[Milliways]

[mr_gaeta]

It's been barely over a day since Gaeta tumbled through the Milliways door for the last time, and somehow -- despite being dead -- he's already coming down with something.

He can't tell what; it's just a general malaise, a chill that made him ask for a blanket along with his dinner when he went to the bar. Everything just seems...too bright, he guesses. Too loud. And he's starting to ache in a way that means he might've spoke too soon about the pain being gone for good.

Maybe he'll go to the infirmary later. For now, he's going to enjoy his soup.

Comments

[mr_gaeta]

"...Actually, um. I might."

The smile tilts back toward wry.

"I think it may have been too optimistic to expect I wouldn't need morpha anymore. Is there a way I could get some?"

[simon_doctor]

"...Possibly."

Simon's taking another careful look, as unobtrusively as possible, at that tremor in Gaeta's hands.

"How bad is your leg?"

[mr_gaeta]

"Not nearly as bad as it was," he admits. "But it still hurts."

More than just his leg; the latest aches are everywhere.

[simon_doctor]

A sympathetic nod. "And how long has it been since your last dose of morpha?"

[mr_gaeta]

"Um..."

He thinks.

"Maybe thirty-six hours? A little more than? I asked for some a couple hours before the..."

Gaeta still can't quite bring himself to say it so baldly: execution. Instead, he waves a hand vaguely.

[simon_doctor]

"Well," he says, "the good news is, that means I can give you something else for the pain right away. -- If you'd care to come to the infirmary with me?"

He has a few more questions.

[mr_gaeta]

"Okay," he says, "sure, yeah -- "

That sounds promising. Gaeta shrugs off the blanket, draping over the back of his chair before reaching for his crutches. (Unlike the last time Simon saw him, he isn't wearing a prosthesis any longer.)

[simon_doctor]

That startles him, when he sees it.

"Do you want the hoverchair again?" he asks, doing his best to keep it a light question.

[mr_gaeta]

He shakes his head. "No, I think I'm okay."

Gaeta hefts himself upright with a grunt, taking a few beats longer than normal to steady himself. Without the blanket, his shivering's grown a little more noticeable. "Um, I'd like to talk about getting a new prosthesis sometime, though. What that'd entail and everything."

[simon_doctor]

"That shouldn't be difficult," he says. "Possibly even an improved design -- we do have the medical technology of several worlds to draw on."

That shivering doesn't confirm his current suspicion, but it's another point of evidence to support it.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta's smile returns, barely hesitant at all.

"Gods, I'd just settle for one that -- " another small grunt as he starts walking, " -- fits properly and doesn't aggravate anything."

[simon_doctor]

... and if that would be an improvement over his last one, then an improvement is definitely in order.

He follows along at Gaeta's side, matching his pace to the other man's.

[mr_gaeta]

He moves carefully, slowly, like walking on glass. Every so often, Gaeta has to pause for a second or two to regain his equilibrium.

...And as if he needed further confirmation he was getting sick, now his nose is starting to run. He sniffles futilely a couple of times as they round the corner to the infirmary.

[simon_doctor]

Simon digs in his pocket and produces a handkerchief. "Do you need ...?"

[mr_gaeta]

"...Yeah." Chagrined. "Thanks. Sorry."

He shifts his weight long enough to accept the handkerchief, wiping his nose. Actually blowing it will probably have to wait until he's sitting down.

[simon_doctor]

"It's all right," he says quietly, stepping ahead to open the infirmary door.

There's an examination bed quite close to the door; he gestures toward that one.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta hobbles over, drops onto the bed with a sigh of relief, and shucks off his crutches to lean them against the wall. That done, he unfolds the handkerchief again.

Honk, goes his nose.

[simon_doctor]

"So up until now," conversationally, as he circles to the counter and selects a few items, "you've been getting enough morpha to keep the pain under control?"

[mr_gaeta]

"Yes," he says, a little muffled as he finishes wiping his nose. "One dose maybe every...eight or ten hours."

[simon_doctor]

"What size dose?" His tone's still light as he turns back to Gaeta with a blood test unit in one hand.

[mr_gaeta]

He makes an apologetic face.

"I don't remember," he admits. "Whatever the standard dose in one syringe was."

[simon_doctor]

"Could you show me about how big the syringes were? I just want to get an idea of the regular dosage you were taking."

[mr_gaeta]

"Maybe..."

Quickly, Gaeta wipes his nose again, then holds up two fingers the appropriate distance apart.

[simon_doctor]

"And ... say, about as big around as your thumb? Bigger? -- Stretch out your arm and make a fist, please," he adds, indicating the blood test unit.

[mr_gaeta]

"That sounds about right, yeah."

Obediently, Gaeta holds out his right arm and makes a fist. His left arm stays tucked close.