Log Title
Summary: Reighner checks in on Corinne, Corinne checks Reighner out.
Date: 117 ACH
Related Logs: Water Water Everywhere, High and Dry

Corinne's place is pretty nice, as far as cruise staff rooms go, and the decor makes it apparent that she has been living in this space for an established length of time. There is art on the walls, mostly simplistic in nature - reds and blacks are prevalent. There is a substantial collection of music, along with a rather impressive sound system near a vid player with a comparatively small screen. The place, while not horrifically messy, is certainly not impeccable; clothing hangs over chairs, some music discs with their cases open are out on the table. Corinne is sitting on the bed, not looking as well put together as she usually does.

There's a couple of raps on the door.

Corinne calls out, "Damn it, Nick, I told you I'm not in the mood for a makeover. Just let me simmer in my own misery."

There's silence on the other side for about three seconds. "Just give me a chance to change your mind."

There's a silence on Corinne's end, and then a few footsteps sound as she walks closer to the door. "Matt?" she ventures.


Corinne opens the door, her expression a strange, conflicting mix of irritation and amusement. "Try again," she says, stepping aside to admit Reighner into her room.

Reighner is dressed in his uniform his time around. In his hand, he clutches a red on blue case with the words MEDIC and the cross emblazoned on the side. His expression is mild. "It must start with an S." He smiles slightly and steps fully in, looking around. "Nice place."

Corinne looks Reighner over, head to toe, her eyes stopping on the medical case for a few seconds. Then she strides over to the seating area of her room and gestures to an understated, but comfortable looking chair. "Thanks. Want some water?" she asks, angling towards a tiny refrigerator that has a small news clipping with a much younger looking Corinne stuck to its door with a magnet. Her movements are shaky, but she doesn't seem to be incapacitated.

"No, thanks," Reighner declines. He moves to the chair, but he doesn't sit. He keeps his body facing Corinne. "I checked with the clinic, you didn't get seen."

"Maybe I used a pseudonym," Corinne replies, turning around to lean against a countertop, her arms folding over her chest. "I made an appointment, Matt. I went in, things were busy because of the water problems, and… I feel fine." Liar.

Reighner uses his fine medical judgment to assess her body language. "Bullshit," he says, plainly. He keeps his distance.

Corinne's brows descend as her jaw tightens. "What're they gonna do for me? Tell me, 'Yep, you're going through alcohol withdrawal,' and sit there and judge me because I brought this on myself while there's dozens of legitimately sick people needing attention for something that was beyond their control?" She uncrosses her arms and pushes her palms into the countertop, her knuckles white as she grips the edge with her fingers. "Fine, I feel like shit. But I can feel like shit here just as well as I can there, without an audience."

"You might get conditions that need monitoring," Reighner answers, mirroring her attitude with a tightening of his jaw. "You're right, we can't do anything about the withdrawal, but you can have dangerous consequences because of it."

Corinne drags a hand through her hair and scratches at the back of her neck. "Dangerous consequences?" she repeats, dubious and sardonic. She drops her hand and gives Reighner a pointed stare.

Reighner says, immediately and impassioned, "Delirium, hallucination, high blood pressure, high pulse rate, fever, dehydration." He puts a hand on the back of the chair; the other still holds the medical case. He takes a moment to regather his wits. "Look, I just… didn't want you hurt by something that's preventable, okay?"

Corinne's expression becomes less caustic, and she drops both hands to her sides. She takes a few steps towards the chair opposite the one Reighner stands behind, and drops into it gracelessly. "I just feel like an idiot. I've never even had the flu, I hardly get a passing case of the sniffles. The headaches, the nausea, the bad dreams… I did it to myself." She rests an elbow on the arm of the chair and rests her forehead in her palm. "Why do you even care?"

"Why does anybody do anything?" Reighner asks back. He keeps where he is. "What you did, you did. There's no point in punishing yourself any more."

Corinne is quiet for a moment, but she certainly doesn't keep still. She pushes at her forehead with her fingers, and shifts subtly in her seat. Then, without looking up, she mumbles, "Fine."

That's all the signal he needed. He approaches her chair quickly and takes a knee next to it. He pops open the medic kit and pulls out a stethescope. "Did you keep my food down?"

Corinne clearly was not expecting this. She probably should have put two and two together, with the kit he's been holding this entire time, but her expression is one of patent surprise. Nevertheless, she straightens up in the chair and replies, "No. Sorry."

"How often are you vomiting?" Reighner puts on the stethescope and leans his upper body in slightly to listen to her chest, over her clothes. He seems unaware of his closeness to her, probably his medical training showing through.

Corinne, on the other hand, seems very aware of Reighner's proximity. Her gaze flickers between his hand with the stethescope and his face. It takes her a second to answer, "Just once yesterday, a little bit after I ate. I've been nauseated since then, but haven't thrown up again."

Reighner looks off to the side, across her face, toward nothing. He exhales and leans back to the neutral kneeling position. "Good," he says, firmly, returning his eyes to hers. "Are you drinking water?" He pulls out a blood pressure cuff from the kit.

"Yes," Corinne replies, almost eagerly. "I'm becoming reacquainted with the stuff. It's actually quite good." She smiles, looking pained at her own attempt at humor as she gets into a position that's more acommodating for the measuring of blood pressure.

"I know, right?" Reighner asks, dryly, as he affixes the cuff. He puts the listening part against her inside elbow and starts inflating. "How's your headache?"

Corinne sits still, mostly. The hand on her other arm does drum incessantly on her knee. "Really annoying," is her first unhelpful answer. Then she elaborates: "It goes from mild to throbbing kind of erratically. Mostly mild, but there have been times when I've considered ripping out my eyes."

Reighner mumbles, "That'd be a shame." He starts letting the air out slowly, listening intently. After a few seconds, he opens up the valve all the way and pulls the cuff open. "Well, it's high, but not terribly so."

Corinne smirks faintly at Reighner's mumbled words, then watches him finish reading her blood pressure. "What does that mean?" she asks, flexing her fingers a few times.

"That means your body is working better than I thought," Reighner answers mildly. He puts the cuff and stethescope away, then leans in again. He puts both of his hands around her neck, feeling the lymph nodes in the area. Another close position that isn't recognized. "Any tenderness?"

"No," Corinne replies, again watching Reighner's face as he leans in. Every part of his face.

For his part, Reighner seems to be looking at her shoulder, concentrating on the feel of the lymph nodes. It's near the end of the brief exam that he notices her eyes. The change in his body language is dramatic. He quickly withdraws his hands, suddenly feeling awkward, and moves to close up the kit. "Okay, uhh, you seem fine," he surmises — quite the gift for explanation.

"Could you put that diagnosis in layman's terms?" Corinne quips, watching the shift in Reighner's carriage with a wry expression.

"I… what?" Reighner clicks the kit closed. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself to standing. It seems that he might bolt for the door. "Have you been seeing things? Hearing voices?"

Corinne stands as well, shaking her head. "No," she replies, still watching him. "I've had some bad dreams, I guess, but nothing like that." She pauses, lets out a sigh, then adds, "You don't have to leave so quickly, Matt. I'm not going to knock you unconscious and drag you into bed."

Reighner cants his head. "Well. That's… good." He seems nonplussed, confused.

"Wich part?" Corinne asks. "That I'm not hearing voices, or the other thing?" One eyebrow shoots up, and she rests her forearm against the back of her chair.

Reighner is silent for a few seconds. "Both?" He runs his thumb along his eyebrow. "Anyways, you're doing fine. Your heart rate and blood pressure are above normal, but given your condition, it's not dangerous." He easily falls into giving medical advice. "If you pass out, start hearing things, or begin shaking uncontrollably, call for an emergency team or head for the clinic."

Corinne nods, picking at the seam of the chair's material unthinkingly. "Got it," she replies, casually enough. "Thanks." She glances over his shoulder at the door, then shifts her eyes back to his face. "Sure you don't want any water for the shuttle? I have almost a whole case of bottles that I finally opened up."

"I'm good, thanks," Reighner answers, graciously. He jabs his thumb over his shoulder like a retard, signaling his intent to leave. "Let me know if anything else changes."

A strange look crosses Corinne's face, and for a moment it looks like she's gearing up to say something witty. Instead, she just lets out a single, exasperated laugh. "Right. Will do." She shakes her head and looks away.

The good doctor walks to the door and puts his hand on the knob. He half-turns and says, casually, "See you later."

"Yeah, you will," Corinne replies, moving from the chair to the shelf that houses her music collection. She starts flipping through some of the cases methodically.

Off he goes.

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