ph_logs | Please state the nature of your medical emergency [Oct/Nov TL]

Normally First Aid is the first one up and moving around in the clinic -- as it should be, considering that he 'sleeps' there. He checks the boiler, unlocks the front door, and then starts a pot of tea in the little office that occupies the front of the clinic, with Chris's cup set up nearby for them to fill as soon as they get in. All this is as it should be, this particular morning -- but First Aid's cheerful greeting, normally given as soon as he hears Chris open the front door, is notably absent.

He's still there, though, you can hear him resterilizing all the equipment in the exam room. There's even a brief pause in the sound of metal gently handling metal, as if someone is wondering whether they should say anything or not, before it pointedly resumes.

Edited 2023-10-24 04:51 (UTC)

They've gotten used to hearing a greeting from First Aid in the mornings, enough so that the absence gives them pause.

"Everything all right back there?" Chris calls out, a note of worry in their voice.

"...yes!" First Aid calls back, after a pause long enough to completely undo any reassurance his answer might have provided.

He sighs and lets his forehead clunk against the cupboards over the exam room sink. It's not that he's in any pain, he's just embarrassed.

"I ran into a little trouble last night!" he calls. "But I'm fine. Everything's fine!"

Again: not reassuring. First Aid groans and readjusts the scarf (actually a folded-up sheet) hiding his face.

And that'll be some silence from Chris as they digest that information.

They bypass the tea station and make their way to the exam room on silent, slippered feet. There is a high likelihood that when First Aid turns around, it'll be more or less right into Chris's face -- and Chris will lean in to peer at First Aid's mostly hidden face.

"Does your species have a similar cold tolerance to humans? We can add some wood to the furnace." Though the question is calmly, quietly asked, there's some impression of perhaps suspicion in the way that Chris is looking at First Aid. As though they expect bullshit in response.

It's pretty impressive how quickly and silently they can move, for a human.

First Aid groans again, off-lining his optics for a moment so he can process how badly he's flubbed this social interaction. Because of course Chris is expecting him to bullshit them again, after the way he's been behaving, and of course they're annoyed by it.

How can they work together if they don't trust each other?

"It's not the cold," he finally admits, voice crackling a little with the sheer weight of his mortification. "It's...um. Were you at that party the other night, when Ms. Leeds told everyone that story about a ghost?"

"No," Chris says. "Was the ghost offended by the story she told?"

(Excuse me, Chris, how would First Aid even know that?)

First Aid cocks his head for a moment in thought. The scarf, well-wrapped as it is, fails to move.

"I don't think so? Or at least, her story turned out to be a very accurate indicator of how the ghost behaves."

Both of Chris's eyebrows go up. "What about the ghost's behavior has you hiding your face?"

"Ugh." First Aid pauses once more, just to get his thoughts in order. There is no way to explain this that won't upset Chris, he just has to accept that. But maybe if he leads up to it in just the right way, he'll be less upset than otherwise?

Mitigation, that's what he's trying to do here.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he says first thing. "It's more embarrassing than anything else. But, you see, the ghost has an obsession with telling people jokes...and if you don't laugh at his joke, he. Um." First Aid off-lines his optics again with another wince.

"To put it simply, he sticks his knife in your face."

Of course that's leaving out quite a bit of gory detail, but maybe now that they have the bare facts in hand, Chris will accept that the sheet is there for their comfort and leave it be? Maybe? Please?

"Ah."

There are some logical questions that a person might ask, such as how a metal knife would be able to punch through a metal faceplate, but Chris doesn't do any of that. It is a ghost; if the 'rules' the ghost operates under say that he stabs you in the face, then there's likely enough energy gathered behind the action to make it happen regardless of physical limitations.

"Do you want me to take a look at it? I assume you bandaged yourself in one of the mirrors, but..."

"...I don't want you to see it," First Aid quietly admits. His optics switch back on, but dimly. "It's ugly, and I'm embarrassed by it..." He averts his gaze, the light of his optic crystals moving restlessly behind his visor.

"I already did everything that can be done for it. Now it's just a matter of giving my internal repair systems time to do their job. In a few days you won't even be able to tell there was a puncture."

"I understand if you've done everything that can be done for your injury," Chris says calmly, with a nod. "But there is something I don't understand."

Chris reaches out, and places their hand over First Aid's.

"Would you shame and judge someone else for their injury? Even if they got it from being foolish? Or would you treat them kindly?"

Then why -- is the unspoken question -- do you treat yourself with less kindness?

"Um..."

First Aid's plating shifts and clicks for a moment, restless with excess energy while his processor chews over that statement. Finally he slumps with a small sigh, and says, "I'm sorry."

And now he has a new, even worse thing to be embarrassed about. Great. That's just fantastic. He sighs again and says, "I didn't realize I had any prejudices against humans like that. I always...I really do think of you as my partner here, Chris. We're working together, and I value that. It's just...Ugh."

What's a non-scary way to say, 'I guess I have a few hang-ups about my former ability to squish you like a bug by accident?'

"I used to be so much larger than I am now," he says, a little helplessly. "I'd barely have dared to move, if you'd stood this close to me back then. I'd have been so scared of accidentally crushing you. But I guess the other side of that is that I got used to being...so much stronger. Humans were always more at risk of being hurt than me, in nearly any situation. So now, being hurt like this..." He looks away again. "It embarrassed me. I didn't want to admit to any weakness."

"It makes sense," Chris says. "If you're used to being bigger and stronger, there's an adjustment period to suddenly being a completely different size." They sing-song a little when they murmur, "Go ask Alice..."

They give their head a little shake. Focus, Chris. Don't be too weird; treat it like being on the clock. First Aid needs you to be serious.

"As for being embarrassed, I can understand it. If you're used to being stronger, it makes sense that getting hurt would seem shameful. But!" Chris pats First Aid's hand, "You don't have to be ashamed. I've done worse. The first week I was here, I got distracted trying to chase down a ghost for answers, and I didn't even notice the Bluffs before I already fell off of them!"

Don't ask if Chris survived that.

First Aid's visor flashes in sudden concern. "You fell off the Bluffs?? Chris --"

He stops himself before he can get too worked up, gently taking Chris's hand and picking it up so he can study the back. Their boney knuckles and the path of their veins. First Aid's hand is nearly twice as big as theirs, but even that difference is neglible compared to what it would be if they were on in his Earth, in his original body. Chris's entire body could fit easily in the palm of his hand, everything they are or could ever be.

"I'm glad you're okay," First Aid says, refocusing on their face. "And I'm okay too, I promise. It's just a puncture, I already checked everything. The ghost didn't hurt any of my internal components." A little uneasily, he adds, "I won't try to hide from you, next time."

"Yes, it was a very stupid thing, but there's nothing you could have done about it! Happened weeks before you got here, so don't worry too much. I am fine now, and I know the ghosts aren't much for helping even if you can catch up them, so I won't do it again." That was, perhaps, a little too much talking, but Chris knows that First Aid is a worrier. And it filled up the silence in the time that he was studying Chris's hand.

Though of course Chris doesn't know the path of First Aid's thoughts.

"I'm glad that your internals are all right." Chris looks away for a moment, considering, before meeting First Aid's gaze again. "I think it's okay if you don't want someone to look at an injury you already took care of. But I would feel better, knowing sooner if you've been hurt. So I can help keep an eye out for signs of infection or fever, those kind of things."

There's no judgement there, just calm acceptance, and an offer to meet First Aid halfway.

"...I'll have to teach you what to do when a Cybertronian catches rust or a fever, then," First Aid concedes. Trying to lighten the mood, he adds, "Though at least I'm unlikely to catch a coding virus out here. No comms network for them to proliferate on."

He lets go of Chris's hand and turns back to the sink, picking up where he left off in sterilizing the tools. "Might come in handy anyway, if you ever run into another Cybertronian. I can't be everywhere all at once, after all."

"So there are some upsides to being low tech!" Chris says with a smile, having picked up on the mood-lightening attempt.

They nod over that. "It's only fair. Since you know how to treat humans and Cybertronians, if we're working together then I should know, too."

"I certainly won't turn down a second set of hands," First Aid agrees. "Although I should warn you that I've never taught anyone before, so who knows if I'll be any good at it."

"As long as I can ask questions, I think we'll get through it with me decently educated by the end."

Chris takes First Aid getting back to the tools as a hint that they should get back to the normal routine. "I'm gonna go grab some tea and check who's up to be hassled about dodging their annual checkup for too long."

Dr. Winterbottom wasn't quite up to the challenge of chasing such folks down, as focused as she has been on more dire circumstances. But with an actual staff behind her now, she gleefully marked the records of those who have avoided her.

Doctor Winterbottom has a list. Not a bad list! It doesn't mean anything negative. It's just that there are certain people in town with certain needs, certain lifestyles, who would benefit from a degree of regular medical attention -- who simply haven't been receiving that attention, due to all the chaos that regularly affects Pumpkin Hollow! It's most unfortunate, but perhaps now that the good doctor has two able assistants, things may change for the better? Certainly First Aid is eager to both lighten her burden and do his duty to the community. For the public health!

Anyway that's why he's knocking on Erik's door early one morning, visor bright and plating shiny. Come on handsome, up and at them! It's time for your annual check-up!

Who could be knocking at this hour? He doesn't get much demand for his services this early in the morning. Well, duty calls he supposes. Whoever it is, they are going to get a rare sight of the absolutely putrid bubblegum pink plaid flannel pajamas he woke up in after his death a month or so back. He knows he should count himself lucky that's all that happened but, really, these are a pattern and color even he can't make work. He's trying to hide as much of himself behind the door as he can when he cracks it open. Imagine his shock at seeing a... no, he's not sure he even has words for what it is he's seeing.

"Can I... help you?"

Why are humans so obsessed with pink??? God. Okay, dial it back First Aid. It's none of your business what your patient decides to wear in the privacy of his own home.

"Mr. Erik Osborne?" he checks, before politely extending a hand. "Actually, I'm here to help you. I'm First Aid, one of Dr. Winterbottom's new assistants? I'm told you're late for your check-up."

"Lord Osborne," he corrects. Erik eyes the extended hand a moment before reluctantly taking it. Mustn't be rude.

"My what?" He almost laughs, as if he suspects it to be some type of prank. But. Oh...no. He's serious?

"I do not require a check-up. Thank you."

Edited 2023-10-27 01:05 (UTC)

"Oh, I apologize! Lord Osborne," First Aid accepts the correction amiably. "I'm afraid you do, actually, require a check-up, as does nearly everyone who shares your profession."

The smile in his voice turns ever so slighty sharp and pointed. "With Doctor Winterbottom so very busy dealing with the town's various crises, a few things slipped through the cracks. But now she has assistants to...haul them back out, as it were."

Please state the nature of your medical emergency [Oct/Nov TL]

A few days after Ghost Stories... [Chris]

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Apple THIS (closed to Erik Osborne)

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