evillurks | Check-up

Current Location: Apartment of James Rettigue, Manhattan, NY

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Check-up

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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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.

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."

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.

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"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?"

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.

"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?"

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..."

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.

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..."

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?"

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.

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."

"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 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."

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."

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.

While he did not precisely state it as a question, the reassurance is very much appreciated. The Shadow's impassive face reveals little, but he is willing to admit to himself that he is, at the moment, afraid.

"I'm afraid I don't know him. Will this require an appointment?"

"Then you are a lucky, lucky man," Sarah replies sincerely. She's not sorry Crane is gone, even if Daniel sometimes talks about how he misses him. Of course, there's the other Dr. Crane that she actively sought out...

"Require? No, but an appointment would mean that you don't have to wait around the clinics longer than you have to."

The Shadow arches a brow expressively. If he is truly lucky, he will never know how lucky he is.

"I have ample time at the moment, and for the forseeable near future, but I also never know when something will come up." His schedule is, to his thinking, beyond his control.

"One of Batman's enemies," she explains tersely. He can look it up if he wants to know more, but she hopes he doesn't bother.

She smiles a little, then retrieves her PINpoint. "I could send the radiology department a message to expect you in... an hour? Two?"

There is, in fact, quite a sudden look of revelation. "Ah. We don't speak much."

He is at once both worried and relieved that she might be able to expedite things so well, but he glances thoughtfully at his paperwork before giving an answer. "An hour should be fine. Assuming nobody decides to start rampant criminal activity by then." His tone may be slightly difficult to interpret, but that was intended as sarcasm.

She blinks. "Who, you and Batman?"

She notes the sarcasm. "They'll just have to hold their horses until you're back," she replies with a small grin. She taps quickly into her PINpoint. "Someone from radiology will be waiting for you. Or... did you want me to come with you?" She would go with him, although sitting around here for an hour would be a little awkward.

"Yes. Although I appreciate knowing there;s someone else to carry on the work when I'm gone." That she might be surprised they live in the same world, at least in this dimension, does not even occur to him.

Again he hesitates, and is privately embarrassed for it. "Not if you have other business to attend to. I'd appreciate discussing any findings with you, though. I have a fair working knowledge, but I'm not a physician." He just may need someone to interpret the medical terminology, and he trusts her, doctor or not.

"He's... there's a Gotham here? In your world?" She certainly looks surprised.

"How about I meet with you afterward at the clinics? That way you can get a little more work done." She checks her watch and sighs. "Besides, I have a winged kitten to feed in about a half-hour."

Once again she is treated to an arching eyebrow, and the direct gaze of his intense blue eyes. "Is that so surprising?"

"That's fine. I'll send you a message when they're done dissecting me through radiation."

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