ten_fwd | Sickbay

The last time Annie Cresta had been in sickbay, she'd been high as a kite. The doctor - Bashir, Julian Bashir - had been...kind, she thinks. Certainly competent. But she'd been high as a kite and, well, herself when stressed and throwing one of her fits, and Finnick had been himself and if Dr Bashir had had to deal with Finnick just out of the arena...

It's not the best impression. Of either of them.

So Annie has made herself look neat (pale blue ankle-length skirt belted around her waist, loose blouse, a tan jacket, her hair in a fishtail braid) and gone to the sickbay on Deck 12 to apologize. And, perhaps, to see if there is anything else that could maybe help Finnick.

Maybe. If there is. And if she feels like she can ask anyone.

Annie keeps her footfalls loud enough to be heard as she walks out of the elevator, but as she walks, she also scans the room with a sharp, trained gaze. She's not high now, nor hysterical, and hospitals are always places where it's a good idea to know what's going on.

"Um," she starts. "Hello? Anyone in?"

[ooc: still on slowatus, but tossing this up anyway ~~because I can~~. locked to

asklepian and

sizeofyourbaggage]

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Finnick hadn't seemed that bad. Though then again, Sam's perception on "bad" might be a little skewed, considering his own past and the vets he usually works with.

"I still haven't really figured how it works out, either," he replies, giving her a wry smile. "It's nice to meet you, though. It's obvious Finnick cares a lot about you."

Or at least, Sam's assuming it is. But he's still betting Annie is the one Finnick'd been talking about in his vague mutterings.

Annie's reaction isn't precisely what one might expect: there's that happy, delighted little smile again, but then it flickers out of view as she looks at Sam again, this time with her dark, sea-green eyes sharp.

Suspicious.

"He, uh, mentioned me?" she asks. Her voice is still fairly cheerful, but it's laced with caution.

Nearly four years being a secret, a dangerous secret, does that. Particularly once she factors in the timing of everything, that Finnick was talking to Sam before he knew that she was okay.

With what Sam's pieced together about the way things were for them back home, that's not too surprising of a reaction.

"Nah, not really. But he wasn't thinking all that clearly when we started talking." He'll let her take what she wants from that. He's okay being honest, but he's not okay with blabbing about just how rough shape Finnick'd been in when they talked, even if she does know him well.

Finnick isn't one of his vets back home, but it's hard not to treat him in a similar way.

"You have the same accent, though. I've never heard it before, so I took a guess."

She watches him for a moment, maybe a beat or two too long, and then nods a little. She wants to know everything about how Finnick was - she can imagine, but what if he was worse? But Sam's answer is oddly reassuring. She can deal with clever people reading between the lines: it's better than someone knowing too much, or making Finnick talk.

His second comment gets a quick, entertained little smile.

"Yeah, it's... It's a weird accent in our country, too. We're from um. Mexico? Where Mexico used to be, if you're from a world that had Canada and United States of America."

She sounds the names out slowly, unfamiliar with how they are actually said.

Sam gives her a little smile when she keeps staring at him, but he doesn’t call attention to it. If she actually asks him anything, he'll do his best to answer it, but for the moment he'll just let her keep assessing him.

“Yeah, we got those back home.” He nods his head in agreement, and files away ‘used to be,’ for later. He won’t ask what happened to Mexico, not yet, but it does change his opinion on where they’re from. Sam’d considered it completely different from his own world, but now he wonders if maybe it isn’t just an alternate option.

“What do they call it where you’re from?”

"District Four," she says. "In the country of Panem. I guess our districts are like states? There's twelve of them, plus the Capitol."

Then Annie looks amused, albeit wryly.

"I think they're like states, anyway. It's not like I've ever had to explain it, 'fore coming here."

Sam nods along at her explanation, considering, but her last comment makes him chuckle a little.

“Tell me about it. I’m used to having to explain more about pararescue and the VA, but I never had to talk about what they are before.” There’s a pause, then he adds, “I don’t mind it, though. It’s kind of nice talking about what I did back home.”

Since she’s from the same place as Finnick, Sam’s guessing she won’t know what either of those are anymore than he did, and he doesn’t want to make her feel like she can’t ask if she wants to.

The only word he said about what he does, or did, that she understands is rescue, but there's an invitation in his manner. It could be useful, to learn more. Confirm the snatches Finnick remembered to tell her.

Sam seems nice. She's not sure what lies underneath it, and she knows she's not that good at people enough to really work it out. Unless he's obvious. But, conversation? She can...

Well.

Manage.

"Pararescue sounds more interesting than making glass, which is what I do. Did, not like there's a workshop here. Unless, um. Pararescue's actually not that exciting. I wouldn't know."

She's managing conversation pretty well, as far as Sam's concerned. Especially given the subject.

"I don't know, making glass sounds pretty damn cool. I bet there's some way you could keep doing it here, if you wanted." He can't be positive, but this ship seems to have just about everything else, who knows? And he's a big fan of people getting to do what they like.

"Not to brag, but yeah, it is pretty exciting. It's basically search and rescue - we were the first responders to a lot of natural disasters, giving people medical attention and getting them to safety. And when our soldiers were stuck down behind enemy lines, we did the same thing."

"Maybe the holodeck. I might...have to read the manual again, though." This time with a better dictionary beside her. But whatever else she was going to say - about glass, about how it is 'cool' even if frivolous the way she does it - is paused as he explains.

"Oh. Like, Peacekeepers?"

Then, belatedly realizing that she might have to explain, "Um. They...work for the government. Normally, they, uh. Uphold the law and keep the peace, it's, it's in the name."

Even if this peace involves fines, floggings, executions.

(Bombings.)

"But when there's a bad storm, they'll look for people, in my District. And in hurricane season. They help."

She's not warm as she explains, but neither is she afraid. Cool, a little neutral. Peacekeepers are an aspect of life.

But the way the corner of her mouth tilts around 'keep the peace', there's no love lost here.

Sickbay

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