All right, technically, Alan Gardinier didn't have any business at all being in this wing of the hospital. But everyone had heard about the poor young man who had been so brutally injured--the police had not succeeded in questioning the man who'd brought him in yet, but they would get to him eventually--and Alan was no exception.

Maybe he couldn't do much to help the boy, but he could certainly see if there was anything he could do. (Anyway, he could almost feel the young man's hurts across the hospital; he had to do something.)

He didn't much care for the white coat that was the uniform of the doctor; there was sort of an issue with it making him look cold and unapproachable. All white and blue. Maybe he should dye his hair... Thus, he wore brightly coloured shirts and ties (though his slacks were sober enough black.) They didn't (quite) clash. He had enough taste for that. He was off-duty now, so the coat was left in his office.

No one seemed to be invading the young man's room at the moment, so Alan decided to poke his head in. Briefly, he paused, then he ducked inside.

"Hello."

The large gentleman with black hair was asleep; Alan wondered if someone, tired of trying to work around the boy, with those dark eyes glaring at him, had slipped him a sedative. He certainly could use the rest, from what the young doctor heard...

"My name's Alan."

Strange man. He wished for his glasses, but was no more than vaguely alarmed...too much sedative for that. Too much morphine.
He tried ineffectively to brush his hair out of his eyes.
"And what are you in charge of?" he asked sleepily.
There had been the neurologist, the person who did things like knife-wounds and gunshots, the one who'd (basically) wired his ribs back together, a nutritionist (no wonder he was getting to be known all over the hospital)...
What now?

"Nothing, really. I was just wondering how you were doing."

He slipped inside and spread his hands wide, smiling slightly.

"I'm actually in the wrong wing altogether, but I thought I'd stop in as I headed off-duty and see if there's anything you need. You're almost young enough to end up under my care, but not quite."

Whatever alarm Keye is feeling is probably fading. Alan has that effect on people; he has a few good guesses why, but he can't be certain.

A goofy grin.
"I'd like some food, but I tried some jello earlier and threw up, so I guess there's nothing you can do."
He means solid food, of course. He's getting nutrients to keep him alive from his IV drip; if he can't take solid food in soon, though, the doctors will start to worry even more, because the boy is much too thin as it is...

"Thanks anyway."

Alan winced sympathetically.

"Man, that sucks." He hasn't been a doctor long enough to develop that aloofness that seems to be a tool of the trade. Or maybe he's just the kind of man to keep that loose friendliness his whole life.

Probably the latter.

By this point, he's by the boy's bed, looking down at him.

"The food around here isn't really that great, though."

"Anything's great, man, I haven't eaten in like a week. "
Sigh.
"I want to get the hell outta here. I feel sick and cold and I hate being all sleepy and drugged like this, and I hurt all over, and then there's him" he waved his hand in Alexander's direction, "and when he's not sleeping or eating, he's stressing out..."
He wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue.
"Sorry. I just rambled at you."

Alan didn't seem to be offended.

"It's all right." And, unlike Alexander, he really doesn't mind.

"People ramble at me all the time. I think it's because people who're upset don't think about what they're saying so much."

A small shrug, that looked more like he was wrinkling the skin on his shoulders and neck than that he was actually lifting his shoulders

"I don't know if I can do anything about all that, but maybe I can talk to someone and see about reducing the drugs, if you like. There are better ways to deal with pain."

He doesn't actually approve of drugs, much. He uses the ones he absolutely has to, and avoids the ones he can.

"I'm not upset!" he said in a tone that made it quite clear that he was.
"...like what better ways?"
Now he was curious.

"Well... at least there are better drugs than morphine."

Of course, when one expects the patient to die, things like possible addiction to the drugs tend to become irrelevant. When someone's dying, usually the idea is to make the passing as peaceful and calm as possible. And painless.

"I probably shouldn't be saying anything yet; I'm not your doctor."

And Keye is pretty much expected to die.
Still, he's hung on long enough that some of the more optimistic doctors think that he might pull through. Maybe.
"Oh, say whatever, I don't care. I don't like morphine, I've been on it before, and I always have horrible withdrawals afterward."

Alan nodded slowly. He'd probably get in trouble for this, because poking one's nose into another doctor's affairs isn't exactly looked upon with much leniency. It's not professional.

"Well, if you like..."

And he explained a few alternatives that I'm sure exist, but that I don't have enough information on or time to find.

And if he knew that Keye was Innish, he could have come up with a few other treatments. He may not be a mage, but he does know a couple other Innish doctors. And then there's his father's legacy...

"Mmm. I'll see about that, thanks."
A pause. Keye got a sort of crafty, shifty look.
"The doctors won't tell me anything. What do you know?"

"About your condition? Not very much, I'm afraid."

Except for the fact that no one in the hospital is expecting him to survive much longer. There are a few who concede that maybe he'll last, because he's lasted this long, but...

"What do you want to know?"

"How long exactly I'm supposed to live."
There are some things he'd like to get done, like to say to people, give to people...
Sigh. For once, the prospect of dying is not a happy one.

Blunt, isn't he.

Alan obliged him by being equally blunt. "Most everyone expects you to die in a few weeks, at the most."

Absently, he pulled something out of his pocket and started toying with it. Just a little disc, about an inch across and a quarter of an inch thick, with pearly edges and ivory centre.

"Really? That's an improvement. Last thing I heard was 'linger', which I'm pretty sure just means a few days. Well, good, I can..."
Swallow. He's not quite as prepared and brave as he's making himself out to be.
"P...prepare..."
His good eye followed the disc, as he thought.
Gotta ask Lex to get me a few things from home...wanna finish my project before...before...
Damnit, no!
IF I die.
That's better.

Alan didn't add that the 'at the most' bit was the opinion of the optimists around the hospital. This, by the way, is the part he hates about being a doctor. The helpless part, when someone's dying--or probably dying--and he can't do anything about it.

"Is there anything I can do?"

And he really does mean 'anything.'

"Get me access to a phone? There's some people I wanna call. The rest is sorta...well, I gotta wait for Lex to wake up, 'cause it's stuff I want from home."
For curiosities sake, I'll tell you that he wants his own pillow from his own bed, his mason jars, some herbs, and a few magic books.
"What's that in your hand?"

"I can get you a phone," Alan agreed with a small smile.

The smile changed subtly as Keye asked about the disc in his hand. It wasn't sly, exactly, but there were secrets there, suddenly.

"It's a good luck charm, of sorts."

"Luck's a bitch. Does it really work? How? What's it made of?"
It's really a pity that people die so young and full of curiosity.

"Well... I think it works. I haven't had anything I would really call bad luck, so... I suppose it means I have good luck? And I never get sick." He honestly can't remember ever being sick in his life. But that might mean something else.

"It's a bit of a horn, from a narwhal."

Liar.

Well, he can't explain what it really is, now can he?

"Aren't narwhal horns brown?"
Keye was suspicious immediately. Besides, he wanted it to be something cooler.
"And it's shiny. Aren't narwhal horns...not?"

"Um..."

Alan doesn't do well at being caught in a lie. This is obvious; he's blushing, a little bit, and pale as he is, it's very easy to see.

But what else is he supposed to say about it?

"What is it really?"
Aw, look how cute he is...he really wants to know...how can you resist that face?

"Well, it's..."

He hit a blank. He knew what it was, of course, and he knew it wasn't a narwhal's horn, but...

He also doesn't know that you're Innish, Keye dear.

"It's... um... They're not all brown..."

That was feeble, my dear.

He heaved a depressed sigh. He'd wanted to hear unicorn horn, or pegasus hoof, even if the doctor had just been playing with him. Narwhals were far too realistic.
"You can be the secretary of the Boring Club, then."

Alan made a face, but didn't argue. He was just as glad to have Keye drop the questioning, because, well... He wouldn't be playing, if he'd said unicorn horn.

"I'll be right back."

He stood and fled, returning in a few moments with a phone, which he plugged into the wall, then set on the tray next to Keye.

"Here."

"Thanks so much." He beamed. That was very helpful. This guy was nice for a doctor.
"I'mma call some people now, so...uh,...will I see you around?"

"Oh, sure. I'll stop in after my shift tomorrow, if you like. And you can always ask for me, if you need me." He laid a small, white business card next to the phone with a smile.

He also left the bit of 'narwhal tusk' where he'd set it before trotting off to get the phone, as if he'd forgotten it.

Absently, he picked it up and turned it over and over in one hand while he dialed Taryn's number. He was shivering slightly...these conversations were not going to be fun.

Taryn answered on the third ring.

"Hello?"

She was expecting her mother, or her older sister. Because, well, those were the only people who called her. (Her mother rather more often, and usually to complain that Taryn hadn't called home this week.)

"H...hi, Taryn? It's Keye..."
He winced inwardly. He must sound awful, and scared to boot. He wished he could just be brave and matter-of-fact.

"Oh, hey Keye. What's up?"

Is she surprised that he called her? Yes. Does she wonder when he suddenly got the nerve, or is it just that she never expected him to actually call? Yes.

(Yes, I am aware that the second question is either/or, not yes/no.)

"What's wrong?"

"I...I..."
Shitshitshit.
He really didn't have the nerve.
"Mightbedying."
Long, awkward silence, from his end.

Long, stunned silence from her end.

Dying!?

Swallow.

"Um... start from the beginning?"

In other words, 'What the hell happened between now and the last time I saw you and are you really dying?'

"I...don't want to..."
Sniffle.
"I...just...got beat up real bad, all right? And I'm probably gonna die in a couple weeks..."
And I'm scared...
"I...I really like you, Taryn."

More stunned silence.

"I..."

What in the world can she say?

She's twisting her favorite stuffed kitten between her fingers, by the way.

"... I just... God..."

That part almost sounds like a prayer.

"I'm sorry. I just...I don't want you to be upset, I shouldn't have called--"
He's breathing rather harshly now.
"...I dunno, I just thought...I wanted..."

"No, no, I'm glad you called." That doesn't sound right.

"I mean, I wouldn't want to find out suddenly that... Where are you? The hospital? Can I come in and see you...?"

Ohgodohgodohgod...

"Yeah...yeah...I'mma call Bo and tell him to let me have visitors. I mean, I'm not 'stable' but then again, I'm prob'ly not gonna be. And I want to see you."
He bit his lip, feeling a little guilty.
"But don't come if it'll make you upset, I don't want you to be sad..."
His priorities are a little odd. Maybe not as odd as Alexander's, but not quite normal either.