tampered | (no subject)

When; December 10th at the Hospital
Rating; PG-13 for blood and swearing
Characters; Office Staff + Brocklehurst + House
Summary; Styles infamous ulcer finally exploded
Log;

It had been months of agony.

The past two weeks had been the worst - stomach pain after stomach pain, and no medicine would quell it; nothing pink, chalky or with the worlds "antacid" would fix it. Finally Styles just began to deal with it, but vomiting blood in the office had been the last straw.

He thought Faye was going to start screaming when she saw him, or heard Weasley drop the coffee, but she managed to drag him to the hospital.

He distinctly remembered the words, "Don't tell Brocklehurst" come out of his mouth, but he may have hallucinated it. But then he also remembered Longbottom calling for help...did he call Nicholas?

He hated blood.

[ooc: Okay, people! If you were in the law office, you would have seen the eruption. It's up to you if you want to post here - it will go from an open to the office staff post to a closed one quickly - it will be clear when. Any other questions, feel free to IM me~]

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Stomp stomp stomp.

"I want full access to his blood test results whenever they're available. The sooner the better. If there's any discrepancy about insurance the Palace will cover the expenses," the whole damn lot owed him for the T-Virus immunization, even though he'd had the dose delivered to the hospital anonymously.

Brocklehurst's heavy steps took him to the appropriate room, blazer left open, tie loosened from being windswept on the Honda Fireblade, LEE'S Honda Fireblade.

He heard the voice angrily asking for results as he got the tube from the emergency endoscopy removed from his throat and frowned. Talking wouldn't be easy, but he would manage.

He watched as Brocklehurst marched in the room, wondering how he had gotten there. Did he run? Fly? Had he bullied Joshua, or something?

He crossed his arms and scowled.

Did Brocklehurst stomp?

"Interesting order," he said to the curiously disheveled businessman, "but I'm sure Santa and God have heard it all. The blood tests are mine and, boss, no big secret."

He looked to the room that Styles laid in and then to Brocklehurst and sighed. Oh these complex romances, they just made him ill.

"I'll tell you only if you you are finished proving your levels of testosterone are normal, the patient is in recovery."

House was no brick wall of propriety but sometimes just sometimes, the nice approach worked. "It's not poison, just a peptic ulcer that caused the bleed."

All looked well enough. Dr. Limpy arrived on the scene and Elle was itching for a cig. Even with Nicholas here. She briefly wondered if he came armed. This scenario had so much potential.

Reaching for her cigarettes, Elle Driver realized that she was bored. Maybe she should poison someone sometime. If only to shake up the norm.

"I'm going for a smoke," she said to anyone who would listen. Chances were that there would be just as much tension when she got back. At least she didn't have to be lacking nicotine then.

For a moment Faye thought about taking a leaf out of Elle's book and joining her, but curiosity (and possibly the need to play referee?) kept her rooted. If she wanted a damn cigarette, she'd just smoke it in here. No big deal.

The stiff medical world didn't exactly catch her attention so much as the possible unfolding drama staring them all individually in the face. Styles. Cori. Brocklehurst.

How nice.

All she could really offer was a snippish, "Told you so."

After seeing Nicholas enter the room, House's response to him, Elle's departure, and Faye's nonchalance, the nightmare offered a wave to the bounty hunter.

"Good luck, sweet cheeks," he said over his shoulder, offering her a grin as he followed Elle's lead.

He gave House a stern look, a look he knew wouldn't accomplish much in the realm of his profession. So Brocklehurst went to Christopher's bedside, having 'flown in' on his (Lee's) metal horse. "You're going to be all right," Nicholas said to the brunette. His blue eyes lifted from Styles back to the remaining office staff, silently waiting for them to take a hike damnit. But he wouldn't voice this sentiment, only express it in the lines in his face.

As Faye was the only one left, Longbottom having followed the others (he needn't worry, being the one who called Brocklehurst in the first place), the Englishman gave her another look: Please?

People don't die of ulcers, Nicholas, is what Styles wanted to say. It was too natural to snap at him.

But he wasn't angry. The reassurance was more welcome than he'd like to admit. He looked over at Faye, raising an eyebrow, then over at House.

He stopped scowling, his face softening as he examined every line of Nicholas' worried face.

He wanted them gone too.

This was all deserved an eye roll or two. If Christopher wasn't going to say it, House would. "Of course he was going to be alright." A bit of blood from the mouth wasn't the only sign of dying.

"What I do wonder, Dr. Hotpants," he said with an up and down look at Faye, "is if you knew, why didn't you say something sooner?"

"He said it was just a stomach ache," she replied, giving him a scowl of her own. "It's not my fault if he wants to bullshit me about stuff like this." Faye got to her feet, having a cigarette or five sounding like a better plan the more she thought on it.

"Besides," she went on, and this time she looked at Styles, "He's a big boy. He can take care of himself. I don't need to hold his hand. So you can feel free to get off my back about it, grouch."

Definitely time for a smoke.

Jesus wept, finally, he silently replied to Faye as she got to her feet.

"Thank you, Faye," Nicholas nodded to her, expressing his appreciation for at the very least her quickness in getting Styles to the hospital at all. It was true, Christopher would rather bullshit his way through bad health, pushing himself to the very end before outside circumstances wouldn't let him go any farther. He turned his attention back to the brunette. "You stupid bastard."

Not fair.

It hurt to talk even think of talking, but that figured. He looked around for a pad of paper and a pen, and found it at his bedside. He scribbled on it;

Not fair.

He looked up at Nicholas, a little bit hurt, but mostly irritated.

Unlike the rest of the party, House reached into his pocket to get his fix with no air pollution.

"I'll get the lab results, I'm sure they're clean. You keep playing pictionary."

She could be punctual when she chose. In response to Brocklehurst, she only nodded briefly and rooted around in her pocket some more for her lighter. Time for some sweet, sweet nicotine.

"Get well, boss," she threw to Styles before giving a wave and swinging around the door. She really didn't want to see what sort of Pictionary Styles had it in him play.