It's some time before he shows up at her door, a bag packed with supplies strung over one shoulder. Emergency medicine isn't really his specialty, but a broken wrist-- which is really the worst-case scenario here-- shouldn't be too complicated for him to tend to. More interesting than the injury itself is Mara's behavior, her secrecy about it. Perhaps he ought to be concerned for her sake, but he isn't. Just intrigued. Luckily keeping up the appearance of caring allows him to satisfy his curiosity.
He knocks on the door, not too loudly lest he draw unwanted attention from anyone else. "Mara? It's me..."
She's curled up on the couch, more ice on her swollen right wrist. If it hadn't have been for her wrist, she wouldn't have talked to anyone. She'd canceled her appointments at the Hospital, and had plenty of food in the apartment, and she'd honestly planned to just stay inside until the bruises healed.
With a wince, she crosses the apartment to open the door, knowing how she looked. A bruise on her cheek, welts on her wrists... the right one swollen...
An arched eyebrow is his only reaction; he's accustomed to seeing patients in rough states, and generally speaking staring only makes them feel worse about it. He takes the weight of the door quickly, casting a quick glance at the most serious injury.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he says with a tight smile, maintaining a professional demeanor in spite of the informality of the setting. Lifting the strap to indicate the reason for the delay, he takes a glance around. "Which way's the kitchen?"
Mara pointed with her good hand, shuffling back toward the living room and the comfort of her sofa. She pulled her knees up under her chin and picked up the glass of scotch she was nursing.
When he comes back, his bag looks slightly emptier and he's holding a zip-loc full of ice. These he places on the floor beside the sofa, sitting on the other side.
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Mara?
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If you can? Please? I didn't... don't have anyone else t'call.
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Where are you?
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He knocks on the door, not too loudly lest he draw unwanted attention from anyone else. "Mara? It's me..."
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With a wince, she crosses the apartment to open the door, knowing how she looked. A bruise on her cheek, welts on her wrists... the right one swollen...
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"Sorry to keep you waiting," he says with a tight smile, maintaining a professional demeanor in spite of the informality of the setting. Lifting the strap to indicate the reason for the delay, he takes a glance around. "Which way's the kitchen?"
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"Let me see your hand?"
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