Mister Smarmy Weasel to you
Chapter 16: "That's Mister Smarmy Weasel to you..."
(Day 10; Sunday, December 14, 2003
"I'm getting a bit tired of this," Faith remarked.
Two of the three doctors gave her bland looks. The third merely raised an eyebrow and looked bemused - something that did *not* help Faith's mood. Larry, Moe, and Curly, considering that one of them - the bemused older one - was almost bald except for a small fringe of hair around his scalp. Faith was damned if she was going to bother trying to remember their names at this point.
"Now, Miss Lehane," Moe began, "You can certainly understand that, while we're pleased that you're making such a quick recovery, your recovery is unusual to say the least. We need to run a number of tests to make certain that your recovery is actual... "
Faith nodded enthusiastically, "Understand perfectly."
"So you'll cooperate with our testing?" Larry looked surprised and pleased.
Faith nodded again, "No."
"But you just said... "
"I said 'I understand perfectly'," Faith's eyes narrowed. "I din't say 'And I volunteer to be a guinea pig for your next medical paper'."
"Now look here, young lady," Curly began...
"No. You look here," Faith shook her head. "As I recall from that nifty 'Patients Rights' pamphlet I read the other day, among other things, the patient - that would be me - has the right to be informed of any and all treatments so as to be able to give an informed consent or reject any treatments yata yata yata." She snorted, "I'm not consenting. Deal with it."
"Now wait just a minute.. " Moe began in an angry tone.
Faith gave him a malevolent glare. It wasn't the glare that caused him to actually step back several feet until he bumped into one of the other doctors, it was that he could have sworn her eyes flashed golden
for a moment. "Been waiting. I just stopped." It was a good thing she'd had the presence of mind to drag her bag over beside the bed onto one of the chairs and stash the big Keith single action in it, or she'd have been tempted to make a loud noise to get her point across. She settled instead for taking a short, deep breath and reaching over and pulling the IV needle out of her forearm. There was a sharp sound from the doctors. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood easily, if a bit unsteadily.
"Miss, you really can't be... "
"Just did," Faith observed. She stretched easily, and bringing her arms down from it, put her hands on her hips. "Told you the other day when I first woke up that I heal fast."
"You do seem to, yes," Curly said....
"Glad we agree," Faith nodded. "Ok, look. I heal fast, but I do need some recovery time. I need a few more days, real food, and exercise to make sure I'm completely healed up and shit. I'm ha- err, willing to spend those few days here so that you can observe and examine me and we can be sure I'm not going to keel over all of a sudden, yeah?" She fixed all three of them with a glare, "But I'm not going to be a lab rat for you. I can walk out of here right now and spend the next few days recovering somewhere else."
"Miss, I understand your feelings, however you yourself admit that you still need recovery time," Larry replied, sure that he had a potential concession. He was wrong. "You can surely see the value of tests to make certain that... "
"If the tests are so valuable, then you don't have a problem with explaining them to me, right?" Faith cut him off. "In detail." She watched him carefully, then snorted again. "Right." She picked up her cellphone and read Gunn's number off of her contact list as she continued cutting across objections, "Look. You want tests? Then you're going to have to explain them to me in detail - using layman's terms, not medicalese - and explain to me exactly how they're going to help me to recover. You get a signed consent form from me for each and every test I agree to, and one for each and every treatment I consent to. Not one single test or treatment that isn't agreed to in advance with a signed consent."
"That's highly irregular, Miss... "
"Wicked. So'm I. It suits." Faith picked up the room phone and dialed out, another glare and a finger across her lips silencing the doctors for the moment. "Hey? Gunn? Cool - glad I caught you in." *pause* "Uh huh." *pause* "Yeah... what I called you for: can you talk to my doctors an explain to them that they're going to need a signed consent for each test and treatment they give me, or else?" *pause, snicker* "Yeah, I'm having some patients rights issues, and my patients are wearin' thin." *pause* "Coolness, hang on.... Oh - 'splain to 'em about a patient's right to privacy again. Seems they don't read their own literature."
"It's for you," Faith handed Doctor Larry the receiver. "My lawyer wants to talk wit' you." Moe and Curly glared at her. She winked and blew them a kiss. "Any problems you have with my requests, you can take up with Wolfram and Hart."
Faith reached behind herself and snapped the ties holding the gown on, and pulled it off. She snagged a bottle of shampoo and conditioner from her bag, and headed towards the room's other door. "Meanwhile, I'm going to take a shower. Then I'm going to come back out and get dressed, and go see what you guys have by way of a gym... ".................................................................................
Lieutenant Hogan gave the one way glass, and the man sitting behind it, a look that suggested he'd just bitten a rotten lemon. He shook his head and turned the sour expression on O'Brien. "Did you get anything from him?"
*snort* "He wants his lawyer."
"I can't imagine why," Hogan remarked in a dry tone. O'Brien snickered. Both of them watched Frank launching into yet another round of Q and not-A with the ersatz FBI agent in the interrogation room.
"Failing getting a lawyer, he wants a representative from the Bureau. Failing that, he seems perfectly content to sit there and smirk at us without saying anything."
"What do we have on him, again?" Hogan inquired, the sour expression deepening.
"Entering a hotel room that wasn't his - LeHane's. Technically a B&E, except the room was empty and untenanted, even if he didn't know that. Claims it was part of an 'ongoing investigation'. Not at liberty to discuss yata yata." O'Brien shook his head, "That's about it right now."
"Elaine wouldn't even bother bringing a case on that," Hogan mused.
"Yup. Minute he gets either counsel or an Bureau rep, we'll be forced to cut him loose less than twenty minutes later." O'Brien gave him a mirthless grin, "And probably have to give him an apology for Colby and Carson 'roughing him up' during his arrest."
"Did Christine get back anything from running that tattoo through the databases?"
"Aside from eyestrain?" O'Brien shook his head. "Nadda. Not surprising if it was an identifying mark such as the perps in the warehouse murders had," the blood factory was being sanitized of the more surreal elements and packaged for public consumption as a horrific mass murder scene, which it was. Lots of good publicity for Major Cases in shutting it down, along with two "dirty" cops. Lots of prime PR for the Mayor's office. "However... it doesn't match any of those, nor any of the similar marks LeHane described for us."
"So." Hogan jerked his head towards the one-way glass. "What do you want to do here?"
"Get Frank to toss him off a roof onto his head?" O'Brien suggested, smiling. Hogan snorted, not without amusement. "Seriously... I'd like to get LeHane to look him over and see if she can pick up on anything. Unfortunately, we can't hold him that long, and I don't
want to remove her from the hospital to come down here
until she's able to participate fully in not getting dead on us."
"Still think she's a key in getting a handle on all of this, eh?" Hogan gave his friend a sympathetic look.
"After witnessing that fight in that parking lot?" O'Brien raised an eyebrow. "You didn't see it, nor how she handled the scene at that... blood factory, or you wouldn't have to ask, Paul. And I don't have words to describe it to you."
Giambione stalked out of the interrogation room, cursing in Italian, waving his hands, and shaking his head disgustedly. Hogan and O'Brien gave him sympathetic looks. "Son of a bitch." He sent both of them a glare, "Would an accidental firearms discharge in interrogation cause us too many problems to be worth while?"
"That bad, huh?" Hogan asked.
"Naw. I like
getting my chain jerked by smarmy weasels with badges," Giambone snarled.
"Now now Frank - there's too many people in this building that resemble that crack," O'Brien said soothingly.
"Yeah, but you're my partner. You're a good
smarmy weasel with a badge," Frank snickered. O'Brien smirked back at him.
Smarmy Weasel to you," O'Brien remarked. "Nothing at all, huh?" Giambione rolled his eyes as an answer.
"Cut him loose, Frank," Hogan ordered. He met Giambione's glare an O'Brien's knowing glance with an unperturbed stare. "We don't have anything to stick on him, and we don't need to get into a pissing match with the Bureau right now."
"Can I at least break his legs first?" Frank asked.
"No. But take enough time with processing his release to get Stevie in here to surveil him after he leaves. I want to know where he takes off to and what he does," O'Brien suggested. He considered for a moment, "And ask Christine to get us some prints of the photos of that tattoo along with his booking photos."
"Slave driver," Frank remarked. "Sir, yes sir!" He turned on his heel and headed off.
"What next, Obie?" Hogan sent an amused look after the younger detective. O'Brien stifled a yawn. Far too early in the morning for the night owl squad to be up.
"After Frank finishes the release paperwork, we're going shopping," O'Brien rubbed his eyes and glanced at the coffee maker. "Then up to the hospital."
"Shopping?!?" Hogan gave him a suspicious look.
"Shopping," O'Brien nodded..................................................................................
Just after lunch, Faith was scrolling through CD files on her laptop, and muttering curses under her breath about impenetrable British twats when the knock came. Bad enough that the 12th century Watchers had written their journals in Middle (or occasionally even Old) English, they also seemed to be determined to do so in academic Middle English to boot. She'd had to resort to finding an online archaic English dictionary and pause every few minutes to look something up while reading.
She looked up at the door, glad for the distraction, whatever it was. Maybe it was a bad guy she could kill... "Yes?"
"It's open," Faith called, smiling. Not extending invitations was too deeply ingrained in her to offer a 'Come in' to anyone, even in broad daylight.'Huh. Well, what's all this?'
she wondered, raising an eyebrow as O'Brien, his partner, Gunn, and both Winchester brothers came in - Dean walking this time and pushing Sam in a wheelchair with an IV stand attached. "Surprise," Sam called out, grinning.
"It lives," Faith shot him a return grin. "Did they make you hold a cross just to check after you woke up?" Sam snickered. She noticed that Dean was carefully not meeting her eyes, and ignored him in favor of registering her pleasure at seeing Sam up and conscious.
"Had to gargle with holy water, twice," he shot back. "Stale
"Don't bitch - I'd have given you the stake test," Faith laughed. She raised the other eyebrow. Giambione was carrying what looked suspiciously like a bakery box and grinning as well. "So.. what's this? An intervention? I swear - I didn't mean it when I glared at those docs like I wanted to introduce them to the Five Major Torture Groups, honest."
Gunn laughed, and Frank shook his head. He set down the box and opened it to remove and reveal... a chocolate cake? He set the cake down on her bedside tray with a flourish. "Happy birthday." O'Brien set a card down next to it, with a nod to her.
Faith gaped at him. She closed the laptop slowly and set it aside, and raised herself up to look at the cake better. Plain German chocolate, no candles... looking like your basic gorcery store bakery cake. With 'Happy Birthday Faith' written on it in white icing with one of those cake decorators. Gunn took a small candle out of his suit pocket and stuck it in the center, and then lit it with a small gold lighter, while O'Brien took out a small stack of paper plates and plastic knives and forks and set them down next to the cake, along with an inexpensive cake cutter.
Faith looked at the card, looked at the cake again, and then gaped at the five grinning idiots in the room with her. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and shut it. Took a deep breath. Finally, "Birthday? How... but... it's not... "
O'Brien raised his eyebrows. "We looked at your license and passport at the hospital the first time, remember? And looked up your records?" He glanced at his watch. "December the 14th. Birthday."
"But... " Faith shook her head, then gave him a wide eyed look. "You're not going to sing, are you?"
Giambione snickered. "Trust me: you do not
want to hear Obie sing." O'Brien shot him a look.
"Not me. I've been to Caritas, remember?" Gunn shook his head firmly. "Cured me for life."
Faith picked up the card and opened it for something to hide her confusion. Jeeze... they'd gotten all of them to sign it, even Dean. Ok... she shook her head, exasperated and her stomach churning. Birthday? So what the fuck do you do with birthdays, anyway? Faith leaned forward and gave the cake an narrow eyed look, and blew at the candle experimentally. It flickered, but didn't go out. She took a deep breath and blew harder, putting the candle out and sending it flying off the cake into Sam's lap. He laughed and there was a round of applause.
"Makes it official, I guess. Happy birthday," Gunn picked up the cake and set it in her lap on top of the covers. He handed her the cutter and set the stack of plates next to her. "Birthday girl gets to cut the cake," he added with a grin. She stared at him.
"How'd you know whether or not I liked chocolate?" Faith stared at O'Brien and Giambione.
"All girls like chocolate," O'Brien said in a decisive tone. "It's in the Manual - I think it's genetic."
"There's a manual?" Faith shook her head again. 'Ok, Faith. You can do this,'
she looked down at the cake, wondering why her vision was suddenly blurry. 'It's just a cheap grocery deli cake, no big, right? Stupid Hallmark card. All you have to do is cut it and start handing out slabs off of the thing... '
She picked up the cake cutter and touched it to the top of the cake, looking at the blurry 'Happy Birthday Faith' upside down. 'Normal people do birthday cakes all the time.'
She took another deep breath, and then set the cake cutter down on the bedside tray, and very carefully picked up the cake and set it on the tray next to it. She heard "Excuse me," come out distantly in a very small voice like someone else had said it, and glared up at O'Brien.
Then she burst into tears, swung her feet off the side of the bed and, brushing past Dean and almost knocking him over, fled into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her and locking it.
O'Brien and Frank looked at each other, then at Gunn. The Winchester brothers gave each other startled looks.
"What the fuck, over?" Gunn said, eyes wide....
O'Brien shook his head and bent over to pick the card and the plates up from off of the floor where they had fallen when Faith hurled the covers aside. "Dunno, but in my experience when women do that, it means you've either screwed up real bad, or they're deliriously happy."
"And she didn't look deliriously happy," Frank observed, his expression glum. The looks the rest of them exchanged echoed his conclusion.