Hospital Europeen Georges Pompidou

[The Exodus]

Father Maurice Mowbray

How do you think she is? Maurice thought, mentally kicking himself. Mademoiselle Cheuvront was in the hospital for an attempted suicide. She was probably hurting—physically, emotionally, spiritually. Asking might not have been so welcome. It had seemed like the polite, normal thing to say. It was what Maurice said on hospital visits to the elderly, to the sick. And not just out of habit; he found himself fascinated by people. Their inner lives, their outer lives. It was why he wasn’t a cloistered monk, praying away the days in silence and solitude. Not that many monks did that anymore, either.

But maybe asking something normal is what Mademoiselle Cheuvront could use right now…

"... You... You're not Father Gasteau..." Mademoiselle Cheuvront said.

Maurice blinked, surprised, as Mademoiselle Cheuvront flushed a deep rose color. She looked away from him and while her eyes were averted, Maurice allowed himself a smile.

"Pardonnez-moi, Père... That was rude of me..."

“Not at all,” he said, drawing nearer to the hospital bed, coming to stand beside the sandy-haired young man who surely must have been the one to speak earlier. “It was—and is—true. I’m not Father Gasteau. I can send for him, though, if you’d prefer.”

He doubted very much that that was the case. He looked over at the young man, who was either a brother or a lover, given how close and protective his positioning was towards Mademoiselle Cheuvront. Maurice guessed the latter; the boy looked nothing like either of the Cheuvronts present.

“I don’t think I caught your name,” Maurice said to him, while Mademoiselle Cheuvront collected herself.

[blueeyeddevil]

Wes Harlow

Wes was having a hard time figuring out why a priest was coming to visit. How exactly could a priest help in a time like this? He didn't have much experience in religion, believing that a priest's job was to give sermons on Sunday and hear confessions the rest of the week. Amorette and her mother were devoutly Catholic though, so it really shouldn't have surprised him that they were seeking help in these hard times from the Church.

Amorette's mother attempted to explain it to him as she went to the door to answer it. “Because...During times of… When someone we love is…" The poor woman already looked near tears, but Wes let her continue. “You see...The Church provides guidance and support when… well. During times like this.”

She opened the door and kindly looking older man stepped in, grasping Amorette's mother's hand warmly. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Madame,” he said. “Father Maurice Mowbray, from the Sacre Coeur. A pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances.” he said, is eyes landing on Amorette now.

Wes didn't know much about religion but he knew how the Catholic church viewed suicide. He wasn't going to just stand aside and let the man berate Amorette and make her feel worse than he was sure she already did. He stood protectively at her side and held her hand, eying the priest with suspicion, ready to make him leave at the first sign of something upsetting Amorette.

"And you must be Amorette. How are you, mademoiselle?" the man said and Amorette looked confused.

"... You... You're not Father Gasteau..." she said before blushing. "Pardonnez-moi, Père... That was rude of me..."

Wes caught the small smile from the priest though Amorette was looking away. “Not at all,” the man assured her kindly, coming to stand next to him. “It was—and is—true. I’m not Father Gasteau. I can send for him, though, if you’d prefer.”

The man's gaze met his ow and Wes shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck in nervous habit. “I don’t think I caught your name,” he said.

Slowly Wes extended a hand to shake with the older man. "Wes Harlow...I'm her boyfriend," he said. "It's nice to meet you, Father. Thank you for coming..." There was a skeptical note in his voice. He still wasn't sure about this man...he'd have to see how it went when they got into the main part of the visit.

[The Exodus]

OOC: Tristange! BIC:

Tristan Vidal

When he hit the ground, Tristan’s first thought was that he was going to be massively late to work and he wouldn’t even have a finished mural to show for it. He looked up at the footbridge he’d been balanced on moments ago. Streaks of red, yellow, and orange paint made a half-formed flower; Solange probably wouldn’t even notice it on her way into work. Some boyfriends had deliveries of real flowers brought into their girlfriend’s offices and some painted them on the sides of buildings. Tristan had been doing this for the last few weeks. Strategically placing sunset roses along Solange’s drive into work; his goal was to get to twelve. This was rose number six. Or, well, five-and-a-half, looking at it.

Tristan groaned and tried to prop himself up. A shock of pain shot up his left arm. He winced and pulled his left arm close to his chest. He cradled it for a long moment. And then he got back up and tried to climb back to the top of the footbridge. But every time he tried to use his left hand, Tristan was sent reeling with pain. If he didn’t know any better, he would have said that he’d broken his arm.

But that couldn’t be right. Tristan knew what a broken arm felt like; this wasn’t it. But he couldn’t use his arm, either. Even trying to wiggle his fingers erupted in pain. He stood and left his art supplies on the side of the bridge. Driving his new hearse one-handed had been a challenge; parking it in the ER garage a nightmare. It sat diagonally, taking up two or three spaces, but Tristan couldn’t really afford to worry about that. When he was finally given a patient packet to fill out, he had a whole different set of worries. Holding the clipboard as he wrote. Not revealing that he’d been painting a mural without a license. Figuring out who to put down as his emergency contact.

He pinned the clipboard to his lap with his left elbow. He wrote that he “fell” and didn’t elaborate on “cause of injury”. And then he scribbled Solange’s cell phone number as his emergency contact and hoped she wouldn’t mind.

“You fell?” the nurse asked when she was taking Tristan’s blood pressure. “From what height?”

“Dunno.”

“Well, what were you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Have you had any thoughts of suicide or self-harm, sir?”

Tristan looked at her like she’d grown an extra head.

“No!” he said, wincing when the blood pressure machine went tight on his arm. “I fell.”

“And you feel safe at home? In your relationship?” the nurse continued, punching words or numbers into the computer.

That question almost always got Tristan’s hackles up; more now than ever, now that he was in a happy relationship.

“Yes! Look. I really did fall down. Gravity does that sometimes.”

The nurse made a tight noise and stood up. Tristan wasn’t lying, but his answer clearly wasn’t satisfactory, since it gave no indication of why a twenty-eight year old in otherwise perfect health would need an ER doctor’s care. He supposed he must have looked ridiculous. He could feel bruises blooming on his back – underneath his now torn suit jacket and his sweaty, paint-stained dress shirt. His long hair hung limply around his face and the peevish tone he’d taken on was less employed-and-responsible-adult than it should have been.

“The doctor will be in momentarily,” the nurse said as she left.

Tristan sat alone in the very white, very clean hospital room. The gleaming medical instruments hanging from the wall looked vaguely familiar to him. They weren’t the same as those in his embalming room, but they were reminiscent of his tools. That one would have a light on it; that one must have been for the limbic system. It put him a little more at ease.

But he still gave a start when the door to the hospital room opened.

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

She had been getting really worried about Tristan. He was almost always there before her, taking great pride in preparing for the day and making sure everything ran smoothly. She knew something had to be wrong when she got there and there was no sign of him. Her first thought was perhaps he was working on another rose and lost track of time. The roses he'd painted along the route from her apartment to work were certainly the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her. But as an hour went by after opening and there was still no word from him, she worried that perhaps the murals had gotten him in more trouble than they were really worth. She didn't want him spending time in jail because of her!

She had just gotten the resolve to call him a third time (neither of the other times had gotten an answer) when her phone suddenly rang. The number was not Tristan's though. Upon answering, a woman introduced herself as a nurse at the hospital. Apparently Tristan had come in earlier with injuries and as she was listed as his emergency contact, they needed her to come in and fill out paperwork and be there to take him home. Her mind was still reeling a bit so she simply listened and it didn't quite occur to her to ask what had happened. Again, worst case scenarios were running through her head and she was imaging him with broken limbs or beaten up in a mugging or something.

She hurried and rescheduled any appointments for the day. The only services were later this evening and hopefully they would get this taken care of long before then. She locked up and drove quickly to the hospital where she explained she was here for Tristan Vidal. The nurse at the desk nodded and pointed her to the direction of the room where he was being taken care of. Still a little anxious she found the room number and pushed the door open. She saw Tristan sitting there on the exam table, looking tired and disheveled but essentially just fine.

She gave him a relieved smile as she stepped inside, door falling shut behind her. She went and put her arms around his neck and held tight to him for a long moment, burying her face in his shoulder. She pulled back and tucked his hair behind his ear before giving him a lingering kiss. "Don't you dare scare me like that again," she commanded, though softly, hitting his shoulder weakly. "You had me worried sick when you didn't show up at work today! What on earth happened?!" Her blue eyes searched his as she waited for an answer.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

A smile crept onto Tristan’s face when he realized that the person at the door was Solange. For two seconds, worry etched itself over her features, but it melted away. Solange shut the door behind herself as she stepped into the room. Fluidly – wordlessly – she crossed the room to him and wrapped her arms around him. Tristan wrapped his good arm around Solange’s waist and when her head nestled into the crook of his shoulder, he kissed her shiny, dark hair. She lifted her head and tucked Tristan’s limp hair behind his ear. Then she kissed his lips in a way that made Tristan forget for a moment that he was injured.

She swiftly reminded him by swatting his arm. Tristan flinched.

"Don't you dare scare me like that again," she said firmly. "You had me worried sick when you didn't show up at work today! What on earth happened?!"

“I got into a fight with gravity and gravity won,” Tristan said, smiling over at her.

Tristan spent so much time scaling bridges and climbing up the side of things in the dark that it was a wonder he hadn’t yet broken all the bones in his body. He’d had bones broken before; this wasn’t a broken wrist. As if to prove that to himself, Tristan tried to move his left arm. He grimaced.

“It was bound to happen eventually,” he said. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

She felt better now with her arms around him and his kiss on her lips. Now that she she was sure he was okay the adrenaline was fading now and she was starting to relax. Her shoulders sagged with relief and she released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. But now she wanted an answer. What on earth had he done that landed him in the hospital?! With a cuff on the shoulder she demanded that he never do that to her again and that he tell her what had happened to him.

The brief wince seemed to show that maybe he wasn't as fine as it seemed. Guilt flooded through her now. She really should have hit him, even lightly, until she knew what the problem.

“I got into a fight with gravity and gravity won,” he explained a bit vaguely and she shot him a look to say that wasn't any kind of answer at all! “It was bound to happen eventually,” he continued. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

She shook her head, smiling tenderly. She placed a hand to his cheek, fingers brushing lightly over his face. "I'm your girlfriend," she stated matter of factly as if that explained her worrying. "You are going to have to get use to the fact that there is someone, namely me, who is going to get scared when stuff like this happens!"

She really looked at him now and noticed the streaks of red and yellow all over his clothes and hands. Pieces started to click together for her now. He'd been painting another rose for her and gotten hurt as a result! He must have been painting it some where high up and fallen off the ladder...guilt plagued her again.

"Oh, Tristan..." she murmured, looking at him a bit sadly. "You got hurt painting one of my murals, didn't you?" She found herself torn between tears and anger. She wasn't quite sure what either of them were aimed at, really. "Darling, you know how much I love those murals. But they aren't worth you getting hurt." She looked at him firmly. "You said yourself it was bound to happen! You knew you could get hurt and you did it anyway," she said a bit frustratedly.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange smiled over at Tristan in a way that made him feel even sorrier for worrying her. Her hand was warm and soft against Tristan’s cheek and he shut his eyes.

"I'm your girlfriend," she said. It was her no-nonsense voice and it made Tristan open his eyes instinctively. That tone always meant “Pay attention”. "You are going to have to get used to the fact that there is someone, namely me, who is going to get scared when stuff like this happens!"

He nodded, but his smile went a little cockeyed. He wasn’t used to anyone worrying about him like this. He wasn’t used to worrying about anyone the way he worried about Solange, either. He thought back to when she’d gotten sick – the pang of concern that pierced his gut when she started coughing. He’d just put Solange through that. Needlessly. And yet, despite the guilt swimming around somewhere in Tristan’s mind, he couldn’t help but feel happy. Solange was scared for him. It would take getting used to, but somehow, Tristan didn’t think he’d mind getting used to it.

“Sorry,” he said again, but this time he was grinning.

Solange didn’t meet his eyes, though. Instead, she seemed to scrutinize his clothes and his hands. A puzzled frown darkened her features and then, realization.

"Oh, Tristan..." she said, sounding sad. She met his eyes and there was a flicker of something in the corner. Tristan couldn’t tell if Solange was about to start crying or yelling. He went rigid, bracing himself for whatever she did. "You got hurt painting one of my murals, didn't you?”

“Not so loud,” Tristan muttered. “I don’t want the hospital staff to think I was ‘defacing public property’ or something. They’re already half convinced I jumped.”

“Darling, you know how much I love those murals,” Solange continued, a little quieter but not exactly whispering, either. “But they aren't worth you getting hurt." She looked at him firmly. "You said yourself it was bound to happen! You knew you could get hurt and you did it anyway."

“Of course I did it anyways. And I promise you, next week, I’ll be out there painting you another one. I’ll just be more careful next week.”

Tristan shook his head and sighed. Next week, he’d actually talk to Torben about getting that stupid artist’s license, so that painting Solange’s roses was considered “public art” as opposed to “vandalism”. He’d been meaning to do that for a while; maybe this was just the wake-up call to spur Tristan into action. He looked over at his bum wrist. And then he looked back over at Solange.

“Still can’t believe you actually drove out here to check on me,” he said quietly. “I should have asked before putting you down as my emergency contact…”

It had been a reactionary and impulsive thing to do, especially since it was something that should have been discussed ahead of time. Truthfully, Tristan had done it without thinking about the implications of scribbling Solange’s name and number down. All he’d thought was that Solange was the one person he’d want around if something went wrong. He certainly hadn’t thought the hospital would call her for a messed up wrist. Because unless Solange was psychic, they’d called her.

There was a sharp knock on the door, signaling the doctor’s arrival. When the door opened, there was a man in crisp lab coat standing there.

“I hear you had a nasty fall, Mr. Vidal,” the doctor said. “Doctor Janvier. Radiology wants to get some x-rays on that wrist of yours.”

“It’s not broken,” Tristan said. “I’ve broken it before and it’s really not that bad.”

But the doctor wasn’t listening. Instead, Dr. Janvier was shaking hands with Solange and introducing himself.

“A pleasure, mademoiselle. And you are?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

She could tell from the look in his eyes that Tristan didn't seem to be taking this nearly as seriously as she was. She was not about to let her boyfriend go around getting hurt and doing dangerous stuff all in the name of doing something romantic for her. She cared about him too much let him risk injury like that. She accused him of knowing exactly how dangerous it was and then going ahead and doing it anyway.

“Of course I did it anyways. And I promise you, next week, I’ll be out there painting you another one. I’ll just be more careful next week.” he insisted.

Whatever protests she had been coming up with suddenly died on her lips. Really it was rather...sexy. Reckless, certainly, but his careless attitude was surprisingly attractive. Instead, all she could do was respond to the last part of his statement.

"You'd better be more careful," she said firmly, trying to save face a bit. "I already told you not to scare me like that again. "

“Still can’t believe you actually drove out here to check on me,” he told her quietly. “I should have asked before putting you down as my emergency contact…”

She sighed and shook her head, sitting a chair that was beside the exam table. She reached out and took his hand; the one he'd used to hug her back with and the one on the side she hadn't swatted, trusting it was his uninjured one.

"I'm glad you did. And of course I came to check on you! I care about you, Tristan," she said softly. "Though I think now we might be even. I had to move some appointments around to be able to come....we really have to stop doing that." She wrinkled her nose and hoped he wouldn't be too upset.

A moment later the door opened again and this time the doctor stepped in. “I hear you had a nasty fall, Mr. Vidal, he said in a friendly voice. “Doctor Janvier. Radiology wants to get some x-rays on that wrist of yours.”

“It’s not broken,” Tristan insisted. “I’ve broken it before and it’s really not that bad.”

However the doctor had turned to address her now. “A pleasure, mademoiselle. And you are?” he asked.

She shook his hand and smiled. "Solange de Grace...his girlfriend," she introduced herself. " And I agree. I do think its a good idea to have his wrist checked out. We want to completely sure it isn't broken." She gave Tristan a look to she hoped would convince him to go along with everything. He still needed that wrist for work, after all.

[The Exodus]

OOC: Didn’t get a chance to tell you last night (it’ll no doubt be tomorrow when you read this), but LOVED the post. BIC:

Tristan Vidal

Solange confessed to moving a few appointments around. She didn’t just “care” about him; she’d dropped everything to check on him. This was where dating your secretary got messy; Tristan knew that he should have been crunching numbers and worrying about damage control. Instead, he felt lighthearted and grateful. He’d worry about office politics and policy later. Right now, Tristan was just happy to have his girlfriend sitting with him. She held his hand – his good hand – and it occurred to Tristan that this was the first time anyone had sat with him in a hospital out of affection. He looked over at Solange, unsure how to verbalize his gratitude.

He’d find a way to show her. Maybe in the next mural.

Of course the moment was snapped clean in half when the doctor bustled in and insisted that Tristan needed x-rays, ignoring him and greeting Solange in an absent-minded sort of way. Solange introduced herself.

“And I agree,” she said, making Tristan groan. “I do think it’s a good idea to have his wrist checked out. We want to completely sure it isn't broken."

Tristan thought about protesting, but he’d never in his life won an argument with Solange. Now wouldn’t be anything different. He looked over at her and there was something in her eyes that told him that not only would he lose this argument if he tried to start it, but also that Solange was looking out for his best interests. He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.

“I’m sure it isn’t broken,” he said to her. “But if you think x-rays are a good idea…”

“Excellent. Let me write your referral and send you down,” Dr. Janvier said, turning to the computer and printing out a prescription and referral form. He signed it and handed it to Solange, who still had a free hand. “Radiology is on the lower level, west wing. I’ve also written you a prescription for Tylenol Codeine, for the pain.”

Tristan bit his tongue. He knew the lower level of the hospital well; it was also home to the morgue and the dining hall. He didn’t know why those three things always seemed to be in the basement of hospitals: big, x-ray and CT machines, dead people, and food. It was like hospital architects wanted to hide those things from view. And he really didn’t want to take Codeine anything. The last thing he needed was to be loopy at work.

“Thanks,” he said as Dr. Janvier ushered them into the corridor. The doctor wandered off and left them alone. Tristan looked over at Solange. “We’re on the east side of the hospital right now… We should cut across before going downstairs.”

He knew too well that they’d run into people he knew if they went downstairs now; morgue attendants who would try to tempt him into working. And Solange’s patience probably wouldn’t hold if he got excited about checking on his next “client”. He flexed his left fingers, testing to see if he really would need x-rays and pills. Tristan pulled a face, holding back a gasp. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that.

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Honestly, what was it about men that made them so stubborn about refusing help? Either they were refusing to ask for directions, or insisting they could put together something without the instructions, or trying to pretend like they weren't really as injured as they were and didn't need to see a doctor. That just so happened to be her boyfriend this time. She waited for him to argue against the x-rays again, preparing herself for a battle of sorts. But she was surprised when he simply gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’m sure it isn’t broken,” he said. “But if you think x-rays are a good idea…”

She simply smiled and nodded with satisfaction. He'd be grateful if it turned out there was a hairline fracture like she suspected. “Excellent. Let me write your referral and send you down,” the doctor said and printed some stuff out before handing it to her. “Radiology is on the lower level, west wing. I’ve also written you a prescription for Tylenol Codeine, for the pain.”

She felt Tristan stiffen at her side, but didn't press the matter. A moment later they followed the doctor out into the corridor. “Thanks,” he called back to the doctor before turning back to her. “We’re on the east side of the hospital right now… We should cut across before going downstairs.”

She nodded and they walked hand in hand towards the elevator. They stood there waiting for it for a moment and glanced over to see him flexing his injured hand and wincing. She swatted his arm again, this time his good side.

"Trist, stop that!" she scolded lightly. "You could have a hairline fracture and you're just making it worse by doing that!" She looked at him knowingly. "It hurt though, didn't it? That is exactly why we need to get you x-rays." She paused for a moment and blinked before shaking her head. "Oh God, I'm turning into my grandmother," she groaned, looking at him with a teasing purse to her lips. "See what you did!" she accused jokingly.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange smacked Tristan’s arm for probably the hundredth time that day. He jerked sharply to the left, away from her hand and looked at her with exasperated surprise. It was his good side, but it wouldn’t be for much longer if she kept hitting him.

"Trist, stop that!" she said. The nickname was new – nice – and it made him a little less jittery. Still, Tristan peered down at her, waiting for her hand to fly out again. "You could have a hairline fracture and you're just making it worse by doing that!"

“It’s not broken,” Tristan said firmly. It had been broken before – more than once – and it didn’t feel like a break. Not even a hairline fracture. It hurt like a b*tch, but--

"It hurt though, didn't it?” Solange said in a familiar, knowing tone. Tristan wondered if she was a mind-reader or if his brave face had fallen apart quickly. He nodded. “That is exactly why we need to get you x-rays."

“Yes, ma’am,” Tristan said glumly. She was right. She was always right. How did she do that?

"Oh God, I'm turning into my grandmother," Solange grumbled. Then, pursing her lips in a way that was eerily reminiscent of Jacqui, she said, "See what you did!"

The elevator gave a telltale “ding” and Tristan and Solange stepped inside.

“Please don’t turn into your grandmother,” Tristan said with a wry smile. “I’d much rather date Solange de Grace.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Her grandmother had been an incredible woman. She was strong and fearless and and certainly didn't take any crap from those around her. And when it had come to raising her, her grandmother had always taken on that 'I know best' sort of tone that she was using with Tristan right now. It was the kind of tone that suited her grandmother but definitely not a 22 year old talking to her boyfriend like she was. It was more than a little embarrassing and she tried to jokingly play it off like dealing with Tristan was turning her old before her time, but she knew better. If anything, he brought out a more relaxed version of the person she'd become since her grandmother passed.

“Please don’t turn into your grandmother,” Tristan said with a wry grin that gave her the urge to poke him in the ribs, but also smile right back. “I’d much rather date Solange de Grace.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed softly as they both stepped onto the elevator. She pressed the button for the bottom floor. "Well good...you're kind of stuck with me right now," she teased lightly, though threaded her fingers through his. It was nice to act like a normal 22 with a boyfriend would for once. Tristan gave her that.

The elevators opened and she tug him in the direction of the radiologist office. She bit back a grin as they handed the form to the front desk and took a seat to wait for the radiologist. "I still say there is at least a hairline fracture. Twenty bucks says I'm right," she said with a challenge in her voice, smiling at him.

Comfortable and easy...she wouldn't have it any other way.

END SCENE