OPEN

[formersurgeon]

Who| Joan and OPEN!
What| Joan working in the detention center infirmary, keeping her head down
Where| Detention center infirmary
When| After D11 battle, before Snow's assassination
Warnings/Notes| Mention of violence, injury, death, and STDs



When Joan woke up in the Capitol, it was the first time in a long time that she had been brought back to life in Panem. Tough conditions and mandatory training in District 13 had made her whip-thin and wiry. Exactly how much her time with the rebellion had transformed her became starkly apparent when she woke and found herself soft, still thin and athletic but without the strength and toughness she had acquired. It gave her a strange sense of loss. She had struggled with the rebellion, with the initial attitudes of her erstwhile superiors, with being tested and punished, with finally reaching a sense of mutual respect and working hard to be ready, to be useful. The memories remained, but the physical proof was gone.

She fully expected to be interrogated, tortured, brainwashed. Sent to kill her friends. And maybe that would have happened months ago. But now they just sent her to work in the infirmary with a promise that any subversive activity would not go well for her. They needn't have bothered. Joan knew that her position at that time wasn't one where direct conflict would help anyone. And she would never take advantage of her role as a doctor to harm people. They must have known that, since she'd patched up many enemies in the Arenas.

There was one subversive act that she did indulge in, however. The moment she had access to scissors, she hacked off her hair, giving herself a rough utilitarian pixie-cut, like the one she had sported in 13.

Now she moves through the infirmary, quiet, her eyes downcast, taking care of the people who come in sick or injured. With other detainees she's gentle, kind. With their captors she's spare and perfunctory. She's keeping her head down and her ears open, and hoping some opportunity to reconnect with the rebellion presents itself.

Comments

[justoutrunyou]

Sandy Marko, had all but given up.

The president's speech had taken what fight she had left out of her and all she could muster up the will to do anymore was train, eat and sleep. And she was always doing too much of at least one of those things. Eating till she felt sick, sleeping till they forced her out of bed or training until she bled.

Today was one of the training days, and she had been brought in for bruised knuckles and shins as well as what appeared to be a freshly broken nose. She had gotten sloppy with one of her training weapons and when it rebounded it had caught her just right. It wasn't a bad break but it bled enough the staff had ushered her up to the Infirmary with tissues stuffed up her nose.

Her sunken expression betrayed that the sleeping she had done was not nearly restful enough to make up for her nightmares, and the rest of her behavior was surely recorded on her charts. She had been given a very thorough punishment and brainwashing combination upon her return so she knew what awaited her the next time she hit the battle field. She would be a passenger in her own body again and perhaps this time she wouldn't be so lucky to be taken alive.

She didn't even look up as people moved about the infirmary, what did it matter really? She still flinched when a noise was too loud, or her fingers would curl into the bed as she felt people passing by but she didn't look up. She couldn't look anyone in the eye right now.

[formersurgeon]

Joan recognized the woman, but only because she had been in Panem for so long. She was pretty sure she'd never actually met her. Still, the recognition was enough for Joan to see how terrible she looked and know that she hadn't always looked that way. It was sadly not unusual for the detainees to have that sunken, defeated air about them. The arenas were one thing. They were self-contained, and when they were over it was over. Sure, grudges lingered, and sometimes people didn't come back, but for the most part there were no long-term consequences. Now they were being forced to fight people in the real world, people defending their homes, people who didn't come back. No wonder the brainwashing had to be brutal, and the training grim. No wonder it was tearing so many people down.

"Ms. Marko," she said as she approached the bed where the woman sat, her chart in hand. "Hi, I'm Joan Watson."

She only called herself "doctor" here when addressing Peacekeepers and other Capitol personnel, to maintain distance, to project that little bit of authority.

She set the clipboard aside and came closer, eyeing the broken nose. "Can you tell me what happened?"

[justoutrunyou]

When you've been around long enough in this world, the names and faces of some tributes start to run together. But Joan's last name was unique enough that it stuck out to her. Seeing her again after so long though was a little surprising. It barely registered on her face though as she considered keeping quiet.

Unfortunately obedience was part of who she was now.

"I was training with some practice weapons, I hit the target too hard and it snapped back and caught me in the nose."

[formersurgeon]

"That must have hurt," she said, gentle and sympathetic. "Let's take a look."

She reached up to gently run a finger down the bridge of the girl's nose, feeling for where the break was. Then she felt along either side with the fingertips of both hands.

"Have you injured your nose before?"

[justoutrunyou]

She grips the exam table a little tighter, her jaw tightening when the touches met tender swollen skin and along the break. A faint hiss but she kept from whimpering which was a small matter of pride for her.

"Not since the last time I died." She answers automatically and then her mind catches and she realizes Joan probably mean before the cycle of body resets had begun. "I don't think I ever broke it before I came here...but it did get hit a few times back home."

It was almost impossible to avoid getting hit a few times in her New York, either by other kids or the cops. Sandy was fast enough to avoid the police but not always fast enough when other kids wanted to get her.

Let me know if you need anything changed!

[didnothing]

With no need for food or sleep, Luna's back to infirmary duty around the clock once she's patched up from the battles. She's there when Joan is brought in, and surprised to see another offworlder - and unlike the troll who'd come in not long after she was assigned here, she recognizes Joan's face. It's softer, different, but still identifiable as the one from the pirated broadcast from which Luna had learned there was a rebellion at all. For Joan to be working here in the infirmary they must have a strong hold on her, she figures, because that's how they have Luna here. She'd guessed the same of Terezi.

She doesn't say anything right away. She's tending to a patient when Joan is brought in, and the staff doesn't care for her enough to introduce her specially. Luna doesn't mind, because after her shameful encounter with Jeremy on top of her role in recent propaganda she isn't raring to talk to another rebel. It's only when she looks over to check on the new arrival and sees that Joan's cut off her hair that Luna speaks up, out of shock more than anything: "Are you all right?"

What a terrible question that is, asking if she's all right. Luna follows it up with something that doesn't sound much better to her own ears - a logical question when Terezi had virtually no medical background, but an insensitive one coming from a potential Capitol figure. "Do you need any help?"

It looks great!

[formersurgeon]

Joan is focused on familiarizing herself with the layout of the main treatment area when the woman speaks to her. She turns to face her, eyebrows raised, surprised. She doesn't realize that it was her hair that had prompted the question, but she recognizes the woman, having seen her working in the infirmary in 13. Maybe she's just surprised to see her in the Capitol, and assumes that they've been treating her terribly? The fact that she then alters her statement to be more "correct" would support that theory.

"I'm fine," she says. "Thanks. I'm just new here. Kind of. Trying to make sense of how things are run."

[didnothing]

Either Joan doesn't recognize her, or she doesn't care. That's okay. Luna thinks she can run with that for now. She gives the other woman a small smile, shy but friendly, and moves to get closer rather than talk from halfway across the infirmary.

"I can help you with that. I've been here for a few months now. I'm in here almost all the time, so I know how things work around here pretty well by now." Although that doesn't really do anything for her original question. "How much experience do you have? In, um, human medicine at least." She adds that mostly because of Terezi again, but it's fair enough of a question anyway - Luna wouldn't want to assume too much or too little of Joan.

[formersurgeon]

"I'm a doctor," she answers. "With a specialty in trauma. But that's true of anybody here," she adds, with a small, wry smile. "You worked in the infirmary back in 13, right? I'm pretty sure I recognize you."

She wonders why Luna is working here. Joan will practice medicine on anyone who needs it, but she knows that trait isn't necessarily something everyone will share.

[didnothing]

That gets more of a reaction out of Luna. She's visibly surprised, and after a moment that turns into something more troubled. "I didn't think you'd have noticed me," Luna admits, and it's true. "To be honest, I didn't want many people to. But you're right. I was there for a while before I...before I ended up here."

She skirts around the topic of death, for all that any ex-Tribute must be used to it, and focuses on the present. Maybe Joan will be rescued someday, but Luna doesn't see her current situation changing anytime soon. "It's good that you have experience. If you'd like, I can explain how the schedules run here."

[president_evil]

He had made no effort to contact her, not during her revival, not during her questioning, not in the days after her release. It was as much because he had not been assigned to handle her, as he had told her.

He had warned her.

And still, here she was.

When their paths finally crossed, he deliberately stepped past to speak with her Capitol minder, asking after her conduct. A concerned Peacekeeper, minding the wards of the state.

[formersurgeon]

Joan didn't expect Wesker to contact her. Not because he had told her to be careful (she had been killed on the battlefield, not trying to enter the Capitol) but because it would only put both of them in danger. And when their paths finally crossed, she only gave him a cold look, eyes slightly narrowed, before looking away.

He was working for the Capitol, after all. Or so everyone else believed.

She could hear her minder talking about her as she went back to her task at hand, sorting suture supplies into kits. The man tells Wesker that she's been doing her job efficiently, without resistence if without enthusiasm. The only potential rebellious act was the hair.

[president_evil]

They stood to the side, discussing her like one might a wayward pet.

"She was always a useful one," Wesker could be heard saying, that smooth, even voice of his carrying despite its softness. "The rebels must be truly desperate if they're putting their medical staff on the front line."

It pleased the manager to think of it, and he laughed in response, a high, grating sound like breaking glass.

[formersurgeon]

Joan listened, thinking, going through the motions of sorting. She had to let Wesker know that she had entrusted her secret - their secret - and Wesker's Desert Eagles to Punchy.

Finally she turned and went up to her minder, pointedly ignoring Wesker's presence.

"I'm short on doxelin," she said, her voice clipped by the strain of unwilling obedience. She pronounced the "e" just like the letter, with a slight stress. "I gave two bottles to one of the workers. Told him what to do with them."

She gestured vaguely to the left.

"There should be more in the supply closet."

[president_evil]

"Well go on then," the man droned, wrinkling his nose as he waved a hand in the same direction she had.

Wesker gave it a slow fifteen count, then another, before making his departure, heading conveniently past the store room.

"...Is it everything you hoped it would be?" he murmured lowly as he paused, carefully, quietly, by the door. Looking like a cat that had cornered a mouse, short only the twitching tail as he watched and waited.

[rediscover]

Anna avoids the Detainment Center as much as possible; it's bare and barren, and she's lucky enough to have a house with her fellow (former) District Four mentors, so her presence there isn't really necessary. Unless, that is, she's wounded. Before this, before the war, she'd have been taken to the finest Capitolite hospital—a Victor deserves the best care possible, after all. But now, she's relegated to the infirmary with the rest of the wounded soldiers.

She's burning with hurt, with rage; her programming is telling her she's failed the Capitol in allowing herself to be injured. All the subtle brainwashing she's been subjected to has been well-placed, and well-done. She's a disappointment, and that much is apparent in the set of her shoulders, the straight-ahead soldier's stare as she sits on the edge of one bed in a row of many, waiting for one of the doctors to patch up the wound in her shoulder. She'd been caught on the shoulder-blade by some Districter yokel with a wheat sickle, and though the wound isn't too deep, it's painful and bloody.

She glances up as the doctor passes, and catches her eye. "Will someone see to me soon?"

[formersurgeon]

Joan has seen that look, over and over. The Capitol has never cared much about the people who paid in blood for the Capitol's purposes, and the soldiers are no exception. In many ways they're just as much victims as anybody. So she doesn't have any unkindness in her voice when she answers.

"I can." She approaches the woman and glances at the wound. Why hasn't anyone seen her yet? "I'm sorry you've been waiting. Can you tell me what happened?"

[rediscover]

Anna shrugs, and then grimaces as the action jostles her injury. "That's alright. I figure...it's busy. Other people need help more."

She turns herself so the doctor can access her shoulder a bit better; she's shrugged off her uniform jacket and thermal, both sticky with blood, discarded on the bed next to her. "One of the other side came up behind me while I was distracted." Gunning for a rebel soldier, she doesn't say. "He had a...sickle. For wheat, you know?" Her voice sounds far more tired than it should for someone so young.

[formersurgeon]

"A sickle," she repeats, taking a closer look at the wound. "Not a weapon you usually see on a battlefield..."

Because of course it was almost certainly in the hands of some farmer defending his home. Who is probably dead now. Joan hates that thought, but it's not her job right now to judge. This woman needs her help and it's her job to help her.

"How long ago did this happen? And has anything been done for the wound?"

[rediscover]

"It is in Eleven, I guess." There's a bit of a sigh when she says it. As if she's resigned to fighting people with makeshift weapons for the rest of her short and miserable life. On one hand, her programming tells her she's proud to be fighting for the Capitol. On the other, no amount of programming can make someone a born soldier, and Anna was never born to fight.

She pauses a moment, to calculate. "This morning. Someone cleaned it off for me after the fighting died down, but I just got back, so..." She gestures around. It's busy, there are people with worse injuries, people sick and dying. "Priorities."

[pimpcanes]

Tom's there for a follow-up on relatively minor injury, and if not for the opportunity to antagonize the offworlders grounded in the Detention Center, would just have a doctor come to his castle home with Molotov and administer the treatment there. But there are offworlders to antagonize, and the Detention Center is an area crawling with secrets and subterfuge. Tom wants an ear to the ground for whatever may be afoot.

An Avox takes his blood pressure and passes a clipboard to Joan as she enters.

"Doctor Watson. What a pleasure." Tom grins. There's glee in it, the kind born from pure cruelty. "It's been such a long time."

[formersurgeon]

Of course.

Of course she'd be faced with the one person she really, really never wanted to ever see again. Ever. In a whole multitude of evers. But he's here, supposedly in need of medical care. She won't give him the satisfaction of scaring her off. Even with his most sadistic smile.

"Not long enough, believe me. What seems to be the problem?"

[pimpcanes]

"Nothing but checking up on a sprained ankle, lass. We proper soldiers need to keep in fairly perfect shape."

He reclines back on the seat, looking like a cat lolling around in a sunbeam.

"I see your bedside manner is about what I'd expect."

[formersurgeon]

"Just for you," she answers coldly as she pulls a pair of latex gloves out of a nearby box and tugs them on one by one. "Take off your shoes and socks and we'll have a look."

[pimpcanes]

"Both legs? Why, are you planning to amputate the wrong foot?"

But he undoes his boot and peels away the sock.