There comes a certain time in every mans life when he decides that he needs a little something more to do. Since certain happenings of a radioactive nature, and
trying to keep the rest of the castle safe from Sylar,
only to end up with a pole through his head, Peter wanted something else. Something normal. Something that wasn't running around
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Needless to say, she didn't really have time for new friends or nervous twitchy guys. "Move it or I'll move it for you, Thumper," she commanded, pushing past him to get to a bed where a blonde teenager was expelling his lunch into a bucket. "If you don't have something falling off or bleeding, then you're in the wrong place."
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He looked over at the busy nurse, smiled briefly, and made his way towards one of the beds - currently housing a rather rotund man that looked way too much like Santa Claus. He didn't look like he was in danger of expelling anything soon, so Peter grabbed a washcloth and soaked it in cold water, patting it down on the patients forehead. If he got the fever down, the poor guy would feel a lot better.
Again, Peter looked up at Carla, watching her curiously. "What do they have?" The unspoken addendum was, of course, 'I'm going to be staying here to help.'
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A shocked but entirely please smile lit up her face and Carla nodded once in acceptance of his help, replacing Logan's chart and walking over to Peter. "Some kind of prank candy, we think. Lily - one of the Healers in Training - is off now trying to run down some kind of antidote." In other words, 'it's not catching'.
Holding out one hand, she added, "I'm Carla. I'm a nurse, here. And you, Thumper? Doctor, nurse, or do you just have a thing for sponging down fat old guys?"
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He shook Carla's hand, giving her an apologetic smile over the fact that his hand was probably still wet from the washcloth. "Peter Petrelli." ...Thumper? Peter wasn't even going to ask about that one. The apologetic smile turned into a crooked grin. "I'd say I have a thing for sponging down old fat guys, but I'm really just a hospice nurse in disguise."
Concerned, Peter looked over the rest of the patients, and rubbed the back of his head. He'd dealt with things like this before, but he was a little out of practice. "So, ah, anything that needs to be done, just yell. I'm here to help."
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"I guess there's up and downs to everything. You just have to hold out for the good times, to get through the bad," he nodded, appreciative of Carla's openness with such a subject. It made him feel a little better about this, that maybe he wouldn't burn out so quickly (the figurative way, of course; Peter had already done the literal way).
Peter stood and made his way to the next bed, refilling the hypodermic with the same amount he'd seen Carla use, and began attending the next patient. ...Which was the yellow blob. Did this thing even have arms? Or, failing that, veins of any kind?
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She was in some freaking castle in the middle of Scotland. Turk...wasn't here. Wasn't going to be here, by the look of things. That relationship, whatever it might have been, was done, now. As for Cox... Carla couldn't deny there was something there. But the question had always been, could she play second-fiddle to Jordan? Could she live with the fact that the man she was choosing to be with, the man she possibly loved, would leave her in a heartbeat for someone else ( ... )
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"This better work," she muttered under her breath. Not so much a threat against Lily as genuine concern for her patient. The tourniquet was applied and Carla held the puck's arm down gently. "You'd better do the actual injection, Thumper. God knows he tends to buck the sleeping potion like no one else. Don't want him flailing around again with a needle in his arm. I'll make sure he doesn't move."
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