her from jabbing her finger in the direction of one of the patient rooms. Her words can be heard, "Not in her best interest!" He looks a little cowed, makes a note in the chart, and hands it to her. When she turns to head back toward the nurses' station, Quyen looks rather pleased with herself.

"Evening," she says to Lalo, handing him the chart for updating. "What're you listening to tonight?"

Lalo's attention is caught by the louder voices down the hall, and he straightens up a little bit in his chair, peering down that way with interest in whatever chisme he's going to get tonight. Hey, when it's a slow night, anything helps. When Quyen comes out, his eyebrows raise -- perhaps he did not expect the owner of that authoritative voice to be her. Sexist! However, he doesn't look away as he reaches to take the chart, and that surprise lingers longer than it seems it should if it were just that.

"Ozomatli," he says. "Cumbia de los Muertos. I like to taunt death while I'm on duty." He seems to have recovered from whatever surprise -- or shock -- he'd had seeing her, and he smiles, glancing briefly down at the chart before he looks back to her. "Any changes I should know about?" he asks. "Like a change of doctor?" His smile widens a little bit at that as he glances in the direction the doctor she'd just dressed down had fled.

Her brow lifts at the look of surprise on his face, head tipping slightly in a way that's almost a challenge, but not quite. "It's a good place to do it," she agrees on the subject of taunting death. "I hate hospitals."

A strange sentiment from one who works in one.

"Change in medication, along with an approval for some physical therapy while she's here before dumping her into assisted living," she says with a shrug. "She's capable of going home with a little help without having to go to another dreary place that's more likely to give her pneumonia than help her." She glances down the hall. "He's not a bad man. He's just taking the easy way out because the system's stupid."

"Oh, well, then you're definitely in the right place," Lalo replies as his grin widens just a bit, of hospitals and her working in one. He doesn't comment further on it for the moment, though, and instead just nods, looking down at the chart again as she speaks. "Yeah," he says, "there's definitely an incentive to turf them. I'll let the team know and we'll make sure to get that going."

He sets aside the chart then as he looks up at her from it, his eyes searching her face once more. "I know you," he says after a few seconds' silence. "You were upstate. Right?" It's vague, but for someone who was there, it's unmistakeable.

Quyen's smile echoes his at his joke, but then fades a little when he looks at her more carefully. That brow arches up again, and she tips her head slightly as her eyes narrow, studying him as he studies her. And then the word upstate comes out.

Her expression falters, and that confidence slides off. She glances down and finding a pen in her pocket to pull out and fiddle with. "Sure. Boarding School in Puget Sound," she says a little flatly, but there's a more solemn nod. "You too?"

"Yeah." Lalo nods, reaching up to remove the little pod from his ear. "For a little while." His smile is nowhere to be found now, a much more serious expression in its place.

He looks around, before he stands up. "You want to go grab some coffee down in the cafeteria?" he asks. "I'm due for my break." It's not pushy -- she could definitely say no if she wants to, and maybe she will! But it's offered, anyway.

It's another long moment that stretches out like taffy before she finally nods. "Sure, I'm due for some caffeine. It's been a minute," she says lightly enough, turning the pen once more in her hands before she moves it back to her pocket. That done, she holds out her empty hand to shake. "Quyen Le. I'm sure I've seen you before, but you nurses are always so busy, it's likely I didn't get to talk to you."

She waits for him to do whatever it is he needs to to leave his station, taking her phone out to scroll through the news feed.

Lalo doesn't rush her, but when she says yes a hint of the smile returns. "Cool," he says. "Hey, Quyen. Lalo Martinez. You probably haven't. I haven't been here that long. Just started." He holds up a finger, snagging one of the other nurses who's passing by. They exchange a few words, and in another moment or two he's stepping out from behind the counter.

"So, how are you?" he asks, starting toward the elevator that will take them down to the cafeteria. "I guess you hating hospitals makes more sense now." Though still not why she's working in one, but hey, he is too, so he can't really talk.

"Why do I feel like your 'how are you' doesn't want the answer 'fine,' but something more interesting?" says Quyen with a smirk. Once they're in the elevator and no one else joins, she leans back into one corner. "I was taken there from here, in fact. Not that I was the one injured," she says quietly, which might answer some of his questions. "But once I got out, I wanted to try to do for others what wasn't done for me. That's why I do what I do here," she says, one shoulder lifting. Her eyes stay on the numbers descending rather than looking at this stranger to whom she's just admitted a secret part of her life.

"And you? Life after Upstate?"

Lalo shrugs, sticking a hand into the pocket of his scrubs. They are dark blue, with stars and planets all over them -- a statement piece, clearly. "It wants whatever answer you want to give it," he replies as he looks over at her, but he quiets when she actually does answer it. "Oh, yeah. That makes sense. Well, good for you."

As for him, he reaches up to run a hand back over his head. "I left when my brother signed himself out," he says. "I don't know if you remember him. Matias. He was a little older than you. He's up here in the psych ward now." So not quite as well-adjusted after the fact as her, but he doesn't make a big deal about it. "I ended up here 'cause you hear some shit about this town, you know? Weird shit happening. So I figured, maybe we could figure some things out. Not to mention how awesome it is to almost drown every time you step outside. Really sets the mood."

Her brows draw together as she pieces together the bits of the story. "Oh," she says, glancing up at the ceiling of the elevator as if that would reveal the contents of the psych ward. It's clear she's figured out he wasn't a 'patient' with his brother, and is trying to keep a tight rein on her expression.

It's mostly successful.

Thankfully that's when the doors open after the little bounce upward once the elevator hits the floor they've selected. She steps out, studying the ground as they walk toward the cafeteria. "I think I remember. Your face, anyway. Needles. Pills. I don't know." One hand swipes over her face, as if to clear it from tears, though there aren't any. The question "He's not okay?" quickly veers the conversation back to Lalo.

It's as though Lalo can sense the moment that the semi-solidarity shifts into wariness when she remembers that his role in the Asylum was not one of comrade, but rather of jailer. Or, sort of. Maybe not in quite the same way as some, but the distinction may be without difference, and he certainly doesn't try to push that further. "Yeah," he says instead, "right. I usually stick out. One of the only guy nurses wherever I go." It's said lightly, not really a joke, but meant to keep things on the surface rather than delving deeper.

The question gives him something else to latch onto, and while it isn't the nicest of topics, either, he doesn't seem to mind it. "He's not," he admits. "Meds never seem to take for long. He's been on everything under the sun but sooner or later they stop working. But we're hopeful." For all that his brother must be in his 30s by now, he still sounds relatively upbeat. Maybe that's just how he is.

"I'm sorry." The words are sincere enough -- whatever Lalo was in the past, he's not there now, and nor is Quyen. "That must be hard. I was an only child, so I don't really know what it's like, to worry over someone like that."

She moves toward the self-serve coffee pots, picking out the largest of the cups to pour the dark brew into. "You're a good brother," she says, and seems to mean it. "Working wherever he is." Even if it means he worked in a horrible place. She pours her coffee up to the top, no room for cream or sugar. "For what it's worth, I don't have..." she frowns, trying to find better words. "You're not one of the faces that pop up in my nightmares, you know? I don't think I would have remembered you if you hadn't said anything. That doesn't sound like a compliment." Her smile returns, a little wry. "But it is, in its way."

"Thanks." The response is in the same vein -- sincere, and with a look over at her to meet her eyes, which apparently Lalo feels is necessary for this particular conversation, despite their past. Or because of it. He grabs some coffee, too, reaching to take a handful of sugar packets after he does, unlike her -- a literal handful, way more sugar than one person should be putting in their coffee. "I try to be," he says with another shrug. "Hopefully I've done okay."

He does have to smile when she says that she doesn't specifically remember him. "Hey," he says, "I'll take it." He starts to tear open the packets and tip them into the coffee, looking down at it as he does. "When we got there," he continues after a long moment, "and I figured out what was going on, I couldn't leave him there by himself. You know? I couldn't take him out 'cause he was a minor, and our parents already gave up on him. So I kind of...I don't know. Tried to do whatever good I could." He snorts, glancing up at her again. "Sorry. Not your problem."

"God. That must have been hard," Quyen says, looking perhaps a bit contrite for her initial reaction to the realization of what he was. "I'm sorry. And you are a good brother," she says, again, this time a little more forcefully.

"My parents gave up on me, too. They send a few letters at first but those stopped coming. The last thing I got was a Christmas card saying they were getting a divorce and moving." She caps her coffee and heads to the cashier, handing him a bill and gesturing to Lalo's coffee to indicate she's got his. "It's all of our problem," she says over her shoulder, then moves to one of the cafe tables to sit down. "How long have you been working here? You said not that long?"

"Yeah." Lalo doesn't deny it being hard, but he also doesn't dwell on it. He does, however, give her a more grateful smile at the repeat of him being a good brother. It probably weighs on him on some level. But she can imagine why that would be more than many.

"Thanks," he says, inclining his head when she pays for his coffee, though the 'thanks' could do for several things. It's more specifically for the coffee at this moment -- that is a safer thing to thank her for than the others. "That's really tough. That was the fucking hardest thing about that place. I mean, everything about it was hard, but...you know. Just defeated you." He sits down across from her, taking a sip from his own heavily doctored coffee, before he continues, "Just started this week. It's been pretty good so far. Nice people, decent money. Maybe we'll stay here for a bit."

Quyen's hands wrap around her cup, soaking in the warmth from the hot beverage within. "I'm sort of surprised any of us have any mind left to sign ourselves out. Or that they let us." Her brows draw together at that. "Not that I'm complaining. Just... it's strange."

Her frown deepens as she mulls it over -- no doubt it's not the first time.

She heaves a sigh, then, and shakes her head as if to clear it of the painful memories. "To new beginnings then, and not being defeated," she says, reaching out lightly with her cup to knock gently against his in a mock cheers.

"Yeah." Lalo quiets then, too, glancing down at his coffee as though he could find the answers to that in the cup. Of course, he cannot, and it doesn't do to think too much about it -- at least, not when you've got to focus on something else in a few minutes.

The toast, though, brings his eyes back up to her, and he smiles. It may not be as wide as usual, but it's something. "I'll drink to that," he says as the cups tap, and he takes another sip to accompany that sentiment. "So," he says once he's swallowed, "what do you do when you're not doing your hospital aversion therapy?" It's a joke, at least, if a weak one. Give him time.

The joke draws a laugh from her, and she lifts a shoulder. "Run. Surf, badly. Research the creepy shit. You know, the usual," she says, her dark eyes sparkling just a little, because one of those is not like the others. "More expensive hobbies include drinking too much. Oh, and I have a dog I bring to dog parks so she can try to chase the other dogs but never catch them because she's built like a baby hippo." She takes a sip of coffee, at last, to finish the ritual of the toast a little belatedly. "You?"

Lalo's smile widens when she answers, and he replies, "Oh, sure. That all checks out." Especially the last one. However, he does continue, "A dog, huh? I was thinking about getting one of those. I went over to the shelter the other day and there were some cute ones." As for what he does, he continues, "I like to run, too. I go out every morning, so if you want a buddy, let me know. Other than that, I like to hang out in that bear diner. You know? It's fucking amazing. I've only been here a week and a half and I think I've been there every day so far."

"A bulldog named Madge. She's amazing. Also a rescue," says Quyen like a proud mother, pulling out her cellphone to show the lock screen photo of a white and gray bulldog with blue eyes. "Oh, the Grizzly Den. Yeah? It's something all right," she says with a laugh. "I could do without doing a staring contest with all the bears while I eat, but it's pretty good food. I haven't been there in a while. Every day?" she shakes her head once. "Better run a bit farther tomorrow," she teases.

Lalo reaches for the phone to get a better look, squinting a little and pulling it back and forth in the manner of one who may need to get some cheaters, at least. However, eventually he finds the sweet spot, and he grins. "Aww, cute," he says, handing it back to her. "Maybe I will go get a dog today."

He has to let out a laugh, however, at her last words, and he shakes his head. "Damn, mama," he says, "That's cold." He reaches to pat his stomach a couple of times, however, as though he's judging for himself, before he has to concede, "Okay, maybe. I'm not eighteen anymore."

"You should. All good people should have dogs. The bad people should fuck off." She grins and slides her phone back into her blazer's pocket. "If you want, I'll show you my favorite running trail tomorrow. It's not for the faint of heart. Six mile loop and lots of it's up hill. Work off all those red meat artery clogging plaque. You in?" Her brows lift with the question, and she rests back to take another sip of coffee. "I should get a dog that likes to run..." she muses. "Or teach Madge how to skateboard. Some bulldogs love it. Not good for the trail, though."

Agreed." Lalo leans forward then, resting his forearms on the table and interlacing his fingers, his eyebrows raising at the mention of the trail. "Oh, yeah?" he says. "Sure, I'm in. I've been out exploring by myself but it's nice to have someone who actually knows where shit is." He grins, "I should warn you, I like to go out at the crack of dawn, so don't leave the time up to me if you want to sleep in." He reaches for his coffee, taking a long drink from it before he continues, "That would be pretty cool, not gonna lie. Just having her pull you down the street like a sled dog."

"Crack of dawn works fine. Rain or shine, or are you too worried of drowning if you go out in the rain?" Quyen says with a grin. The image he paints of the bulldog pulling her like a sled dog makes her laugh. "I'll have to try that. Think of all the money I could save on gas, too." She snaps her fingers and points at him, as if she's just had a fabulous idea. "I should get her certified as a therapy dog and she can just bring me to work every day." Another sip of coffee is taken. "Tomorrow? I'll text you the address."

"Nah, rain's fine. I gotta get used to it, right? Can't let you all think I'm a wuss. Gotta build up my rep." Lalo finishes up his coffee, setting aside the cup with a satisfied sigh. The caffeine rush combined with the sugar rush is a heady drug. "Right? There you go. I'm gonna take credit for that idea, though. The therapy dog's a good idea, too. That's part of the reason I was thinking about getting one." As for the offer of tomorrow, he nods once, sealing the deal. "Sounds good. I'll be there." He glances up at the clock, making a little face before he admits, "I should get back upstairs. But thanks for the coffee and company."

"We gotta keep those reps up or the doctors'll think we're pushovers," Quyen agrees. "Well, if you get a dog, we can maybe work on therapy-training them together. Maybe make a thing of it -- therapy dogs of hospital employees. Hopefully the admin won't see through the ploy of just getting to bring our pets to work with us," she says with a smirk. Obviously that's not the true intent, not given the nature of their vocations. She hands him her phone so he can key in his digits. "Tomorrow then."

Lalo snorts in amusement at the mention of the admin, but he nods too, replying, "Yeah, we should do that. Think people'd appreciate it -- plus, it'd be a nice way for me to meet more people." He takes the phone, tapping the numbers in, as well as his name, before he hands it back. "Cool. See you then, Quyen," he says, grabbing his empty coffee cup and tossing it into the trash on the way to the elevator. If and when she looks, she will see that he has put his name in as 'Lalo Forgettable Martinez.'