thebarbican | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

When it all began, Leslie didn't think anything of it. The exterior of the clinic is often tagged with graffiti of some sort or another. It's an inevitability in the East End. It's always painted over in the first 12 hours. It seems to discourage others, albeit briefly. Several days later, someone chucked a brick through her office window. She happened to be in it at the time. She wondered if her heart would ever stop racing. It turned out to be a brick chiseled out of the cornerstone. Then the lobby was vandalized on a rare night when she'd actually slept at home for a change. Overturned chairs. Computers smashed. Office supplies scattered everywhere. There was also more graffiti on the walls. In a chaos of colors and unrecognizable symbols, there was a single word neatly sprayed in white.

Leave.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Oh, dear."

With all the delicacy of ... well, of a butler who has been in service to an extraordinary family for decades, Alfred Pennyworth picked his way through the debris, nudging a wastepaper basket upright again with the tip of his furled umbrella. He tsked quietly at the sight.

Leslie looks up from her spot on the floor, her face pale and glassy-eyed. She's gathering up hundreds of patient records. Thankfully most of the charts are still fastened to their folders. Whoever came through didn't seem at all interested in taking the time to rip them out. Small favors in such a large mess.

"If I may." The phrase has no terminal lift, for it is not a question, and he does not wait for her permission before he sets his umbrella aside and doffs his coat, draping it neatly over a chair before he begins to tidy in earnest.

The patient records he leaves to her privileged eyes, but nothing else will escape his attention.

She'll find some way to express her gratitude later, when her feelings aren't a jumble. She feels about as organized as her surroundings. Part of it is circumstance, the shock of finding the clinic vandalized. Part of it is the flu she's fighting.

At least the exam rooms went untouched. Despite the lobby, they'll still be able to see patients today.

Discreetly, he photographs the graffiti. For the police, yes, for the niceties must be observed.

Though naturally he will share them with others, too, for justice must be done.

Leslie isn't so concerned with justice at the moment. She just wants to bring order back, so that her staff has the tools necessary to do their jobs.

'Ma' goes before 'Mi'. She puts another file in its place.

Evidence gathered, Alfred sees to the chairs, tsking again when he finds one with damaged casters. "I fear this requires more repair than I am equipped to make at present," he apologises.

It can't be left out here then. Not where someone could sit on it and accidentally injure themselves. Where to put it?

"Why don't you put it in the back utility closet? We can replace it with..." She has to stop and think a moment. "...the one from room 8."

The inclination of his head suggests a bow, a minimal gesture that conveys his respect for her and for her wishes, and does not impede his carrying out of her order.

When he returns, he clears his throat, ever so delicately. "Is there anyone else we should contact for assistance tonight?"

She's so very glad he's here right now, lending his warmth and stability. He's also put the lobby back together in short order.

She shakes her head slightly. "The walls can wait. We can use my laptop to access the network until the desktops can be replaced. That leaves-"

A large pile of patient files.

He makes a mental note to speak with Miss Barbara about an electronic medical record system. A safe one. Surely such a product exists, or can be created? Anything that could spare Leslie Thompkins, MD, from looking like the last defender of Mount Badon.

"Perhaps," he suggests, "I could assist in gathering them." He has some practice at not seeing things.

Many hands makes light work and he's the epitome of discretion. "I'd be stupid to say no," she replies lightheartedly.

There's an absence of names beginning with A, B, and C.

"I would never apply such a word to you, dear lady." Alfred begins ferrying files over to her, apparently taking no notice of the names. Of course, a well-trained servant is not obvious.

A, B, and C. Hm. Inexorably he is reminded of the Agatha Christie novel.

"I think it's a pretty good description right now," she mumbles. "I feel about as clear headed as the city on a foggy morning."

"Ah. Yes. Well." Alfred hands her the latest pile he's retrieved. "There's an excellent remedy for that. Allow me." With a small smile and a half-bow, he vanishes into the staff break room.

Approximately 10 minutes later, he returns bearing a small steaming cup. "Do forgive the delay," he says gravely, "but I had to improvise a French press from the available materials."

The image that comes to mind elicits a laugh. "My staff is going to think I'm conducting science experiments."

The product of his efforts smells heavenly. "When was the last time anyone ever told you you were a miracle worker?"

"Ah, not I, dear lady." He offers her the cup with great ceremony. "I merely establish the conditions in which a miracle may occur."

She puts the files aside and reaches out carefully to take the cup. She'll let the steam waft up under her nose for awhile.

"If you ever feel under appreciated, come see me."

"Ah, that would make my visits rare indeed," Alfred replies. His compensation is made up of more than his salary, after all. "I should prefer to see you as often as I would wish." He gazes around the clinic. "In happier circumstances," he amends.

The sentiment puts a sweet smile on her face. "Thank you for coming to my rescue," she says quietly.

Somehow his umbrella has reappeared in his hand ... and he brings it up in a fencer's salute to the good lady doctor.

"Ready to do battle at a moment's notice," she announces triumphantly, her cup still nestled in her hands. "Fair sir."

"At a moment's notice? At a lady's need, I should say." He lowers the umbrella. "Dear doctor ... who would array themselves against you?"

Her expression turns serious and she glances up at the graffiti. "That's a very good question. I don't know."

"Then permit me to perform another service for you." His shoulders straighten. "Let me lend mine own efforts to yours, so that we may find and route whoever has raised their hand against you."

"I'll gladly take any help you can offer," she replies honestly. "I do wish I'd paid more attention now to the details of the other incidents."

His head cants and his eyes gleam. "What other incidents?"

Really, it's a shame Master Bruce didn't know of this earlier. Though Master Bruce is not always forthcoming with what he knows.

"Someone tagged the outside of the clinic about three weeks ago. The graffiti looked a lot like this," she reports, gesturing to the lobby walls. "Then about a week ago, someone threw a brick through my office window. It landed about a two feet from my desk. It scared me but I didn't think at the time that it was connected. It might not be connected for all I know."

She hadn't shared the information with anyone but her staff. The maintenance man had painted over the graffiti and replaced the window.

Alfred clasps his hands behind him, frowning. "Have others on this block suffered similar indignities?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

Which does not, of course, mean no, they haven't.

"A few discreet enquiries might be in order," Alfred muses. "That part of the investigation I shall leave in your capable hands." She is, after all, a neighbourhood fixture.

"I'll take a walk tomorrow and ask around. I'll also ask my staff if they've heard of anything out of the ordinary."

Is there such a thing as "normal" in the East End?

She puts her cup down on the carpet as she covers a cough.

Alfred levels his frown on her. "Is that related to dust? You appear rather pale."

She shakes her head. "It's the flu. I've had it now for a week. It's better than it was but I still tire easily. My neighbors have been fighting again so I haven't slept particularly well either."

Oh, this will never do.

Alfred holds out a hand to her. "Come," he commands.

She recognizes the tone. It's one they've both used on Bruce over the years.

Depositing her hand in his, she rises to her feet slowly. The fever may have come and gone but all her joints still ache. "I haven't finished my tea," she points out lamely.

"We have tea at Wayne Manor," he says firmly, wasting no time in shepherding her to the clinic door. "We also have guest rooms. The one you prefer is currently unoccupied and therefore available."

"As wonderful as a warm bed, a quiet room, and eight hours of sleep sounds right now, I'm also on call," she notes sadly.

It's her first rotation back in about five days. They might reach the manor just in time to turn around and come back.

He does not pause. "Then I shall arrange for a locum tenens to serve in your place. One who is not immunocompromised." The look he levels on her is a fearsome one indeed. "Not that I would dream of telling a physician how foolish it is for her to see patients when she herself is recovering from a serious viral infection."

"Of course not," she teases.

Gloves, masks, and regular hand washing do an adequate job but they're not foolproof she knows. Truth be told, she felt guilty about not being available for almost an entire week. Even with good reason. There's also the current state of the clinic and the files. It doesn't matter which way this goes, she'll feel irresponsible in some fashion.

As they exit the clinic, Dr. Thompkins can see that the black sedan outside has, miraculously, remained unmolested by the local riff and raff. Perhaps they've mistaken it for a mobster's car.

Alfred opens the passenger door and gives her a little bow, one outstretched hand clearly indicating that she should seat herself therein, buckle up, and prepare to be chauffeured away to Wayne Manor.

She pauses at the open door and glances back over her shoulder at the clinic. It's an irrational feeling and she knows it but she can't help but wonder what else will happen to it in her absence.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only