IC Inbox (v1.0)

[jumpthegun]

You've reached Dr. John Watson. Please leave a message.

Comments

[jumpthegun]

[John's own response is slightly delayed as he pings the Admin.]

I'm heading your way at the mo. Keep him where he is. I'll come to you. Try to keep the area around his, uh... port clean. Last thing he needs is an infection on top of everything else. I'll try to get to you as fast as I can. I put in a request for the medicine to be delivered to him directly. If it does turn up and it doesn't have a proper label, contact me, and I'll give you dosage instructions. All right?

If the administrators responds to me directly, I'll keep you up to date, too.

We'll figure something out for him, Fiona. Whatever it takes.

[And if he's latching onto this to give him some sense of sanity and grounding in the madness that is this place, that's just his little secret he won't be sharing.]

[plundering]

[She's taken aback by... all of it, his insistence to meet up so quickly, the fact that he's willing to help this much, but most of all, his attempt to be reassuring. Of course, there's no guarantee he won't ask for something in return, despite his earlier comment about the first time being free, but still. It's far more than she expected, and far more than he should be willing to give.

Fiona shakes off her surprise and tries to ignore that part of her, courtesy of Felix, insisting that she shouldn't trust John.]

Yeah. Yeah, he'll be fine. We'll figure it out. Thanks.

[Her voice has taken on an almost chipper tone, but there's still something in it that makes it obvious she's trying to convince herself. Still, they have a plan, and that means there's no point in worrying unless it doesn't work.]

[jumpthegun]

Let me know if anything changes. And take care of yourself, too. You and anyone else with you, try to make sure you've got shifts to mind Rhys. No sense in the people taking care of him running themselves sick.

If you need more food, I can swing by the school before getting to you, as well. Heard that's the place for it. Won't be beans on toast, but we'll make do.

[There's the barest hint of humor in his voice, trying to cheer her. That tone says she's not nearly as confident as she's trying to convince herself she is.]

[plundering]

Look, you don't have to get all mother hen on me. We've got it. Seriously. And don't waste my time with crap food.

[Beans on toast or death. She does sound more confident now. Maybe his attempt to cheer her up is working, or maybe it's just comforting to mess with someone.]

[jumpthegun]

[He'll take that as a 'yes' on food and lets himself smile just a little.]

Only the best I can find. Talk to you soon Fiona. Thank you for calling me.

[plundering]

I'll keep you updated.

[There's a brief pause, and when she continues, she sounds far more genuine.]

Thanks for your help.