Check-up

[evillurks]

The Shadow has been splitting his time between the Sanctum and the apartment of James Rettigue, but only one of these locations is a place for guests. The coffee table is a solid mass of paperwork, although there are signs of order in the form of stacks. The furniture is sleek and black, modern even for its time. One wall of the living room is dominated by a tall picture window that overlooks the city, but the curtains are half drawn. From the kitchen the scent of fresh coffee drifts, but The Shadow is not used to entertaining. The spartan feel to the place, broken only by his paperwork, does not give a welcoming feel.

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[sarah-branigan.livejournal.com]

Sarah arrives at the given coordinates with her medical bag. Instead of a nurse's uniform, she's dressed more modernly in a blazer and matching skirt.

She never gets PINpoint sickness, and after years of traveling this way, it only takes her a moment or two to orient herself. She wasn't expecting the Shadow to let her into his super secret lair, so the location isn't much of a surprise. The view is lovely, but the room has a cold, unpersonable feel to it.

Enough sight-seeing. Sarah gives her host a smile in greeting. "Hello, Shadow. I brought what I need for a basic check-up." If he needs anything fancy, they can always take a trip to the clinics.

[evillurks.livejournal.com]

His file in the Clinics, in fact, strongly reccommends that he return for an extensive check-up. The x-rays showed some distressing things in his lungs, but since he refused to fill out paperwork they have little hope of chasing him down to follow up. Certainly they were reluctant to do too much practical probing at the time, since he was recovering from a collapse.

Clad in button-down shirt and slacks, he looks much as he did on their first meeting. The surroundings seem to suit his personality. He rises and nods to her, removing reading glasses and temporarily abandoning his paperwork. "Afternoon. The Clinics shouldn't be necessary, I know why the cough is back. Do you drink coffee?" He is making an effort to be hospitable, since she is kind enough to make a house call.

[sarah-branigan.livejournal.com]

She's not surprised by that, either, especially since he had asked her questions about protection from smoke earlier. "I do," she replies, setting the medical bag down on the couch and opening it. The Shadow is not the easiest person for her to get along with, but the offer of coffee does score him a few brownie points.

[evillurks.livejournal.com]

"I'm afraid I've only got milk.. and sugar, somewhere..." While she begins to set up, he moves off to the small kitchen. Through the doorway she may see similarly sleek and dark appliances, little-used. There is a primitive microwave, however, and the one appliance that has seen much use is the coffee maker.

The couch is black suede, and possibly the most broken-in piece of furniture in the apartment, although that may not be saying much.

[sarah-branigan.livejournal.com]

"A little milk is fine," she replies nonchalantly. She has a sweet tooth, but she saves that for ice cream and cookies.

Normally, Sarah is fascinated by modern kitchens, but this one doesn't appeal to her. She wonders if the Shadow selected the furniture, or is this the style people prefer in this city. She's not about to ask, though. This is a house call, not a social visit.

She removes from her bag a stethoscope and a blood pressure cuff.

[evillurks.livejournal.com]

From the kitchen he gives a rattling, wheezing cough, but it is blessedly brief. After only a moment he returns with a mug of coffee with a little milk and offers it over. His own coffee, currently acting as a paperweight, is black. The coffee matches the furniture in that regard, and his usual costume. Since no one else has seen his private Sanctum, they may not realize this apartment is as close to a second one as is possible in an expensive high-rise.

The Shadow sits again, at one end of the couch, and rolls up a sleeve upon seeing what she's gotten out. "I spent a few days crammed on a boat with heavy smokers. It was unavoidable. I did try to isolate myself from it as much as was possible without blowing my cover. I claimed to have a chest cold..."

[sarah-branigan.livejournal.com]

"Thank you." She blows on her coffee and takes a small sip before setting it down on the cofffee table. Hopefully there's a small space that isn't covered by important papers, but she's used to tables covered in paperwork. She'll manage.

She wraps the pressure cuff around his arm and inflates it. "And your cough, when did that start?" Then she falls silent as she slowly loosens the pressure on the cuff, watching the gauge and counting to herself.

[evillurks.livejournal.com]

The paperwork is stacked just neatly enough for her to find space between. He seems to have a number of files- or at least copies of files, that bear labels of the police or FBI on them.

"Within an hour or two of boarding the ship? I can't say I wasn't expecting it..." He falls silent, allowing her to work. His blood pressure is normal, as usual, which is fairly impressive for a man of his age. It even tends toward the low end, 120 over 80 or less.

[sarah-branigan.livejournal.com]

She isn't surprised at the nature of the files. She still doesn't really understand the details of this particular case he was working on, except that it involved drugs somehow.

"Blood pressure is normal," she says, removing the cuff. That is likely going to be the only good news, because now she plans to check on her lungs. "Can you unbutton your shirt please?"

[evillurks.livejournal.com]

Since that case is resolved, he's moved on to another dozen crimes. His work is constant, although it isn't always pressing. Those who tend to think of him as a menacing figure with blazing automatics would be astonished to find out how much of what he does is research and letting various mysteries simmer.

"The cough had gone, before this..." He unbuttons his shirt with a wheezing sigh, annoyed at the condition of his lungs. The rattling, crackling sound of his breathing is no longer audible except on careful listening, but it should be distressingly clear through the stethoscope. Between that and the cough he sounds as if he has miner's lung, although that condition comes in several forms.

[sarah-branigan.livejournal.com]

She listens to his heart, first, then his lungs. "Breathe deeply for me," she requests. After several seconds, she asks, "Now breathe normally." She moves the stethoscope to his back, going in from behind his collar and listens carefully.

She sets aside her stethoscope and retrieves a small plastic device. It looks like a cross between a kazoo and a ruler, with numbers along the side and a little plastic knob at the bottom, near the mouthpiece. "I want to test your lung capacity," she explains. "Take a deep breath in and then blow out, as hard as you can, for as long as you can."

[evillurks.livejournal.com]

His heart, at least, seems to still be going strong and steady. He breathes slowly and calmly, grimacing when the effort makes him want to cough. His control is sufficient to cut off the urge, and spare her the raucous noise that would result through the stethoscope.

"Hm. Don't they use these for asthma?" He frowns, takes a long and careful breath, then exhales into it with a wheeze. The result is what one might expect from an old man with lung problems, but not from someone in excellent physical shape who is accustomed to running after criminals on a weekly basis.

((Back later...))

[sarah-branigan.livejournal.com]

"Yes. And anyone with impaired lung function," she explains. She takes the device and looks at the result with a slight frown. "I'm sure you already know what I'm going to say, but your lungs are damaged. Being around all the smoke couldn't have helped, but you'd been having problems before that, correct?"

[evillurks.livejournal.com]

Not for the first time, he is glad to have quit smoking decades ago. The damage lingers, however. "I assume you mean aside from taking a bullet above the heart..." It's extraordinary luck he only had a collapsed lung, and a week later at that.

He glances toward the high ceiling, frowning as he does the shirt buttons up again slowly. "I smoked for at least thirty years, but never heavily. I've been gassed multiple times, and I've been in a lot of burning buildings..." Being tall in particular puts him in a bad position for smoke.

[sarah-branigan.livejournal.com]

"Yes, aside from that." Although it's possible for a lung to scar after it collapses. That's not what concerns her, however. She listens to his history, although she is by no means judging him for smoking. That's what people did back in the old days. She knows because she lives in the old days.

"Damage to the lungs can build up after a while," she says quietly. They are delicate organs, made more vulnerable by smoking for that long. Do you know what you were gassed with?"

[evillurks.livejournal.com]

The collapse may have been a blessing in disguise, if it's allowing her and the Clinics to catch a deeper problem.

The Shadow laughs, and the sound echoes around the spare apartment. With so many hard surfaces, the acoustics are wonderful. There is a hint of a rattle to the sound, and an eerie hollow air. "Which time? It might take me a while to write you a list, and even then it would be incomplete. Even my memory's not perfect, and one loses track after the fifteenth or twentieth time..."

[sarah-branigan.livejournal.com]

The laugh sends a shiver up her spine; she will never get used to that. "I just meant in general," she sighs. "I'm only familiar with fear gas. Breathing in gas is bad in general, but some are harsher than others on the lungs. But it's not vital for diagnosis."

She bets Batman would have written them all down for her without laughing. Hmmph.

[evillurks.livejournal.com]

There are those who would say such a laugh is a sign of a not entirely sane mind.

He might be able to piece together quite an accurate list, in fact, from his extensive library of case records. It would be a tremendous undertaking to wade through the reports, however. "Some were experimental, and as such I don't know the precise chemical breakdown. A number have been theoretically poisonous..." He looks thoughtful for a moment, drawing a scrap of paper closer, and begins to make a list. It only covers half a page, and some have question marks beside them. It should take him long enough to get that far that she may take the break to drink her coffee. At last he takes a rattling sigh and hands it over. "It's incomplete, I'm sure, and spans a period of fifty years or so..." He hesitates, in part over the revelation of age. "I wasn't even thinking of whatever I might have been exposed to during the War..."

[sarah-branigan.livejournal.com]

She does sip from her coffee while he writes his list, more to give her hands something to do. The indirect admission of his age doesn't faze her. She had come to a similar conclusion some time ago. "Thank you." She looks over the list with unease. "The fact that you were gassed by anything repeatedly is... well, not good." She taps the corner of the paper with her finger. "How comfortable are you with having an MRI or a CT scan at the clinics?"

[evillurks.livejournal.com]

His age is one secret he has realized he has little hope of keeping. It is clear that Myra and his alternate have worked it out accurately, and he has resigned himself to that. "It's been years, since the last time..." He muses quietly, but his frown is quick to return at the idea of further testing.

"Didn't I get some of that before?" That the recently collapsed lung may have tainted those results is not the answer he wants to hear.

[sarah-branigan.livejournal.com]

Well, that's too bad, because that's the answer he's going to get. "The clinics wanted you to come back for follow-up testing anyway," she points out. "We need to know exactly how damaged your lungs are, so we know how to treat them." She picks up her coffee mug again. "You quit smoking, which is good, but you're likely to still be exposed to smoke in the future."

[evillurks.livejournal.com]

"I quit about twenty years ago." He continues to frown, and raises a slightly gnarled hand to scrub at his temples. "When one speaks of smoking, and problems in the lungs, there tends to be a particular word that looms large in the mind. Can you blame me for not wanting to know?" The question is, by and large, rhetorical. On the one hand he cares little for the sympathy of others, but on the other hand it would be nice to know someone comprehends his perspective.

[sarah-branigan.livejournal.com]

Sarah looks down, almost apologetic. She knows what word he refers to. It's one she doesn't like to utter unless she has a definitive diagnosis. "I don't blame you," she murmurs. "But diseases can be treated. They can sometimes even be cured. If you choose to remain ignorant, then there's no chance of getting better." She sits back and adds, "But that's a decision only you can make."

[evillurks.livejournal.com]

He picks up his coffee and settles back in his seat, scowling absently across the room. There is a recent discussion with Myra that continues to sting in his mind. She would never forgive him pushing aside a chance to keep his health, and the possibility of dying slowly and painfully in bed is the very epitome of his worst fear.

"I assume you're willing to be... discrete about this."

[sarah-branigan.livejournal.com]

She would have assumed the same thing. The rest of him is amazingly healthy, besides.

"Of course." Sarah blinks, surprised, but on second thought she supposes that is needed to be said, considering the situation. "I won't tell a soul. You can trust the clinics as well. I mean, even Doctor Crane went there when he was injured." Or injured himself, usually.