4/25/99

You say "Cha'trez? Are you free?" See, if she's gonna have to start paying you..." into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and announces "Heya' love," Tarrant sounds a bit vague, "Yeah, I'm free." Mr Humphries? Are you free? "Just a leeetle bit out of it. But free, yup. Anything I can help with?" in Tarrant's voice.

You say "*quiet chuckle* I was going to ask you the same. Are you all right?" into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and says "Yeah, m'fine. I just took some painkillers, and as has been mentioned they turn my brain to stir fry. It's an intrguing feeling. Now I feel sorry for sweet and sour chicken." in Tarrant's voice.

You say "*muffled, sputtering laugh* I am glad that you took the painkillers, though. That is very good. Can I get you anything? Some dinner, perhaps? I promise not to suggest stir fry." into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and announces "Naaaaah, s'okay. You're supposed to be resting and all. Yup." There's a quiet snicker, "Hey, what, don't you pity random ethnic food? This is abnormal?" in Tarrant's voice.

You say "I do pity random ethnic food, but it has to be somewhat more unusual than stir fry. And I am resting now, cha'trez. The Jansites ignored my request for a meeting." into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and blares "Want me to go knock on their door and poke them in the eyes?" in Tarrant's voice.

You say "Mmm. As tempting as that is, perhaps it should wait a few days, if at all--Jansites bruise easily, after all. Thank you for the offer, though, Tarrant." into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and blares "Still, if they're evil. They need bruising. Nasty people. Mean to my Corian." in Tarrant's voice.

You say "I would prefer to handle the situation myself, love." Her voice is fond. "I do appreciate the offer, though. But you sound like you should rest a bit." into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and says "Not really in the cards at the moment. But I appreciate the suggestion. It's just the drugs." in Tarrant's voice.

You say "Would you like a bit of company, then, perhaps?" into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and announces "Company's always welcome. Should I come upstairs?" in Tarrant's voice.

You say "I could come down there, if you like. You do not sound as if you should be doing too much just now." into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and announces "Sure, sounds nice, sure, yup. Good to see you. Not having to move'd be nice. I feel okay. Just loopy." in Tarrant's voice.

You say "I will be down in a moment, love. You will not have to move at all." into the communit.

[Travelspam to housing deleted.]

You knock on a door.

Tarrant calls, "I gave at the office...C'min."

You unlock the door and go into room G11.

Room G11

This room is positively tiny, hardly more than a closet, even the ceiling is low. But for all that it's a decidedly comfortable location. The walls and ceiling are painted a deep crayon blue with trim of natural colored pine. The brightly quilted bed is a small affair, but rather than pulling down from the wall it is tucked into a recess within it, a comfortable little cave. Storage is located over it, lowering the clearance to a cozy level. Set into the opposite wall is another low alcove, although this one contains an rather deep and overstuffed couch of a deep denim blue. In front of it is a somewhat battered wooden coffee table, sturdy despite its apparent age. A compact but functional kitchen area is tucked into one corner, and a bright pine door leads into a white tiled bathroom. Another corner is taken up with a benched seat and a simple table, which does double duty as a dining and work area. Most of the wall is comprised of built in cabinets, but they are cleverly built so that only the doorpulls give away their locations. The floor is of rather scarred, but brightly polished, white pine, uncovered by rug. Unsurprising really, even a small throw rug would be wall to wall carpeting in here. In what little actual wall space there is, a framed print hangs; a sepia toned picture of Ford's Theater.

Contents:

Tarrant

Obvious exits:

Out

You come in from the Housing Hub.

Corian chuckles very quietly as she comes through the door. "I fear to ask just what you gave at the office, knowing just what office that is."

Tarrant is sprawled on one end of the couch, the coffee table half tugged closer so he can let leg and knee sprawl on it. He offers a slightly snozzed but pleased wave. "To the Girl Scouts. We like their cookies."

Corian crosses to sit next to you on the couch. She doesn't ask if the cookies are made with real girl scouts, though she looks tepted to do so. Instead, she inquires, "Would you be more comfortable in bed, perhaps?" And, yes, it's an entirely honest question.

Tarrant lifts a shoulder in a vague shrug, "This's where I sat down and took the druggage. I haven't been inspired to move yet." He offers a vague grin. "Seemed worth the loopyness though this time. Would you like something to drink?"

Corian shakes her head at that, reaching for your hand. "I am not thirsty, love, but thank you for the offer. Would you like something, though? I seem somewhat more mobile than you do, just now."

Tarrant hands over the hand, squeezing your fingers. "Naaaaah, I feel fine. I can even walk and all. Just kinda shmoozing. It's nice. It's good to see you though. How're you feeling?" He shifts closer to you.

Corian moves close enough to rest her head lightly against your shoulder. "I am a bit tired, but fine other than that. I rested a bit, and chatted with Clara. Both were nice."

Tarrant shifts his arm around you, snuggling in closer with a contented sigh. "Nice drugs, wonderful Cori, life's good." He mmhmms, "Resting's good. Clara doing okay?"

Corian nods to that. "She seems to be, yes. She and Riley had dinner by the lake yesterday--neither of them arranged that, of course. But it sounds like something that they needed." Her sigh echoes yours, quiet and contented.

"Ooh, that sounds lovely. We ought to try that," Tarrant murmurs in a quietly zoned fashion. "Although we can probably arrange things ourselves. Before the evenings get too cool. Almost winter."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian nods her agreement to that. "We should," she agrees softly. "Perhaps on your birthday? That is rather soon. It would be a pleasant way to celebrate."

Tarrant's brows lower, looking somewhat confused, "Is it? Seriously?" He blinks several times more. "Ah well, time flies...Kind of wild."

Corian replies, with a faint smile, "It is a few weeks, yet. I do not know if that is your official birthday, but it is the day that John had that party for you."

Tarrant pauses a moment, chuckling softly at the recollection of said party. "The one with the neon blue silly string bomb in the cake. Yeah, I remember that. Yeah, it's the real one. He cheated, and called my -mom-. Talk about potentially terribly embarrassing situations. I don't know what my record says it is...I guess it's on my ID."

Corian nods to that, eyes glinting with humor. "Did Alik do the bomb? That seems like his style." With a soft sigh, she adds, "That was a -fun- evening. John really can throw a good party."

Tarrant shakes his head in dazed bemusement, "I honestly don't know. But considering how much he enjoyed causing things to explode, I would not be surprised." He nods thoughtfully. "I miss him. He comms occasionally, but the time difference and all..."

Corian nods her agreement, shifting an arm over you for a brief hug. "I miss him, too," she adds softly. "How was he, when you last spoke? I haven't heard from him since we all parted ways."

Tarrant sighs in a contented fashion at the hug, leaning over to kiss your cheek gently. "He's okay. Not so happy with his current assignment, but a lot of folks aren't. We all liked our -old- assignment. Still, he's intact and all, and looks okay. It's hard to talk to him, he's not in deep cover, but the lines aren't that secure to his place. So conversations have to be rather limited."

Corian nods her understanding to that. "If you can," she says, "Could you give him my greetings, next time you two speak? I really do miss him. I miss all the old group."

Tarrant nods to that request, letting his head sink back with a thunk. "I will. He misses you too. I miss them too. It was really terribly wonderful. Being part of something that ... well big. Belonging."

Corian nods her agreement to that. Expression wistful, she says, "It was wonderful. I wish... but, no, we would be able to do something like that again. The department would not do it."

Tarrant shakes his head slightly, "Probably not. At least not so far out as that. They'd want such a cabal close enough to hand to control if we chose to go rogue."

Corian nods to that, nose wrinkling. "And I do not know that I would wish to be quite so close."

"Ah well, still, it is more than most people ever get to experience. That kind of intense ... well belonging." Tarrant's accent is altogether thick, half drawled in contentment and zonedness. "With so many other folks."

Corian leans over to kiss your cheek, murmuring softly, "If you would like to sleep, cha'trez, you should. And... yes, at least we had the experience, even though it did not last quite as long as we could wish."

"I'm not really -sleepy-," Tarrant attempts to explain. "Just a bit out of it. The drugs, and my knee feeling odd, and warm, and comfortable here with you. I'm lacking basic alertness, but I really am awake. Just serve me up in a little pasteboard box with chopsticks." He mmrhms, "It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. Although I have a sneaking suspicion whoever said that first was a supercillious twitterbrain who'd never lost anything they loved."

Corian nods to that, with a faint smile. "You just sound tired, love. I'm sorry." She covers your captured hand with her free hand, lightly rubbing with her thumb, then adds, "I am not sorry that we had that time. Part of me wishes, though, that it was not quite so wonderful. Then I would not be missing it quite so much."

Tarrant's eyes sink shut, he's an alertness free zone, entirely relaxed against you and the couch. "I know how you feel. Still, there are always other wonderful things. And besides, who knows, it could happen again some day, in some form or fashion." There's a pause, "Shhh, don't tell the crazy man he's deluding himself. He likes this particular delusion."

Corian laughs very quietly at that, and frees up one hand to brush her fingertips against your cheek. "It is a beautiful delusion, my love. I wish that I could share it with you."

"I like being delusional occasionally," Tarrant murmurs with a half-amused look. "S'good for my outlook on life. Not that I need help with that just now. Life's pretty danged amazing. If the evil knee of doom'd just return to behaving, things'd be perfect."

Corian gives you another quick hug, observing, "Clara said that it would be two weeks from the surgery, and that it should hurt less. That will be very good." She pauses for a moment, then inquires, "Will you not be working for those two weeks?"

"Umm," Tarrant sounds rather sheepish, "I was working today. I guess I oughta' arrange something a little more sedentary. THough I doubt after I went tumbling head over heels in the conference room, they're any hurry to assign me to anything."

Corian shakes her head very slowly. "One would think that they would leave you alone," she murmurs, sounding a bit annoyed. Then she gives you an honest-to-goodness grin. "Want me to go knock on some doors and poke 'em in the eye."

Tarrant laughs at that, an honest and altogether amused laugh. He shifts up enough to hug you close. "Now that's a sight tempting I'll tell you that for nothing. They're decent folks most of the time, but not real patient. After that I came upstairs for the drugs. I can hide up here. It's a good place to hide."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian nestles against you, not moving away after you hug her. "It is a wonderful place to hide, light-years better than your last place. And... well, they will just have to be patient. I will inform them of this fact, if necessary." And her tone is calm, but holding a hint of stubbornness.

"S'okay love, as much as I appreciate it..." Tarrant seems disinclined to move from the closeness either. "I don't wantcha' getting in trouble with the folks downstairs. They

"S'okay love, as much as I appreciate it..." Tarrant seems disinclined to move from the closeness either. "I don't wantcha' getting in trouble with the folks downstairs. They'd probably be rude as well."

Corian shakes her head slightly, murmuring, "Cha'trez, I work with diplomats. I have had experience with rudeness. But if you would prefer that I say nothing to them, of course, I will."

Tarrant takes a long breath, simply revelling in the nearness of you. "Just don't want them getting after you. They'll wanna know why they're s'posed to listen to you and all. Rude folks. Nasty..." His words drop from Standard to his milk tongue, "Evil. Not like the people I've worked with before. Don't seem to care."

Corian replies in the same language, rather slowly. "Have you considered asking to be placed elsewhere?"

Tarrant shakes his head to the question, a decisive, if crisp negative. "Nah. Don't want to be away from you. I did put in a request they replace some of the other folks on the staff though. I guess that's backwards, isn't it? Still, I figured it couldn't hurt."

You have been here for 0 years, 7 months, and 15 days.

Corian smiles at that, but doesn't speak for a moment or two. "Today, I have been here for seven and one-half months. That leaves five and one-half months of my contract. Once that time has passed... well, I would be able to join you."

"Do you really want to?" Tarrant's question is simply curious, not cautionary in tone. "I mean after all the bizarreness here...."

Corian, after a moment, says quietly, "I wish to be with you, if that is possible. I... perhaps I am making assumptions, considering what will happen in five and a half months." Her tone goes rather hesitant at that last.

"Corian, I want you with me forever and ever. But if you don't want to join the Department, and there's no way I can transfer to where you'll be, I'll leave it without so much as a second thought." Tarrant's words are still in Millian, but they are quietly intent rather than slurred.

Corian blinks at that, and sits up to look at you, gray eyes wide and rather startled. "Tarrant... you would do that?" She sounds about as startled as she looks. "I would not ask it, of course. I... well, I was hoping to re-join the Department. My decision to leave was somewhat ill-considered. That would be much better than your departure from the Department."

"Without a second thought, love. Quests are quests, but love...that is altogether different. If I could have my wish, I'd spend the rest of my life with you love, and let anyone, even the department, just try and get in my way. As long as you'll have me, I'm yours." Tarrant nods to that, thoughtfully. "If it's something you really want, I'm hardly likely to object. Working with you has always been very satisfying for me."

Corian solwly settles back against you. "I think it is what I want," she replies slowly. "I do not wish to make the decision lightly. I will think on it some more. But... well, it will not be the same as it was, working together--even if we are placed together. After all, we often were not, when we were with the group."

"It's very much your decision, certainly," Tarrant answers softly, finally cutting up into Standard, as he realizes he's fallen out of it. Carefully he shifts his leg, very hesitant in the movement. "And one you should be in no hurry to make. Just know, whatever you decide, I'll be there."

Corian sits up a bit to watch the leg-shifting a hint of concern flickering across her face. "Thank you, cha'trez," she replies on Standard. Well, with a hint of Kashidian, of course. "That makes the decision somewhat easier."

Tarrant manages to get the leg down, although he doesn't much seem to be enjoying the process. He levers himself to his feet, leaning heavily against a cabinet to do so. He goes to rummage in the fridge for a bottle of water. "Anything I can do to help. Although it's me being selfish. I just want to be with you."

Corian gets to her feet and moves after you, manner just a bit exasperated. "Tarrant, will you please go sit down again? Please? I could have gotten that for you. And you are certainly not being selfish, the way I see it."

"S'posed t'be on my feet. Just not running and stuff. Just getting water, not a hard thing." Tarrant does head back to the couch though, not even limping the last couple of steps, but hopping them before he sinks back down.

Corian reaches for your hand once more, looking no less exasperated. "If it is hurting so much that -you- cannot walk on it, then perhaps you are doing too much. After all, you were working earlier."

"Nothing crazy though, honest. No running, no jumping." Tarrant has dropped back down into Millian, and through he settles his hand into yours, it's an absent gesture. He's all but out of it again. "Crazy day."

Corian rubs gently at your hand. "Just a meeting, then? I do not see why that warranted that annoying alarm. And... yes, the past few days have been somewhat... exciting."

"Sort of a meeting. They finally found out what happened to that probe into the Metibelis sector. Giant spiders, I kid you not." Tarrant's words slowly lose some of the slur and he starts relaxing again.

Corian does -not- yell 'BUUUGS!'. Her player thinks it, though. "Giant spiders?" she echoes quietly. "Goodness, that sounds rather disturbing."

"It was ... startling. They were in a hurry to have us all in to see it." Tarrant finally sets about attempting to re-prop up his leg. "I know it's terrible, but I hope they don't show up as delegates. I don't mind spiders as a rule, but these gave me the creeps."

Uhoh. After the first inital shock, Corian has started to consider the matter. "Do you know if they have a language?" she inquires.

"Um, yes," Tarrant can't quite restrain a quiet chuckle, although it is accompanied by a decided hiss of pain as he gets the leg back onto the coffee table. "It involves a lot of clicking."

Corian, after a brief thought about castanets, casts a look of concern at you. "Love, when did you take the pain medication?"

"About an hour before you came up," Tarrant replies quietly, not prevaricating or making snide comment.

Corian shakes her head. "And it has not nearly been twelve hours since then." She eyes the knee, as if it's going to tell her what the problem is. Or maybe it'll start singing Pisco Kneedito.

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

You sense Tarrant's knee humms absently.

Tarrant shakes his head to that, snagging his bottle of water and uncapping it. "No, it hasn't. I have to wait before I can take anything else. I shall survive."

"My point," Corian says, after giving the knee an odd look and tugging lightly at one ear, "Is that you should not be hurting that much, after such a short time. Are you sure that you did not overexert yourself?" she adds, lifting her gaze to your face.

Tarrant's knee gives you an odd look back. Tarrant himself simply shakes his head. "Not unless I vastly misunderstand the term, no. I walked quickly some, and that's it. No running, jumping, random ballet..."

Corian inquires, settling back against the couch, "Did Clara say anything about whether this should be happening?"

Tarrant shakes his head, shrugging slightly. "Last time I saw Clara was in medbay when she did the surgery. I was kind of out of it. I don't remember."

Corian seems rather at a loss, shaking her head fractionally. "It would not hurt to comm her, I suppose." She fumbles a moment for her pocketwatch, checking the time.

"Two nights running?" Is Tarrant's soft protest, before he snags another swallow of water.

Corian looks just a bit guilty at that, but, as has been noted in the past, is stubborn. "You think it is nothing, yes? Well, last night, I thought my difficulty was nothing. Appearances may deceive."

"Just don't want her to be mad's all," Tarrant replies softly. "She's a friend."

Corian sighs very quietly. "How badly does it hurt?" she inquires. "I do not think that she would be mad, though. As you say, she is a friend, and she is also a doctor."

"Pretty fiercely. Like it's burning." Tarrant replies in a strained sheepishness. "As long as she's not mad..."

"Tarrant Wilkes Czolgosz, I -swear-, do you not listen to your body? Burning is not at all good." She fumbles for her comm-unit, giving you a look of exasperated worry as she fumbles for her comm-unit. And fumbles. And fumbles some more.

"It wasn't doing that earlier, just started," Tarrant attempts to explain, although he gives it up as a lost cause.

Corian just looks at you as she finally snags her comm-unit. She believes you. Really. She's just annoyed and worried and really not at all able to talk to you just now.

You say "Clara? Do you have a moment, or should we comm down to medbay?" into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and announces "Er, that depends?" Oddly enough, the doctor sounds frightfully sheepish against a background sound of running water. "What's up?" in Clara's voice.

You say "Oh, dear. I did not catch you in the bathroom, did I? It is Tarrant--his knee is hurting. He said that the pain is burning, I did not think that sounded particularly good." into the communit.

Tarrant just sinks back into the couch, offering an apologetic look before letting his eyes close.

Your communit crackles to life and blares "Uh, no. No, it's all right. Just give me a moment to change clothing and I'll be right there. It won't take more than a moment." in Clara's voice.

Corian casts a brief smile to you, still looking rather worried, but, of course, you can't see that. At Clara's response, relief washes across her face.

You say "Thank you--I do very much appreciate it, and I hope this was not a bad time. I... er, I will have words with his knee, and instruct it to act up during the day, if it is to do so again." And then it'll sing Pisco Bandito at her." into the communit.

Tarrant in fact is all but dozing, half-out of it as he listens to the various sounds of the commed conversation flowing past him.

Your communit crackles to life and says "*sounding desperate* Where are you? No one's answering the door!" in Clara's voice.

You say "Oh, dear! I am so sorry, I should have mentioned that. We are in Tarrant's room--G11, on the second floor." into the communit.

Someone's knocking on the door. Maybe it's Clara. (If you like, you can 'reply <words>'.)

Corian calls, "Come in!"

Clara comes in from the Housing Hub.

Clara has arrived.

Clara must have been a sight running through the halls and up, then down the stairs at top speed. Jeans and t-shirt cling somewhat awkwardly to still-damp skin, and all she's managed to do is tug rather wet hair into a knot at the back of her neck. Still, the prerequisite medical bag is over her shoulder. "Okay," she breathes with an apologetic grin. "Found you."

Corian somehow manages to look relieved and worried all at once. She's perched on the couch, next to Tarrant. She takes in Clara's appearance with a hint of dismay, murmuring, "I am sorry for calling so late, Clara."

Tarrant is sprawled into a corner of the couch, mostly dozing with his bad leg propped up onto the coffee table. He murmurs a vague greeting of sorts, proof he's at least not entirely asleep. "Hiding..."

Clara waves a hand dismissively, all but skidding to her knees next to Tarrant's knee and looking phenomenally distracted. "No, that's all right. I meant it when I said you could call at anytime," she explains, already tugging her scanner out with one hand while gently probing at the knee with the other. "Tarrant, Tarrant, wake up."

Tarrant doesn't really require the words, as the hand probing the knee startles him quite awake indeed with a bitten back phrase that probably would have been quite creative and not at all polite. "Awake, I'm awake, don't do that again."

Corian remains silent as she glances between doctor and patient, wincing visibly at his reaction. She reaches for his hand, with a quiet murmur of something vague and soothing-sounding.

Clara snaps on the scanner, eyes on the readout intently before she glances up with utter abashment. "I'm so sorry," she offers, blinking, then turns back to her scanner. Maybe the wonder-gadget can scour up some information without causing pain. "When did it start to burn?"

"When I got up for water," Tarrant explains, taking Corian's hand. Thankfully he explains when that was, instead of assuming Clara just knows such things. "A few minutes ago."

Corian does not say that she told Tarrant he should not have gotten up, but instead just gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

Clara's lips move rapidly as her eyes fly over the readout before she sits back on her heels with a heavy sigh. "Give me a minute to comm home," she says quietly, stuffing the scanner back into her bag and resealing it.

"Knew she'd be mad..." Tarrant murmurs in an attempted aside to Corian, sounding decidedly mournful.

Clara says "Love? Don't wait up. I don't know when I'll be home tonight. *pause* Dinner really was wonderful, though. G'night, Greg." into her communit.

Corian shakes her head. "She does not seem mad, cha'trez," she reassures quietly, though there's more than a little bit of worry in her gray eyes. She glances back to Clara, not asking, just waiting.

Clara's communit crackles to life and says "Love... hon." in Riley's voice.

Clara reshoulders the medical bag and climbs to her feet with a warm smile, shaking her head. "I'm not mad, I promise." The comm still gets a wistful look before she puts aside that thought and glances about. "Is the wheelchair up in your quarters, Corian? You're going back into surgery, Tarrant."

Corian nods, giving Tarrant's hand a quick squeeze before she gets to her feet. "It is there, yes. I can get it, it will take but a moment."

Tarrant blinks several times, rubbing at one eye in an attempt to wake up some more. "Surgery again? Oh boy...can we gag me this time?"

Clara shakes her head once, thinking for a moment, then asking, "Can you help me get him to Medbay? It's just down the hall, no reason to get a wheelchair really. Can you put weight on your good leg?" she adds to Tarrant, then grins. "No. No gags. Just take your chances."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian nods at Clara's question to her, murmuring, "Of course, yes. Of course." She pauses a beat at the mention of a gag, confusion very briefly replacing worry.

Tarrant nods to the question, carefully levering his leg off the table, using the couch to attempt to gain his feet. "Was walking on it just a couple minutes ago. It'll take my weight. Just doesn't enjoy it." He shakes his head, "Last time was embarrassing enough, with me yammering away."

Clara slips in to lever herself under Tarrant's arm and nods for Corian to do the same on the other side before starting for the door. "It's a part of surgery, my friend. I've heard all sorts of stuff in that room, you needn't worry. Very little is surprise, and nothing leaves the confines."

Corian moves to support Tarrant's other side, offering him a quick smile before she ducks under his other arm. "She did not breathe a word of it to me, cha'trez." Though her player did have asparagus for dinner...

Tarrant falls silent as his energy is turned to travel, although he nods absently. Eyes are on the ground, keeping an eye on his own stumbling steps.

[Travelspam to medbay deleted.]

Clara hesitates a moment, then tilts her head towards the hallway. "Think you can get yourself into snapscrubs, Tarrant? Or do you need help?" she asks, already mentally racing in preparation.

Corian remains next to Tarrant, helping as she can, and generally looking worried. No, she's not helping with the clothing.

Tarrant is altogether pale from the trip, and half out of it. It takes him a moment to realize he's being addressed, but he murmurs, "Can manage it on my own. Thanks."

Clara struggles the door to the changing room open and helps lead the way, then reaches up into a cabinet for the appropriate clothing as soon as she can, nodding briskly. "Okay, good enough. Corian, if he has problems, you're more than welcome to help him. I'll be in my office for a moment to change into scrubs."

Corian pauses a beat at Clara's words, valiantly fighting back a blush. It doesn't work. Clara's got popcorn, she's -got- to blush. And it really does show up well on that very-pale skin of hers. "Mm. Yes, help. If he needs help, I will be certain to help him. Mm. Helpfully. Yes."

Tarrant is sadly a little too out of it for pretty colors, although Clara gets a -decidedly- horrified look as if she has just explained she beats up on chipmunks in her spare time. "I'll be fine, fine, yup, fine," he hastily covers as he stumbles into the other room, shifting to close the door.

Clara is already gone and disappeared into her office before anyone can suggest that she brutalizes people in furry brown costumes. Several minutes later, she re-emerges in a set of pristine white scrubs and an operating apron. She strides over to offer a spare mask to Corian. "I didn't know if you wanted to stay with him or not."

Corian, waiting outside the door to the changing room and looking as if she's really hoping that Tarrant does not need her assistance, nods to Clara. "I would prefer that, yes, if I may. I wasn't certain if that was allowed."

Tarrant is gone quite a while, although he does not at any point, it may be noted, ask for any help. Not that he's entirely adverse to the concept, but because he would permanantly turn red if he did, under the circumstances. After a while, looking rather out of it, he limps from the room.

Clara nods affably at Corian, offering the mask. "Sure, just wear that over your mouth and nose and don't touch any of the instrument." She hurries into Surgery for a moment only to return wheeling out a table to intercept Tarrant. "No need to be walking farther than necessary. Up we go," she adds, moving to help.

Tarrant looks exceedingly relieved, and with the help, clambers up onto the table to lie flat. Eyes sinking shut for a moment, he just catches his breath. "Thanks."

Corian nods to Clara, then takes a moment to put on the mask, making certain that it's securely into place. She remains out of the way, watching Tarrant with no small amount of concern.

Clara slips her own mask into place and nods firmly as Tarrant settles into place before wheeling him through the double doors into the operating room. "This won't take as long as the other night, she explains, shaking out a sheet to cover the man with again except for the leg before tugging over a tray of instruments. "It's badly infected, and I need to clean it out."

Corian trails along after Clara and the amazing bewheeled Tarrant. She follows. Just to mention where she is.

Tarrant ahhs softly at the explanation, although he's a little out of it to care about anything beyond the fact that he's getting to lie down and that's all that matters to him. "Sure, gotcha'..."

"And I could tell you that your pants are on fire, and you'd say the same," Clara decides, vastly amused as she tacks the inhibitor on and sets it up back to work as a neural depressor. "He'll still be awake, but without inhibitions or pain. More like very, very drunk," she explains quietly to Corian, then turns back to snap on gloves and microgoggles before adding the laser scalpel glove.

"Sure, gotcha'," Tarrant murmurs again, certainly not -disproving- Clara's statement. As the inhibitor kicks in however he relaxes noticeably. "The owl boiling part. Are they spotted owls?"

Corian nods in answer to the explanation, taking up a spot near Tarrant's head. "We can paint the owls, cha'trez," she suggests. "You could make them paisley."

Clara is already slicing away the bandage, then back into the poor, abused knee. "Sozzled boiled paisley owls. You should paint owls on the treehouse," she suggests, little zaps and hisses coming up from her work.

"Alik would like paisley owls. He could blow them up," Tarrant murmurs, his words rather heavily slurred. "Would he blow the treehouse up then?"

Corian shakes her head, reaching as if to touch Tarrant's shoulder, then drawing back, apparently not quite sure what is allowed. "Alik will not blow up the treehouse, love," she replies softly. "I will not let him."

"Blowing up owls is generally a bad idea, anyway. Not much of a hoot at all," Clara muses, reaching for another instrument to begin cleaning out the infection bit by bit with extreme caution.

Tarrant murmurs his thanks to Corian, eyes tugging open briefly before they close again. "Just amking puns that bad cause I'm too snozzed to throw something."

Corian muffles a groan at Clara's pun, lifting her gaze briefly to the doctor. "If you remember, Tarrant, perhaps you can throw something later."

"Wait a second, I get pulled out of a perfectly good shower with m-...out of a perfectly good shower, and I'm not allowed to make puns?" Clara protests with a laugh, still intent on her work though.

"Y'can make puns, if you won't be mad." Tarrant offers in a slurred tone. "Didn't want you to be mad. It's bad to make friends mad." He mrrhrms, "Later, will throw."

Corian glances up at Clara's words about the shower, apparently trying to decide whether to feel guilty or cringe in embarrassment. Riley's her brother after all, aiee, scary mental image.

And it was so perfectly innocent, too. Sheesh, Corian must be thinking something awful to cringe. Clara's blithely unaware, though, reaching for a final instrument that makes some pretty scary scraping noises, thankfully painless, though. "I'm not mad," she promises with a grin. "You can throw whatever you want at me as soon as you're well."

"S'long's you're not mad," Tarrant's words are very vague indeed. "Used to have a lot of friends. Then they made us move. We were all happy. It was rude. Even then was bad to make friends mad. Worse now with only a few."

Corian rests a hand lightly on Tarrant's head, smoothing his hair. She murmurs something vaguely reassuring, though she doesn't say anything beyond that.

Clara sets aside the various instruments and scoops up a hypo, administering it directly into an exposed muscle before beginning to reassemble bits and parts. She glances up at Corian, eyes monsterous under the goggles and imploring. "Talk to him," she murmurs, then turns her face back to the closing. "You'd be hard pressed to anger me, my friend. Certainly never by needing my help."

Tarrant's reply to Clara is so thickly accented and heavily slurred that it's entirely incomprehensible. It's brief, whatever it is.

My, what big eyes Clara has? If the thought crosses Corian's mind, she doesn't voice it. Instead, she just nods. "There, you see, cha'trez?" she inquires quietly. "Clara is not angry, only concerned about you, as I am."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Clara cautiously recloses the various incisions, resonating the various layers down as she works, then finally resonates the final dermal layer. A soft sigh can be heard from behind her mask as she sets the instrument aside and flips her goggles up to rest on her cap and starts to strip her gloves off. "Let me get a bandage, shoot him up with more anesthetic, a massive antibiotic, and he can go home."

"Not angry's good..." Tarrant muses absently, still exceptionally out of it. "Everything's fine, fine, yeah..."

Corian agrees quietly, to Tarrant, "Everything's all right, yes, everything's fine." Glancing back to Clara, she nods. "Of course, yes, thank you. Will he be all right?"

Clara moves to a counter to prep several hypos, then returns to inject three about the recently operated knee and another at Tarrant's neck. The spent hypos get disposed of before she nods vaguely, shutting down the depressor and carefully removing it. "He should be fine, yes. The antibiotics I gave him were both intramuscular and subcutaneous. A one-two punch." She moves to resnap the pants down after rebandaging the leg and settles the sheet over it. "Where are we going?" she asks softly of Corian.

Corian considers the question for a moment or two. "My quarters would likely be easiest," she says finally. "Though it's something of a longer trip."

Tarrant tugs his eyes open as the depressor's removed, although he allows them to sink shut again shortly thereafter. He doesn't seem to object to being talked about, rather than to, instead content to be half-aware.

Clara tugs up railings along either side of the table and half smiles, finally tugging down her mask. "No, it's fine. We'll wheel him up on this, then I'll bring it back down. Let's go," she suggests, taking just a moment to divest herself of goggles and red-tinged apron.

Corian nods agreeably enough to that, reminded by the visual cue of your mask-tugging to take off her own. "An excellent idea, yes," she agrees quietly. "It is late."

[Travelspam to Corian's quarters deleted.]

Corian moves around to get the screen out of the way, so that there's nothing blocking access to the bed.

Tarrant doesn't seem to be aware of the trip at all, still altogether out of it and beyond noticing simple things like moving.

Clara pushes the table towards the bed, adjusting it up along side before crouching to adjust the controls to lower it to the same height as the bed itself. "Get the covers, Corian?" she asks softly, then peers down at Tarrant. "Hey, you're back at Corian's. Can you help me move you over onto the bed? It's just to your left."

Corian nods, heading around the bed to tug the covers down, absently taking up the extra ones as she does so, and tucking them somewhere for later putting away-age.

Tarrant manages to pull his eyes open to regard Clara blearily. He mrhrms, fumbling to move in the indicated direction.

Clara does her best to assist getting Tarrant settled before tugging the blankets over him gently and straightening. She taps the controls to raise the table to a pushable height and gives Corian a weary smile. "He'll likely sleep peacefully tonight. Is there anything else I can do?"

Corian shakes her head. "I think we should be fine, thank you. Hopefully," she adds, with a rather wry, tired smile, "We will not need to call you a third night in a row. I am very sorry about that, Clara."

Clara chuckles as she starts to back the table away from the bed. "Corian, if you need to call me, then do so. That's what I'm here for," she explains. "There's nothing to apologize. I'm glad to help." She nods at the man on the bed. "And please, any time, day or night, call me if he gets worse." She pauses at the door with another smile. "Goodnight, both of you."

Tarrant may very well already be asleep, or at the very least so out of it there's no appreciable difference. As soon as the blankets are pulled up he stills entirely, gone.

Corian murmurs a quiet thankyou, then adds, voice still at that low volume, "Good night, Clara. Sound sleep, dream sweetly."

Clara nods a silent reponse, smiled, and quietly wheels the table out the door.

Clara leaves the room.

Clara has left.

Corian, after a moment to adjust the covers and tuck away the extra blankets, ducks into the bathroom to change into something more comfortable. Returning, she regards you for a moment, then the bed, and it's size. Finally, she moves to the couch, and takes up her terminal, keying in a few messages.

Tarrant murmurs something vague as he stirs, burrowing down beneath the blankets a bit further. "Sorry," he manages comprehensibly.

Corian looks up from the machine. "It is all right, cha'trez," she replies, voice quiet and rather soothing. "It is all right, you need not apologize. Just rest."

"Gonna rest too?" Tarrant questions softly, his words in his own language, and halting even in that.

Corian nods to that, then replies, in the same, "In a few moments. I just have a few letters to write. It should not take long." Of course, she also plans on crashing on the couch for the night, but she's hardly going to say -that-.

And of course Tarrant's too trusting to think of such a thing, instead murmuring. "S'good. You need rest. And you're warm, n'I like havin' y'close." He settles down again.

Guilt, twinge, ooh ooh ow. Corian looks up from the letter-writing with a faint grimace, and shakes her head, with a quiet murmur about not wanting to risk hitting your knee. It's very quiet, though, and easily missed. Keying off the first letter, she starts on a second.

But Tarrant's got nothing better to do than listen to you after all. He likes listening to your voice. "But, I thought... Y'mean y'won't..." He cuts that off, realizing how ridiculously childishly pleading he sounds in his current unawake state.

Twist the knife a little further. Corian glances over the top of her machine, with a brief, reassuring smile. She would much rather be with you, of course, but, "Love, I am just trying to be practical--I'd rather not hurt you, after all."

Tarrant doesn't say anything, not trusting himself to be able to respond to that without sounding really obnoxious. He just blinks grayish-grin eyes at you a moment before shifting down beneath the covers, murmuring something vague.

Of course, that lack of response is somewhat worse than no response, as Corian now imagines what you aren't saying, if that makes any sense. With another small grimace, she ducks her head and goes back to her work. Keying off the second letter, she dashes off a brief third one, then shuts down the machine. That done, she moves to sit next to you on the bed. "I would rather be here with you," she says quietly, starting to sound rather tired, "But I am afraid of hurting you."

Tarrant does not sniffle. He's too dignified to sniffle. He's seventy something years old for goodness sake, he isn't going to sniffle. He shifts a hand out from the covers, beneath which he is buried, reaching to you. "Please? I do not think you could hurt me. There's enough druggage in that leg, I don't think I -can- feel anything in it."

Corian doesn't hesitate to take your hand, looking a bit grateful at the gesture. "I... if you are certain, then I will," she says finally. She releases your hand, only to reclaim it after she curls under the covers.

Tarrant shifts closer to you, as best he can with one leg drugged past response. He sighs in a decidedly relieved tone to have you close, all but radiating fuzzy ketchup. Um...no. Fuzzy contentment. He's out of it, but he has you within reach, so everything's fine. "Thank you, love. Can't thank you enough..."

Corian chuckles very quietly, though her voice has the smallest of catches to it. "You are welcome, cha'trez. I am glad to be here. Now why don't ou try to sleep?" She moves just enough to kiss your cheek, then settles closer to you, with almost painful care.

Tarrant moves to shift a posessive arm over you, snuggling in as close as you'll allow. "Sleep, yeah. You're here. You sleep too. Nobody can get us. We're safe. Better with you here. Love you more than anything, the department, life, all that's nothing. Love you best. Don't ever want you to be gone."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian will allow pretty close, though she's still rather conscious of the injured knee. "I'm here, love," she reassures softly. "I am not going anywhere, love. I'm with you, after all. Where else would I want to be. Now just try to sleep, all right? And I will do the same, I promise--I will be right here."

"Until time stops," Tarrant murmurs, his words slurred but carefully intent, and in Millian. "Until all that ever has been and ever will be has seperated one from the other. Until then will I love you, and beyond. Time destroys not love, nor can entropy, for it is greater than both. My heart, my hand, these are yours to command as you will them. If you will but let me, I will stand with you until death." Where he found the alertness to say that is -altogether- a mystery.

Corian seems just a bit startled by it as well. The adrenaline and the worry have faded somewhat, and she's warm, and she's really starting to get very tired, but your words snap her awake somewhat. There is a certain wonder to her gray eyes. She is quiet a long moment, and when she speaks, she does not ask just what drugs you were given, but instead says softly, voice a bit husky, "My love, I do not know that I can 'let' you do anything." She kisses your cheek once more, very gently, then murmurs, "Sleep, love. You need to sleep."

Tarrant sinks down into a warm curl half around you without another word. Chiefly because he hasn't the energy to say another. His breathing slows very rapidly as he gives into the gray threatening the corners of his vision and simply crashes.

Corian doesn't say anything, but watches you for quite some time before she, too, finally sleeps.

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