Logs:Waiting Room

Waiting Room
Dramatis Personae Hive, Matt	2019-12-03 "Hope springs eternal, even on the ice."
Location <NYC> Sloan Kettering Outpatient Clinic - Midtown
This unobtrusive modern edifice of glass and steel could just be any office building in bustling Midtown, and indeed it has plenty of offices upstairs, but on this floor it's all soft whites, sky blue, and hospital jade green. It's labyrinthine and confusing, despite the meticulous signage on every door and hallway. The waiting room for blood draw isn't crowded, but the queue moves very slowly, with a nurse coming out periodically to mispronounce yet another patient's surname. Matt is neatly coiffed and dressed for work in a pale pink button-down, gray vest and black trousers, a black blazer and attache case in his lap. Does he look pale, or is it just his surroundings? It's hard to say, but he alternates between fidgeting and determinedly not fidgeting with a well-loved copy of Terry Pratchett's A Hat Full of Sky. He hasn't actually opened it, though. His mind has been scattered all morning, flitting between endlessly replaying numbers from Mean Girls, his (new and improved!) lesson plans for the semester, odds on the Islanders vs. Canadiens game tonight, and his siblings' well-disguised (but nevertheless noticeable to him) anxiety over his checkup. Hive is dressed for work, too; not quite so neatly as Matt. Heavy jeans, heavy workboots, a black and white flannel buttoned up over a white undershirt, his tatty old corduroy jacket draped over the arm of his chair. He's been thumbing at his phone in a lazy kind of way, browsing through a very backlogged inbox and only intermittently picking out a message to actually answer. He pauses halfway through his latest reply, though, his brows hitching up and a small tug pulling at his mouth. "Sorry," he begins, "but you don't really think they have a chance? I mean, there's wishful thinking and then there's --" He waves the phone towards Matt. "I don't know where Price has been this season but it definitely hasn't been anywhere near his fucking goal." Beneath Matt's long-suffering sigh, there is a kind of relief for the distraction. "Hope springs eternal, even on the ice," he replies loftily. Then, a bit more defensive, "It is a home game." Finally, chuckling ruefully through his despair, "Okay, not really. At least we beat the Maple Leafs." He bumps Hive with his shoulder. "Can I still come over to watch the slaughter?" << And not sit around wondering after test results that won't come back until next week... >> "What, like a million years ago? The rest of us are living here in the present, where they've apparently so forgotten how to fucking skate." Hive claps Matt on the shoulder, jostles him lightly. "You keep dreaming that dream, though." He slouches down further in his chair; there's a very small twitch at the side of his jaw as his eyes skate toward the closed door that has not admitted a patient in what feels like an eternity. "Hell yeah. Oh, shit, I'm going to have to teach Kieow about hockey. Before you fill her head with some whole nonsense." His head tilts back, thunking behind him against the wall. "...not sure she'll be a huge fan of winter but at least there's some good bits about it." "It's not my fault if you can't keep faith through a mid-season slump." Matt sniffs, pressing one palm to his cheek and sighing dramatically. "I cherish my memories of that match, an early Halloween present." He makes no outwardly show of noticing the direction of Hive's glance, but the shiver of fear through him is plain enough to the telepath. "She can make up her own mind once she's watched les Habitants dismantle the Isles." << My gods, can't they just take the damned blood and be done with it? >> But aloud he only says, with a faint smile, "I hope her first snow is the magical fluffy kind, anyway." "Out in Westchester? Good chance it will be. Thank fuck she isn't going to be slushing through the filthy grey muck out here with us, she'd be on the next flight back home." Hive's outward shiver is exaggerated. "And your brother had to pull enough strings already to get her here in the first place, all these bullshit new rules." His jaw tightens with a brief grinding of teeth. One of his legs bounces, restless. "S'a fucking newbie working back there," he finally caves and says, his brows knitting together. "You might have to show him how to even find your vein." Matt nods, smiling wider. "I do hope we get a good hard freeze--long enough that it's safe to go out on the lake. It's going to be too cold for her no matter what, so it'd be nice to show her the whole temperate zone winter experience." << ...while we still can. >> He sinks back into his seat, staring at the phlebotomist's door. "Génial," he mutters, annoyance temporarily blotting out his worry. "Easier if he just let me do it. Said I'd get in by lunch period, too. Didn't expect such a..." His smile goes just a bit crooked, belying the disproportionate surge of childish glee beneath it. "...drawn-out process." As if on cue, the door opens and a nurse steps out with a tablet in hand. "Tessier?" "Was fucking -- 85 when we left home. Ice skating is going to be a whole different experience. I just hope it's not too much of a shock for her. We got her some evergreens to, uh. Hug. Hopefully ease the transition some." Hive is straightening, his head lifting shortly before the door opens. "Tessier," he's muttering a correction to this pronunciation under his breath even as the nurse mangles the vowels. He's rising, offering Matt a hand. "Flicker can drive you. I'm not sanguine about your veins, but we'll get you in on time."