mundane entanglements.

[theorized]

If there's one way in which Chase knows he differs from House, it's the enjoyment he gets from spending time in the clinic. No sound diagnostician would pick a day in exam rooms over an interesting case, but the mere preference doesn't preclude the calm Chase feels whenever he's down here, offering people with treatment that's tried and true, with next to no potential for grievous error. Darrow's been calm in the days since House's arrival, so he doesn't mind the escape that the case files offer him as he picks up the next in the stack, walking to the waiting room.

He could wait for a nursing assistant to send the patient to the room, but the hospital feels a tad understaffed today, and Chase doesn't mind the extra few minutes.

"Is there a Ms. Emma Swan here?" he asks, peering down at the file, then up again to the line of seated patients.

One face catches his eye. He feels his face drain slightly of color.

But she wouldn't be there in a waiting room. She wouldn't give up the opportunity to work. She wouldn't... Chase doesn't have the right to speak for her, but he just knows that she wouldn't.

Comments

[theorized]

"Healthcare here is fully subsidized by the government. I'm not sure what good a discount will do you," grins Chase, glad that she doesn't seem bothered by his decline. Perhaps it was just a sudden thought thrown out there. (Perhaps, another part of his brain says, this is just the city's way of trying to unnerve him. Things are rarely as simple as they seem.) "But if I wasn't exercising all of my care before, I know I am now."

Checking up on the movement of Emma's hand, Chase better examines the wound, unpacking some of the thread for her stitches. "As for women, ah... well, our jobs look good on paper. But our hours aren't great. Plus, we use up all of our bedside manner with our patients," jokes Chase with a tilt of his head. Carefully pressing near the wound, Chase glances up at Emma. "Do you feel any pain when I press here?"

[notinanybook]

"Good, 'cause this being my good arm-wrestling hand and everything, I'd really hate for you to screw this one up," Emma dryly answers, keeping her corresponding smile mostly to herself as she looks down at her hand when he brings a gloved one of his over to press into her palm. It's odd, because she can feel the sensation, but the pain is light, almost completely faded away - or maybe it's phantom pain, her brain tricking herself into thinking she can still feel it. Either way, it's not going to be enough to make her wince when he finally gets cracking on those stitches.

"Nope. I think you've got the go-ahead, Doc," she replies, shifting her weight in the chair as her legs idly dangle off the edges, toes of her boots skimming a few inches from the floor.

[theorized]

"Ooh, we wouldn't want that. I won't be one to get in the way of knocking overly pompous men down a peg or two with a good arm wrestle," jokes Chase, though the comment is well-meant. For reasons both selfish and not, Chase has always preferred situations in which women took up domineering positions, cases in which they took control easily. Somehow, it seems fitting that a woman who shares a face with Allison would be that way.

"Let me know if you feel any sharp discomfort," Chase says first, meeting her gaze briefly before crouching down to work on her hand, threading the first stitch easily. "So, an offer of a drink and a mention of arm wrestling. Do you work at a bar? Or are you looking for a good place in the city? There's this one place I'm pretty fond of, Semele's."

[notinanybook]

"Exactly. Who knows? This could be the way I earn my living, and it's all in your hands now," she replies, struggling to keep a straight face before she eventually lets the expression fall naturally into something more resting, occasionally glancing toward the stitching happening. It's not something she plans to focus on specifically, and she's grateful when he keeps the conversation going, propelling it forward.

"Really? Hadn't heard of it. And I don't exactly have much in the way of employment right now, but I guess a bar's as good as any to attempt finding that. Besides, if my arm-wrestling career is shot before it ever takes off, I'm going to start re-evaluating my life choices."

[theorized]

"My hands are very capable, thank you very much. They used to pay me quite a bit for my hands' work, back when I was head of surgery at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital," muses Chase, working deftly at her stitches, keeping his pace fast and sure to keep from tugging too much at her wound. "And if I can't even manage some palm stitches, then the way I earn my living would be severely undercut. Though maybe my ego needs a bit of a blow."

He smiles briefly up at her before continuing his work, already three stitches in. There can't be more than a couple more to go. "Anyway, Semele's has fantastic food, although I guess the location isn't for the faint of heart. How much have you gotten to explore the city?"