Morning Rounds

[Dr. Xavier Foster]

Timeframe: Morning
Date: July 1st, 2030
Place: BPRD Infirmary
Status: Xavier, Open


“No I don’t think that is acceptable. I hardly believe an continuous stitch is better than an interrupted. Do you want the dear boy’s arm to become gangrenous should he pop them? No, no, you’re not going to die, agent. Your arm won’t fall off. Well, there’s no need for that kind of language, sir. Margaret will you be a dear and find me a new suturing kit. We are going to get you fixed up, good as new agent.” With a sigh, the nurse excited the curtained off room as Dr. Foster tended to the young agent who had taken a nasty spill, lacerating his forearm on a sharp rock earlier that morning coming in from a mission. From the smell of it, a mission from the local bar.

The silver haired man of seventy years snapped on his gloves and pulled a medical tray on wheels over to the examination table where a young man, who looked no older his second eldest, sat, breathing heavily and clutching at the bloodied bandage wrapped around his arm. Xavier nudged a rolling chair with a knee closer and set a hand on the agent’s shoulder, who jumped at the contact. With a slight frown, he pulled free his penlight and clicked it on, shinning it quickly in the man’s eyes to watch his pupil dilation and his nose wrinkled when the man coughed abruptly.

Blinking, he took a step back and wiped his face with the edge of his pristine lab coat and reached for a mask and face shield. “Please, if you will lie back Agent, I’m sorry, what was your name again? Oh right, yes, yes, of course. Please lie back and lets take a look at your arm shall we? It’s no trouble, we can do everything right here.” Foster picked up a pair of medical scissors and began cutting the bandage to free up the wound and better assess it.

“There we go. Thank you Margaret, I believe I’ve got this from here.” The nurse returned with suturing kit and finished setting up before leaving as instructed to tend to others. “Lets clean this out and patch you up.” Xavier pulled a sterile length of what looked like gauze before unfolded it produce a paper blanket and tucked it under the man’s outstretched arm. He positioned the agent just so that his arm was over a small metal bowel to catch the saline solution he was going to clean out the wound. Just as he suspected, the laceration was a jagged cut, angry red and dirty. It had stopped bleeding and was still a healthy color, indicating all was well. He mused about stitching and recalculated a mattress stitch would be better, it would keep the pressure off the ragged edges and even out the healing.

Sliding the face shield into place, Xavier lowered his tall frame onto the small chair and held up a syringe filled with a clear liquid. “Now, agent. This is saline solution I’m going to use to clean out the debris. Lacerations aren’t the best place to start growing a garden. It is going to burn, but I think you have enough alcohol in your system to help dull the effects.” He held up his other hand at the agent’s stuttering denial. “Agent, never lie to your doctor when he’s holding a syringe. What you do on your own time, is your business.” The agent relaxed and let his head rest as he stared up at the ceiling. Xavier returned to his work and watching for a reaction, slowly cleaned out the wound.

“When a brain is being poisoned by alcohol,” he started, voice muffled slightly by the face mask. “It doesn’t realize it’s dying. It’s tricked into releasing endorphins to flood the system with feel good feelings while your nerves are slowly suffocated, your heart sludge’s through struggling to push the blood that is so thin, it seeps from your pores but you don’t realize it because you’ve lost all sensation and that numbing feeling you feel, is Hypothermia kicking in.”

“Doc, are you crazy?”

Xavier looked up at the agent, studying him for a moment before going back to his work. “No, I cleared mental health last week.”

[Ludmila Ilyukhin]

Dreams. Ludmila had far too many of those, and not the good kind either. As she lay in bed, sweating, blanket tangled up in her bare legs, her mind reeled in its own world of horror...

...heavy skies filled with dark clouds and black smoke. The tortured city burned with a thousand fires, and the air was filled with the neverending cacophony of gunfire. She lay at the bottom of a crater, her legs immersed in red water. The sides of the crater were thick with the grey and lifeless bodies of soldiers, their greatcoats caked with mud and dried blood. Their eyes stared at the rusalka with empty, lifeless reproach.

"T'voyu mat", she muttered, reaching for her canteen with a shaking hand. As she lifted the canteen to her lips and drank, she felt the welcoming burn of vodka running down her throat. In this hellhole, vodka was the only thing that dulled the suffering and horror. Cautiously she rolled onto her belly and crawled slowly to the edge of the crater, casting a tentative glance outside. Nothing moved among the dead. The ground was carpeted with bodies, and the partially destroyed hulks of buildings stood haggardly over the large avenue. A lone red flag, abandoned during the assault, fluttered forlornly atop the eviscerated corpse of a young soldier.

A clatter of rubble. Somebody stumbling into the shell hole. Ludmila turned around and raised her Pepesha, knowing full well that she'd expended all her bullets.

"Guten tag, junge frau", said a voice like rotting flesh. Ludmila kept her gun raised and aimed straight at the tall man who'd appeared behind her. She could clearly see the two hated "SS" runes embroidered on the man's uniform. A coal scuttle helmet sat askance on his head.

"Don't move or I'll shoot", said Ludmila, feeling her grip grow tighter. The man chuckled, and the sound of his voice made Ludmila want to run.

"You've no bullets left, fraulein", he said, "I can see it in your eyes..."

"Silence, Fascist!", snapped the rusalka. The man took a step forward, and she was able to get a good look at his face. He was incredibly pale and emaciated, and his mouth was caked with some red stuff.

It's blood, it's f**k**g blood.

"I enjoy feasting on your countrymen's flesh", grated the man, "it is a good thing that there are many of you, for I tend to grow very hungry...but dead meat isn't worth the live stuff."

The man smiled, revealing needle-like teeth.

"You look tasty, fraulein", he said before hurling himself at her.

Ludmila woke screaming. She could feel the creature's cold and clammy grasp on her and smell its stinking carrion breath. Blindly she fumbled in the darkness for a weapon she knew wasn't there, until she finally regained her senses.

"Those f**k**g dreams...", she mumbled, falling back onto her sweat-drenched bed. A quick glance at her alarm clock told her that it was 3:30 am. She knew that she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, so she got up and served herself a drink. As she drank the foul grain alcohol, she vowed to go see the doctor later. Maybe he could help her with her nightmares.


When day time came, Ludmila left her apartment and headed straight for the infirmary. Doctor Foster was a rather peculiar individual, and she'd never felt the need to go see him, so as she walked through corridors she felt slight trepidation at the thought of telling him about her dreadful nightmares. When she reached the infirmary she almost turned back, but the prospect of yet more sleepless nights made her enter.

To her relief and dread, the doctor was in. He seemed to be taking care of some drunkard who'd injured himself, and that made Ludmila grateful for the breath mints she used to mask her own boozy breath. She hesitantly approached the doctor, trying to think of a way to explain her problem. The injured drunkard saw her and spoke up:

"Hey Doc, you've got a new patient."

[Dr. Xavier Foster]

Humming ever so softly to the tune of the bunny ears, Xavier wove the black thread and tied an expert knot, snipping it close. Satisfied, he added one more, "Around the tree and through the burrow and pull tight." It was originally a poem he used to teach his eldest how to tie his shoes and it had only evolved into a made up song for the rest of his children. The concept was the same. The stool creaked as he straightened and leaned back to study the row of stitches. Scrunching his nose against the mask and face guard, he glanced briefly up at the agent sitting quietly, his gaze everywhere but his arm. He was starting to look a little queasy and the good doctor hooked a foot around the tray that held the excess bandages he planned to use and nodded toward the empty kidney shaped metal bowel.

"If you’re going to vomit, please direct it into that and away with your fresh stitches. I'd hate for you to have to deal with a staphylococcal infection." It was an almost no nonsense tone as the doctor finished the last few stitches. He looked up only when he was addressed again and set his curved needle and thread down to look over his shoulder at whom the agent was inferring to.

"Ms. Ilyukhin? Good morning." He was a little surprised to see her in his ER and he turned back to his work, picking up his scissors to snip the last stitch. "What can I do for you?" Xavier looked again, his gaze quick and precise, darting quickly to her face and the shadows beneath her eyes to the way she stood. "Ahhh,”"he said, as if he knew exactly what she wanted. "Could you give me a few more minutes to fix up our good hardworking agent here?" Foster nodded and smiled, the expression lost behind his mask.

"All right, Agent Hershel, let's get your arm wrapped and I’ll write you a prescription for antibiotics. You can take it down to the pharmacy yourself, but first I suggest you grab a cup of coffee or Mary Anne wont fill your prescription like this." Xavier reached for a roll of gauze and a sterile bandage. "I also suggest lots and lots of water. You’re severely dehydrated and if you eat anything today, it needs to be toast with a little honey on it. The sugars will help your energy level but you are in for one nasty headache."

"What about the pain?"

"Oh there's going to be plenty of pain with your headache. That’s what it’s called a headache."

"No, Doc, my arm."

"Your arm has a headache? Oh yes, I see. That’s also going to hurt. I’ll write a prescription for an analgesic, regular pain relievers wont be much use. I'm also going to speak with your supervisor and see that you're off duty for at least a week. You can't work in your state." Xavier finished wrapping the man's arm, taping it several times and unsticking his glove from the tape, he flipped his face shield up and tugged down his mask to let it rest below his chin.

"Good as new." Picking up the syringe, he dropped it into an orange sealed box on the wall and pulled of his gloves with a snap, tossing them and the dirty bandages into a nearby trash receptacle. He washed his hands as the agent stood slowly and flexed his arm gingerly. "I want you back in a week to have those removed. You don't need an appointment, just find me." Xavier pulled a pad and pen from his coat pockets and scribbled something on it, tearing the sheet off to hand it to the man. "A week. Any longer and your skin will start growing into the stitches and then your arm will have a real headache."

"Thanks, Doc." Hershel nodded his thanks, instantly regretting it and took off with the paper in hand, heading toward the pharmacy in a slow wobble.

Foster watched the man until he disappeared from sight and turned his full attention to the ghostly pale woman. "Ms. Ilyukhin." He offered his hand in a friendly shake. "Do you mind if we walk and talk?" The doctor studied her before pulling the file from the doorway and reached for his pen, clicking it to write a few notes down. "I need to get this to Margaret before she decides to scold me again." He took off walking without waiting for a reply, hoping the woman would follow. Scribbling in the folder, he turned it over to write some more and nearly ran into a cart of supplies being pushed by a nurse and he barely had enough time to pull it back to avoid a collision. Xavier, oblivious of it, continued to write and absently spoke, "How are feeling this morning, Ms. Ilyukhin?"

[Ludmila Ilyukhin]

Ludmila took the doctor's hand and shook it uncertainly. Dr. Foster was an oddball who never seemed to be quite on the same level as those around him. The rusalka had seen him a few times in the Bureau's HQ, but had never actually sought out his services.

"Do you mind if we walk and talk?", asked the doctor before reaching for a file and adding: "I need to get this to Margaret before she decides to scold me again."

Before Ludmila could answer, the doctor set off. The rusalka stared blankly after him for a moment before following.

"Not at all...", she muttered. The doctor was completely taken up by his writing, so much so that he almost knocked over a cart of medical supplies. The nurse pushing it was able to drag it back in the nick of time, but the doctor marched on, completely oblivious to his surroundings. Ludmila slowly shook her head and a small smile of disbelief and amusement crept over her lips. Finally the doctor spoke to her, almost as if he had forgotten her presence and suddenly remembered it:

"How are you feeling this morning, Ms. Ilyukhin?"

The rusalka was about to answer when a yawn of the particularly imperious and unstoppable kind took control of her mouth. Embarrassed, the rusalka nonetheless managed to keep her cool and resume:

"Very tired, doctor", she said, "I must have slept for a couple of hours last night."

A male nurse walked past Dr. Foster and Ludmila, and the rusalka clearly saw the young man glance at her missing eye. Shrugging off the irritation she felt, she added:

"I've had nightmares for years, doctor, but they seem to have gotten a lot worse lately. They feel incredibly real and they never fail to wake me up. And when I wake up, I can never get back to sleep."

Ludmila yawned again and rubbed her remaining eye, feeling it sting from lack of sleep. Every step she took with the doctor was starting to feel like a colossal effort, and all she wanted to do was sit down or, even better, lie down and sleep. The latter option, however, was out; whenever she tried to sleep in the day the same nightmares would come back to haunt her.

"Every time I go to sleep I have nightmares", she confessed, "I was hoping you could give me something to help me sleep."

[Dr. Xavier Foster]

Looking up from the folder, pen hovering above a doctor's scrawling notes that took a master’s degree in foreign languages to decipher, Xavier applied the mental brakes full force and closed the folder respectfully. He didn't click the pen a second time and slipped it into his front pocket, a dot of black already forming in the pristine white coat. Sleep was important, it rested the mind and body and allowed to recharge, he could attest to the absolute significance of rest. He had been told many times by his staff that he needed more sleep but they quickly learned the dark bags under his eyes were always present no matter the length of slumber. It was luck he managed to get what he could with a full time job and family large enough to be their own baseball team.

He folded his arms, the folder crinkling as it was tucked against his chest and with a practiced furrowed brow he stopped walking with a squeak of his shoes against the flooring, faced Ludmila and looked her over. It was nothing but a professional glimpse, taking note of the usual non human features and reached into another pocket, pulling out his penlight.

"If I may?" he asked, already clicking the light on and raised a hand to the woman's shoulder. It hovered close but he waited for permission to touch her. "If you could look straight ahead at my tie clip." He made a quick gesture to where the clip would have been if he hadn't forgotten it. Moving the light, he shone it briefly into the woman's good eye and away, bringing it back again to watch pupil dilation. "Are you suffering any headaches, Ms. Ilyukhin? Any light headedness, sluggishness, dehydration?" He tucked the light into his mouth and reached for her wrist, setting two fingers against her pulse point and turned to watch a nearby clock.

"No," he said at last, his tone even as he released his hold, only just taking the penlight from his mouth to talk. "No, that won't do at all. Sleep is vital to one's well being. Of course, I can give you something. If you'd like to come with me to my office, I can write you up something. Are you allergic to any kinds of medications, any food allergies?" Wholly aware of the prescription pad jammed in his side pocket, Xavier set his folder down on a tray of clean bedpans and brought a hand to the Rusalka's upper back to guide her gently with him and took lead to his office outside of the ER and down another hall. He walked slower, his loping gait easily losing people when he wasn't paying attention.

Coming up on his office as marked by his name and degree stenciled across the frosted window, he opened the door with a key and let him in. Flipping the light on, he opened the door fully to let Ludmila in. It was simple office, larger then a typical agent's office, the walls a soft orange. Large expansive wooden bookcases lined two walls, overflowing with medical books, manuscripts and various texts of the supernatural. On the far left wall, metal cabinets took up space filled files and various information on former and current patients. A desk sat toward the back of the room, facing the door and was piled high with paper work, a model of a human heart, a miniature scale of a troll's skeletal frame and several family photos. Tucked just under the desk was a box full of children's toys brimming to the top and spilling over. Drawings littered his walls ranging from sloppy muddy finger paintings and crayon drawn army trucks to the finer details of a colored pencil depicting a lush garden and cemetery behind the bureau. Finally what space there was left a loveseat had been crammed in with two semi matching easy chairs.

"Please, have a seat. Would you care for something to drink? I have," he paused to look what he actually had, noting the fresh tray of refreshments left by an assistant. "Coffee and ice water. I may have some leftover juice... somewhere, but it would be warm and possibly a few days old. I told my boys to take it with them, but you know four year olds." Pouring himself a cup of coffee he set it atop a stack of folders and promptly forget it as he sat down at his desk.

Xavier brushed the front of his shirt to smooth the wrinkles and a necklace of knickknacks swung heavily along his collarbone. He folded his hands before staring at Ludmila again as if waiting for her to say something. Behind him, somewhere, an old clock ticked away. "I can give you something to help you sleep," he said and his tone was kind and gentle. "But, that’s not going to help you in the long run." Xavier stood again and shrugged out of his lab coat, setting it over the back of his chair. A desk between them felt like he was trying to keep himself isolated and he walked over to one of the chairs, settling his tall lanky fame into it with a light groan.

"Getting old is for the birds." He chuckled and scrubbed a hand through his silvery locks before leaning back. "Tell me Ms. Ilyukhin? What made you join the bureau?" He winched slightly and crossed an ankle over a knee. "That sounds like a bad movie line. Forget I said that." He reached a hand for the necklace and twisted a bead between fingertips. "There are so many agents and personnel and civilians within the bureau, it's so hard to keep track of them but I don't recall ever seeing you in my ER. I really like to get to know everyone who passes through. Could you spare a few minutes to talk?"

[Ludmila Ilyukhin]

Ugh, Proboards has been acting up for me and made me double post.

[Ludmila Ilyukhin]

Ludmila blinked as a harsh light was shone into her good eye.

"Are you suffering any headaches, Ms. Ilyukhin? Any light headedness, sluggishness, dehydration?" asked the doctor.

"Headaches sometimes...", said the rusalka, not wanting to give away the fact that she drank too much, "but mostly just tired. Sometimes I get a feeling of detachment and irreality. Some sluggishness, but it feels more like crushing mental and physical exhaustion..."

"Are you allergic to any kinds of medications, any food allergies?", said Xavier. The rusalka thought for a moment before answering:

"Not that I know of, doctor."

She let herself be guided to what she assumed was the man's office. Usually she didn't like being physically lead somewhere, but she was too tired to care. Something else also made her follow limply, something other than simple lack of sleep. Some deep resignation and despair in the face of the world? The rusalka couldn't tell. In any case, the pair soon got to the doctor's office.

Now the doctor's office was...interesting, to say the least. The orange walls and numerous objects that decorated it reminded the rusalka of some of the more eccentric agents she'd met in her former career. The rusalka looked around her, mildly amused by what she saw, before seating herself on a small chair.

"I'd like some coffee", she said in answer to the doctor's query. A cup of hot black coffee seemed terribly appealing to the sleep-deprived rusalka, even though she wouldn't have minded a small splash of vodka in it.

"I can give you something to help you sleep,"said the doctor, his voice gentle, "But, that’s not going to help you in the long run."

The rusalka felt her heart sink. "Is there no medical help for this, then?", she asked, her voice coming out more strained than she intended. In fact, the question sounded more like a plea. Such was the rusalka's distress that she almost missed the doctor's next question.

"Huh?", she said before adding "well...I'm just a security guard, doctor. I applied for a job at the Bureau back in 2008, nothing too special. I used to work at a warehouse before the Bureau. Again nothing special."

You liar.