New Orleans General Hospital ~Open~

[Mercedes Rowe]

Mercedes had forgotten what day it was. She had been on a 24 hour work schedule. Whenever the hospital was slow she tried to snag a nap, which was what she was currently doing when her pager buzzed to life on her hip. She sat up. Her Asian looking eyes sagged as she looked down at her watch.

"Four in the freakin' morning. Someone better be dying," she groaned.

She hopped off of the gurney that the hospital staff kept in one of the storage rooms to allow the doctors or residents get some sleep that had been scheduled for the long shift. Mercy didn't like to be pulled this thin. She hadn't had any oops with shifting yet, but she was afraid being under this much pressure might cause it. She didn't want that to happen.

She stepped out of the storage room and was hit with brightness. Like many hospitals everything was clean, white, and bright. She squint her eyes and looked down at the pager that was attached to her blue scrub pants. The number was for the emergency room. Grabbing a phone on a nearby wall she dialed the number. The second ring a male's voice picked up.

Her face paled as she listened to the grueling details. Emergency services brought in a child that was dying, severely marred. She hung up the phone, unsure if she could handle this type of situation, but she knew that this could and would happen. How many times had she spoken with her self to ensure she understood the consequences of becoming a doctor? Way too many. It was time to own up and be the strong individual she had become.

She ran through the hallways, faster than most, but she kept it at a minimum. She didn't want to scare people by her super abilities. Her hands smacked against the doors that lead into the scrub room. Scrubbing in, she stared through the picture window at the lifeless figure wrapped up on the table.

"You can do this," she encouraged her self.

And she got through it, but not without consequences. Her mind was not at all focused as she thought and remembered the day that she had been attacked as a child. She did all she could to save this girl, but she reminded her self that she couldn't save them all.

After doing all that she could for the little girl she sat hunched over in a chair just outside the emergency room doors. Her face was in her hands and her long brown hair curtained off her face. The sun was just starting to rise. It had been an arduous three hours of surgery and she was exhausted. The fresh air helped her relax, marginally.

And to think. She still had six hours to go.

"At least it isn't a full moon," she reassured her self.

[Lt. Lucien Calugarul]

Ah, the smell of exhaust and desperation. It was enough to make any foreigner want to give up the ghost and throw himself head first into traffic. Then again, that would probably only serve to earn him a wired-shut jaw and a really pissed off disposition.

Not that he wasn’t already eternally angry. But it was his cross to bear; he wouldn’t subject the thing to an impressionable intern.

It was with these thoughts that Lieutenant Lucien Calugarul, ex-Romani Army Captain, ex-mercenary and 'Interrogation Specialist' for a certain nonexistant FBI task force, found himself wandering down the early morning street. The sun was just beginning to peek out from behind its blanket of clouds, and the slurred songs of summer birds began to drown out the last night’s quiet. It was his favorite time of day; when yesterday and tomorrow blurred into one, sunlight-dazzling event of rebirth. It was cold enough to remind him of his home in Romania, and a time when dreams and reality mixed, ideas becoming possibilities…

And Du, now he’d gone from utter depression, to sounding like a romantic poet. He really needed to get out more.

Oh yeah, and he needed to actually find an hour of his life that wasn’t filled with death, destruction…or drunken, weaving, bleeding homeless men, like the one who proceeded to walk right smack into his chest. Thank you, God, for this bountiful blessing. Now he needed a shower and a tetanus shot.

“Sir, are you alright?” He asked, catching the man as he stumbled over his torn pants. “You need hospital.”

“Nah, nah, man,” The guy was obviously as drunk as he smelled. Du, now he really did feel like he was back in his home country, fighting the good fight with the rest of his Romani Army brothers. “I’m good. Just goin’ home.”

Yeah, to a box in an alleyway where he could bleed to death. But what the hell did he care? He had enough problems, most of them concerning an old friend and her trigger-happy tendencies. He’d been up almost all night, being disturbed by memories and bad dreams, and what he needed was a nice canned meal and some sleep. He did NOT need to escort a man who smelled like dead things to the hospital nearby. With his luck, the poor guy would die on the way, and he’d be put into one of the American prisons…who had nothing on the prisons of his country, but his Commander would not be pleased to find one of her soldiers needing bail.

But did that stop him? Of course not, because he was a freaking masochist. Du.

“You need hospital.” He said again, more firmly this time. Despite the older man’s protests- both verbal and physical- he proceeded to half lead, half frog-march the man toward the Emergency Room doors.

Once there, he was again tempted to leave. Just drop the now whimpering man into a chair and be on his not-so-merry way. Maybe it was that eternal urge to repent that had him growling for a doctor until one young man in a white coat came forward? That little spark of conscience that just refused to give it up and die? Whatever the reason, the next three hours that could have been spent in a half-doze back at his apartment had become a mission to help a drunken man with blood on his forehead.

Oh, whoop-dee-doo, somebody give him a medal. This is what happened when he didn’t have his fellow soldiers around to keep his butt in line; he actually started to give a crap. No good interrogator could have that, now could they? But his mission was done, so he could go back to being a cold bastard. Wonderful.

Without a thank-you, the homeless man was wheeled away, and Lucien turned to exit the hospital. He had blood on his shirt and dirt smudging his pants, but all he could feel was that damn cold. Ah, the familiar chill of locking emotions away; how…invigorating.

However, they didn’t seem to rise fast enough for that damn conscience. Before he could make it far enough away from civilization to get back into character, he caught sight of a woman sitting outside of the ER doors. There was a pained expression on her face; familiar, in that he’d seen it in the mirror a couple hundred times himself. With a little sigh- Du, he hoped that none of his team found out about his ‘knight in shining armor by night’ streak- he moved over to where the woman sat, making sure to make enough noise so as not to startle her.

“You are alright, Miss?” His accent was thick tonight, he noticed with an inward frown. It tended to do that when he hadn’t slept in a while. Clearing his throat, he nodded toward the hospital doors. “You need help from hospital?”

[Mercedes Rowe]

It was early enough that the emergency room doors didn't open all that much. However, that didn't bring Mercedes up to see who was coming and going. She really didn't want to know if it was someone else that she had to help recover. It wasn't all too often, either, that she got to have a distressing moment to her self. The hours she put in this place were ridiculous, but she loved what she did. There was a feeling of worth when helping those that needed it, so she rarely liked to complain.

She couldn't deny that a big reason she decided to do this was because of hear near death run-in as a child. The doctors had saved her life. Their selfless care had helped to mold her into the person she was today. She always wondered what they would have thought if they had known in saving her they had also helped in creating a monster. If she had died there would have been one less werewolf in the world. But, as a lover of life, she was happy to be here, and she was very happy to try and help people.

The quiet whoosh of the electronic doors seemed busier this morning than usual. She was silently having an emotional moment to her self when a man approached. Her hazel eyes lifted to the man in question. He was speaking in a heavy accent. From what she could see in the dim light he looked attractive, and his accent was sexy too. She was marked with a dumbfound expression as he asked her if she was alright. She could probably count on one hand how many times someone had asked her if she was alright. Not in her profession, she was hardly ever asked. Everyone assumed because she was the doctor that she had a cure for all ailments. In that assumption they figured she knew how to cure all her own problems as well, but she didn't, not mentally anyway.

Furrowing her brow, she glanced back at the doors then to the man in question. "Me? Oh, no. I'm fine." As fine as she could be, just not fine in the mental state of mind. "Thank you."

Her hazel eyes then saw the blood on his shirt and mud on his pants, but in the darkness the mud could have been mistaken for blood. She was quickly on her feet. "Have you been hurt?"

Her left hand immediately settled on his right forearm, the other on his back as she gently ushered him back through the entrance and into the emergency room. Her voice was gentle, as well as her touch. Doctoring instincts had kicked in. She was already assuming the man had been harmed and was in shock. When would a bleeding man ever stop to ask someone if they were alright? When they were in shock, that's when. This gave her a swift kick in the butt. She shouldn't be dwelling on her past and problems that she couldn't fix. She should be worried about the future, and her future revolved around helping people as best as she could.

The man probably hadn't realized she was part of the staff at the hospital, until she stood and her white lab coat was distinguishable. Over the left breast of her coat was her name while on the right had the name of the hospital. Her eyes were filled with concern as she looked into the man's eyes to see if his pupils were dilated. It was hard to tell in the dimness outside. So, she looked more closely as she moved him into the lit entranceway.

"Do you feel faint?" She asked, followed by another question. "Do you have a friend or family I could call for you?" Most everyone liked to have someone close when they were wounded.

[Lt. Lucien Calugarul]

Well, he would give the small woman some credit: she moved faster than he thought she could.

When he had approached, he had been wary of womanly tears, or some kind of sad story about a child in the hospital. There was enough death and pain in the world that he should be immune to them all, but the urge to fix whatever was ailing this particular stranger was surprisingly strong. Was it that pixie face that had him blinking in surprise when she looked up at him? Or that light, beautiful voice that had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end? He wasn’t used to having such…sensations when around others, and he was momentarily stunned.

Of course she would choose that particular moment to drag him back into the room he’d just come from. Her touch was light, professional and he respected the strength in them. So, the sad woman was actually a sad doctor?

He definitely knew how to pry into others’ business. Now, he would earn and unwanted physical exam for his troubles.

He managed to regain his senses once they entered the hospital, the strong smell of anticeptic seeming to slap him back to reality. Before she could seat him in one of the wheelchairs at the door, he planted his feet and frowned down at her hand. Those who knew him well enough knew better than to touch him unless invited. Given that the doctor was a stranger and meant well, he would bite back the urge to shove her away. Even if the casual touch was enough to make him grimace and step backward.

Gently, as if he were afraid that he would hurt her, he lifted her hand off of his arm. “I am not wounded, doctor,” He said, slowly enunciating every word. He’d had no trouble learning the English language, but he still got a few words mixed up every now and again. The last thing he needed was to say something wrong, and have his ass sitting in a CAT scan machine for the next four hours.

“I brought a bleeding man into ER before. Is his blood, not mine,” He glanced down at his ruined clothes and frowned. It was probably a good thing that the doctor had stopped him. A big, scowling man such as himself, waltzing down the street with blood on his shirt…no, no policeman would stop him at gunpoint. Definitely not.

With a frown, he shook his head at her next few questions. His eyes flickered down to the name plate on her chest, then returned to her face. “No, I do not feel faint. I am not wounded. I helped a man off of the street. Is mistake, Doctor Rowe. I apologize for taking up your time. I will go…but you will check on the man for me? He is homeless. Had cut on his forehead. Here.”

He pointed at his brow and glanced at the doors leading into the patient ward. “Was bleeding very badly. Another doctor came to look, but I could not go with because I am not family.”

[Mercedes Rowe]

So busy in her own little world of helping others, Mercedes hadn’t realized that the blood on the man’s shirt was blood of another. She had really good intentions when she ushered him back inside. Her hazel eyes dropped down to stare at the man’s hand as he grabbed her own and lifted it off of his arm. For a human, he was surprisingly strong. Could it be that he wasn’t human? No, she didn’t smell anything else about him. That is, except for the blood that stained his shirt. That was a familiar smell.

“You’re not wounded?” She questioned the man. Her hands pulled away from him as if she had touched something hot and it had scolded her. The reason was she knew as a doctor that she was too easy to quickly lay her hands on someone and by doing so she was invading their personal space. She knew that majority of people didn’t like that space invaded unless given permission.

This poor man. He had come to the hospital to aid a homeless man in his troubles, and here Mercy was practically dragging him back inside for a check-up. “I am so sorry,” she said apologetically and sincerely. “I thought that was your blood.”

She stared at the man as he spoke of this homeless man and the cut on his forehead. He truly was noble for taking the time out of his night to bring a wounded person in. She knew there weren’t too many that would even blink an eye at a homeless person. They were treated like outcasts, instead of the human beings they were. A great compassion filled her chest for the man in front of her. Not only had he helped another man in need, but on his way out he had stopped to ask her if she was alright. This wasn’t something you saw too often.

A smiled reached her eyes. “Come with me. I’ll take you in.”

She would lead him through the doors that lead into the area that held the patients. Not knowing what the homeless man looked like she checked foreheads to find a gash. When she found her man she walked towards him. He hadn’t been helped yet, so she stepped over to wash her hands. Then she pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and stood next to the gurney. She couldn’t catch anything, but she had to follow hospital procedures.

“He’ll be fine after a few stitches,” she told the man that had followed her in.

She stepped back aside, tossing her gloves into the garbage, followed by another moment of scrubbing her hands. Then she reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a pen with a pad of paper, which was the paper she used for writing prescriptions. It had the name of the hospital then her name below that with her contact number.

“If you could write down your name and number too, I could let you know later how he is doing.”

She wasn’t secretly hitting on him. Well, maybe that wasn’t true. She was hoping to get his name and number down before he disappeared or before she was called away to help someone else.

There was something about a brooding, secretive man.

[Lt. Lucien Calugarul]

Oh, joy, he’d forgotten to let her hand go, when he’d lifted it off of her arm. Wonderful. Now he could sleep easy, with the knowledge that he could get slapped with a sexual assault case. Mark one more tally for America being very different from his home, he thought with an inner sigh. Things were so much different here; so much…more legal. Mumbling an apology, he took a step back and crossed his arms over his wide chest.

And then realized that he probably looked even more daunting. Damn, he was never good at this ‘talk to other people outside of the interrogation room’ thing. He was a soldier, not someone to say hi to at a banquet. And, given the speed at which she snatched her hand back, she’d obviously figured the fact out.

Well, he didn’t get paid to look and act like a teddy bear, after all. If she was afraid of him, it would be yet another consequence of his current lifestyle.
Yeah, THAT would help him like himself. Du, he should have let the homeless man die.

There was a grateful look on his face as he followed the doctor into the patient ward. He frowned, feeling a bit anxious as he saw so many wounded. He’d never been a fan of doctors and hospitals, given the low standards of aid tents in the field, but all of this was so…sterile. People actually got well, when they came to the hospital. It was good to know.

Seeing his new buddy the homeless man, his normally emotionless expression softened a bit. Good, so the guy hadn’t died. In fact, he looked very happy to be sitting on a comfortable bed and under the care of ‘beautiful women,’ or so he’d said. Lucien didn’t smile, but his eyes did lighten slightly.

“Is good to see you feeling better, Sir,” He said, and was rewarded with some grateful chattering from the older man. As a nurse walked in and handed him a blanket, the soldier turned to leave, giving Doctor Rowe a nod of thanks.

Before he could make his getaway, however, he found a piece of paper being held in front of him. His first instinct was to decline, as he rarely gave out contact information to anyone other than his unit or potential clients…but what could this hurt?

“Alright,” He said slowly, snagging a pen from a nearby table. With a hasty scrawl, he wrote down his name and phone number. Being a doctor, she could probably read it. “Is my name and cell phone number. I can be reached at any time. Thank you for your help, Doctor. Is good to know that the man will be ok.”

That said, he handed her the now folded piece of paper and turned to go. How nice; the doctor thinking to call him with his new friend’s status. Now, hopefully, she wasn’t about to hand that phone number out…


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((Aloha. ^_^ So, I'm not sure if you want to continue here or in another thread, but I could throw Lucien at ya again, if you want. Just lemme know. ;3 ))

[Mercedes Rowe]

Mercy was so taken aback by this man that she hated to see him leave, but this was a hospital. The only way she could keep him there was if he was wounded, which he wasn’t. Her hazel eyes were full of questions as they followed the man. He seemed genuinely pleased that the homeless man was doing well. Because of this kind characteristic she was far from afraid of him. She might have thought differently if she had met him under different circumstances, but as it was she saw him as something different than what he saw in himself.

It was good that Mercedes had such wonderfully quick reflexes. The man was about to make his leave. She would have been upset with her self later if she had let him walk away without getting a name and number. Even still, when the homeless man was well enough to leave what would her reason be to call this man? She was never good at making excuses. She was a resident, a doctor in training. They typically shot from the hip. Well, she shot from the hip, but she tried to be subtle about things when doing so.

Now that she had the slip of paper in her hands she opened the folded paper and looked down at his information. “Lucien,” she said, letting his name roll off of her tongue. It was a good name. It was strong, much like him. It particularly sounded nice coming from her lips.

“It was no problem. I’ll call you soon and keep you informed.”

Soon was probably not soon enough. But, after he had left, she used the pad of paper to fan her face. Something about that man had her feeling completely charged up and ready to go. What few moments he was with her had made her mood switch from one extreme to the next. No longer was she feeling distressed, now she was feeling excited. Excited for what the day might bring.

With a smile on her face, she shoved the paper into her pocket. This number would come in handy, hopefully. She would like to try and meet up with him again.

She turned back to the homeless man with a blissful look on her face. “Mr..?” She pulled up his chart to look for a name. “You were lucky to be found this morning by such an extraordinary person.”

And she went back to her duties in the hospital.

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((Hi~! I was having a blast! I would definitely love to continue. It wouldn’t matter to me where we continued. We could continue here, if you’d like, or somewhere else. I don’t know all the threads here, but if you knew of a place we could pop in at I’d be perfectly fine with that. ;3))