Of All People
Of All People
Summary: Zaharis has a physical exam. Reighner finds out.
Date: 44 ACH
Related Logs: Confession is Good for the Soul
Players:
Zaharis..Reighner..

Zaharis reports as ordered. In off-duties as he has to. He ignores the curious look he draws here and there, issuing no orders and speaking to no-one until he gets to the front desk. His eyes flicker between Reighner and the duty nurse, the former receiving a nod. "I received a page."

"Jesse." Reighner gestures to the back and starts walking toward a curtained gurney. He seems to be in a well-enough mood, probably still unaware of Zaharis's circumstances. "I warned you about ducking out on your physical."

"I'm always just a page away. Yeehaw." Zaharis replies, quite neutral about this. He follows Reighner over to the gurney, keeping his attention ahead.

Reighner pats the gurney. "Sit upright, please." He opens the clipboard, expecting a brief written instruction for a physical. His eyebrows furrow as he reads, and the color seems to drain from his face. "What the hell is this?" He looks up to Zaharis.

Zaharis sits as instructed, fixing his posture. At Reighner's question he doesn't do anything for a second, then his eyes shift and look directly at Reighner's face. "What the hell is what, Captain."

"This." Reighner flips the chart around. One sentence sticks out among the others: Referral for physical exam for substance abuse. He's frowning.

Zaharis glances at the chart, then back to Reighner. "I'm here for a physical exam. Not a trial." His tone's not sharp, just not very open. He looks past Reighner to the wall when the man frowns. "Can we get on with this, please?"

Reighner closes the chart. "I won't do it." He roughly clatters it against the rolling cart, letting the sound die off before demanding, "What the frak were you thinking?"

Zaharis looks back at the chart as it clatters, then Reighner. He slides off the gurney, setting his feet back on the floor and straightening up. "Fine. I'll get another doctor."

Reighner eyes Zaharis. He rubs the center of his forehead and says, forcefully, "Sit down."

Zaharis' dark eyes are guarded as they watch Reighner, the tension in his body ready to just continue walking off. He doesn't do anything but breathe through his nose for a few seconds. Then he does sit back down on the edge of the gurney, turning his eyes back to the wall.

Reighner stands in front of Zaharis. He crosses his arms and asks, hollowly, "Touch your chin to your chest, much as possible. Chin to the air. Look to the right. Left. Tilt your head to the left. Right." He approaches and clasps his head in both hands, feeling his skull. As he's doing this, he remarks, "Of all people, Jesse."

Zaharis performs the movements Reighner directs him to. They all look just fine. He looks past Reighner's face the whole time, even when his name's said again. His jaw tenses against saying anything.

Reighner looks in his ears, nose, and eyes with various different instruments. As he leans back and puts away the last device, he asks, still with that tone, "At least tell me what you took."

Zaharis sits still for the prodding. Perfect shape so far. "Baxadrin and seronol," he tells the wall behind Reighner in a flat tone. Amphetamine and barbiturate.

"Who wrote the prescriptions?" Reighner asks. He puts the device away. "Or did you just steal them from supply?" He makes an H shape in front of Zaharis. "Follow my finger."

Zaharis' eyes focus on Reighner's finger and follow it. "That's not relevant."

Reighner sighs. He puts on his stethescope and listens to Zaharis's back, mumbling reflexively, "Deep breaths."

Zaharis' first breath in and out is shaky, but then he draws in normal ones after that. Nice strong lungs. His eyes close for a second and then open again, focused back where they were on the wall.

Reighner says venomously, "You're a real son of a bitch, you know that? People trusted you." He adds, almost schizophrenically, "Lay back."

Zaharis again moves as directed. His body unfolds on the gurney with little energy, and he looks up at the ceiling. "I know."

Reighner listens to Zaharis's chest, looking blankly at the fabric of the gurney. He furrows his eyebrows. "How much did you take?"

Zaharis' breathing sounds no worse than what one might expect from a smoker. "Ar-…" His throat is very tight, and he clears it quietly. "Around…300 milligrams of baxadrin and 200 of seronol over nine days." Over the normal prescription amount.

Reighner shakes his head. "Cardiomyopathic levels." He moves the stethescope over his sternum, focusing on his valves. His questions have taken a curious turn from admonishing to clinical. "Intravenous or oral?"

Zaharis' heartbeat is a touch quick, but whether it's a physical issue or current emotional state isn't apparent to a stethescope. No abnormal rhythms, and the beat is strong. "Oral."

Reighner reslings his stethescope. He bares Zaharis's stomach and palpates the quadrants. "Are you going to resign?"

"No." Zaharis says towards the ceiling, his voice still quiet but resolute.

"I think you damn well should," Reighner answers, frank and unforgiving. He then says, "Touch your left knee to your chest. Right knee. Dorsiflex. Plantarflex." He falls into medical terminology when talking among doctors.

"Concern is noted," Zaharis replies in the same tone. He bends his left knee, following directions.

"Sit up." Reighner gets out a wooden stick and a penlight. "Open your mouth and say ah."

Zaharis does so, straightening his shoulders. He looks up at the rail holding the curtain and opens his mouth, making the needed sound.

Reighner looks inside his mouth. He's a little rough with the stick. Maybe he induces a gag or not. He throws away the stick and slips the penlight back into his pocket. "I'm going to order a full body scan, a stress test, and a neurological evaluation."

Zaharis puts up with the roughness without flinching. To the list of added tests he simply nods, and then slides off the gurney.

"You'll get more information when the tests are scheduled." Reighner looks rather unhappy. He opens the chart and starts jotting down notes, purposefully withholding his attention from Zaharis. "That's it, you can go now."

"Thank you." Zaharis has no fatigue jacket with him, so he just turns to leave.

Reighner doesn't reply and keeps on writing.

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