evillurks | Check-up

Current Location: Apartment of James Rettigue, Manhattan, NY

Entry tags:

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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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."

"...well." She blushes a little. "I suppose not. But there isn't a Gotham in many of the Americas I've been to." Well, now she just feels silly. It's just that the Shadow doesn't seem to come from a world where insane people dress up in elaborate costumes and try to kill each other in the street.

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything else before then." She puts her things away in her medical bag.

Perhaps The Shadow simply doesn't tolerate that sort of behavior in his own town.

"Thank you Branigan. I appreciate the housecall. I'll contact you later." He appreciates the prodding when he ought to know what's good for him, as well, but has too much pride to admit it aloud.

The costumed crazies certainly know better than to leave Gotham's city limits. Sarah often wonders about Batman's no-kill policy.

She smiles and rests her packed bag on her lap. "Thank you for the coffee and the geography lesson. I'll be waiting to hear from you." She knows she was probably the push he needed. With all the good he does, she'll do what he can to help him get healthy again.

Without further ado, she presses a button on her PINpoint and teleports away.

It will be quite some time before she is contacted at all, as the testing process proves to be more extensive than expected. The Shadow's patience is quite frayed by the time they are through, or at least by the time he declares them to be through. He is quickly gaining a reputation in the Clinics as a tempermental patient.

In general terms, he is diagnosed with pneumoconiosis, but what causes them some confusion is a finding of rheumatoid nodules in his lungs. His blood test proves negative for rheumatoid arthritis, and the conflict of results sends them into a flurry of other tests. By the time he has put his foot down on being run through any further machines for the day, they are still unresolved on the matter. He has been asked as few questions as possible, due to his unnapproachable manner, and is let go with pills for inflammation.

His message is brief.
Done for the day. They won't speak to me. Contact and meet at your liesure.

I'll pick up your results and can be over shortly. Unless you wanted to meet somewhere else?

While she waits for an answer, she heads to the Clinics and picks up his test results. The radiologist explains the findings, includuing the strange nodules, and then goes on a lengthy diatribe about what a difficult patient the Shadow was, why couldn't he stay for a few more tests, blah blah blah. Sarah listens patiently, thinking to herself that the clinics have had far more difficult patients. Nobody got fear gassed or mentally wiped -- consider it a good day, Doctor Complains-A-Lot!

To be fair, Sarah has never been the focus of one of his truly intense glowers, as these doctors have. She should be honoured.

Rettigue apt. fine.

While she is listening to the doctor, he is hard at work catching up with his network. By the time she arrives he should be well into his second cup of coffee, and the curtains have been drawn now that dusk has fallen. The only light in the apartment is from a slim lamp aimed at the coffee table where he works.

Sarah PINpoints back to the apartment, a manilla folder in her hand. "Who's Rettigue?" she asks, curious. "I have your results here. Do you want the good news, the bad news, or the weird news first?"

"I keep this apartment under the alias of James Rettigue, but I have other apartments under other aliases." He considers this alias and apartment his primary refuge, but he doesn't like to admit it. There is no offer of coffee this time, and he settles back in his seat and folds his arms. His posture radiates quiet aggravation, but it is not intended for her. If his manners were better he would offer her a seat in one of the leather armchairs, but in his current mood he expects her to find her way there herself.

"There's weird news? It might be best to get that out of the way first..." It also conveniently removes the awful choice between good or bad.

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