[ he sends the name of a halfway-decent bar on the east side of town. it's a good place to meet: always busy, with more secluded seating on the second level. means they're not likely to be overheard. ]
Thanks.
[ so he doesn't have to say it in person, at least not until he's, say, two pints deep and feeling better about this life choice.
fitz will be there early, leaning against the bar with one pint already in progress. given the week they've had, his face bears minor indications of damage — cuts and bruises, with a noticeable mark where a punch skimmed his jaw. despite the persistent warm weather, he wears his wee, red scarf around his neck. no need to advertise his semi-annual brush with death, after all. although his left hand is bandaged across the palm, his right appears in working order.
[ Stephen's slightly longer than he intends to be given that there's alcohol at the end of the rainbow, owing to the slight limp in his right leg that he's already grown accustomed to ignoring. there's little preamble to his arrival - when he shows up, it's with an elbow on the bar to tap his fingers against it in an attempt to summon the bartender.
a sideways glance at Fitz, and: ]
We match.
[ except the ugly bruise slowly healing over Stephen's jaw suggests he wasn't quite as lucky avoiding the bulk of the impact. or maybe just that he got punched in the face by a god.
aside from that, it's same old same old. nobody came out of this thing particularly well off, but he's done better than a lot of people he's seen along the way. ]
[ Twinning with Strange yet again, imagine that. The comment wrings a wry smile from his mouth, covered by a sip of his drink. A brief scan tells him enough about Stephen's injuries. They're doing fine, compared to the others.
"On my tab," Fitz adds as soon as the bartender swings by. Best make good on his offer. ]
Can't wait for the cosmos to come through with a leg injury for me, then.
[ seeing as they've already got the pre-existing hand andnewfound jaw damage. why not go three for three? ]
Careful. This city'll sort you out of its own volition even if the cosmos takes a day off.
[ Stephen order a pint of whatever Fitz is drinking. not usually his scene, but spirits are going to go down far too fast, and they're here for conversation, so.
after his first sip and a wince at the taste, god knows what they've fermented to make this stuff - ]
Are we going to beat about the bush a little while, or go straight in?
[ he smooths a finger over the rim of his glass, something to focus on as he leans one elbow on the bar. no one drifts close enough to overhear them, and the thrum of the bar covers their chatter. he was going to take this slowly, but strange waits for no man. ]
My medical history. I'm talking you through my medical history.
[ said by way of explanation. maybe if he says it, he'll actually do it. ]
I want your advice as a doctor — and a bloody magical mystery man, and outsider on my experience, and as a person who has seen a timeline or two. If you don't want to give it, I'll stop talking.
Stephen's brow quirks just slightly as Fitz plows through what he has to say. when he's finished there's the ever-present urge to be sarcastic, but this is clearly not an easy trip for the guy, so instead: ]
I haven't got anywhere better to be.
[ advice was what was asked for, and here he is. whatever exactly the nature of it's going to be, since Fitz has found it worth a healthy preamble, he's not sure. but it can't hurt to hear him out. ]
[ a sigh of relief, features loosening a fraction. they're not close, he and strange, but that's what makes him the right choice for a consultation. that and the niche intersection of expertises.
his delivery is even and rapid. stephen can keep up. ]
Severe hypoxia caused by a combination of oxygen deprivation, the bends, and drowning in 2014. Nine-day coma. Six months of severe symptoms. Loss of motor skills, difficulties with speech, short-term memory loss, hallucinations.
[ a beat, to breathe. ]
Six months of lessened symptoms. No hallucinations throughout the majority of 2015 and 2016. [ too good to be true, so it doesn't last. he tips his head in a "what can you do" gesture. ] Enter the end of 2016, a classified project goes wrong. Myself and several other agents are trapped in a simulation and experience an entire second life, as real as this one. All agents are awakened by a rescue team and willingly leave, [ a pointed look. ] except myself. The shock of the forced exit has the potential to fry the brain. [ he half-shrugs. ] It would appear that didn't occur — but now I have two sets of memories in my head. Often contradictory ones, at that. Six months of minor hallucinations follow, escalating this past week.
Splitting, prodromal schizophrenia. [ any! fucking! ideas! despite the edge of exhaustion in his slouched posture, he maintains an air of indefatigability. this is just another problem in the queue. it has to be. ] Give me any direction to pursue before this escalates.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Thanks.
[ so he doesn't have to say it in person, at least not until he's, say, two pints deep and feeling better about this life choice.
fitz will be there early, leaning against the bar with one pint already in progress. given the week they've had, his face bears minor indications of damage — cuts and bruises, with a noticeable mark where a punch skimmed his jaw. despite the persistent warm weather, he wears his wee, red scarf around his neck. no need to advertise his semi-annual brush with death, after all. although his left hand is bandaged across the palm, his right appears in working order.
not bad, all things considered. ]
no subject
a sideways glance at Fitz, and: ]
We match.
[ except the ugly bruise slowly healing over Stephen's jaw suggests he wasn't quite as lucky avoiding the bulk of the impact. or maybe just that he got punched in the face by a god.
aside from that, it's same old same old. nobody came out of this thing particularly well off, but he's done better than a lot of people he's seen along the way. ]
no subject
"On my tab," Fitz adds as soon as the bartender swings by. Best make good on his offer. ]
Can't wait for the cosmos to come through with a leg injury for me, then.
[ seeing as they've already got the pre-existing hand andnewfound jaw damage. why not go three for three? ]
no subject
[ Stephen order a pint of whatever Fitz is drinking. not usually his scene, but spirits are going to go down far too fast, and they're here for conversation, so.
after his first sip and a wince at the taste, god knows what they've fermented to make this stuff - ]
Are we going to beat about the bush a little while, or go straight in?
[ what did you need, Fitz? ]
no subject
You always say that. [ even though he's so!! amusing!! ] Worried you'll keel over before I finish, are we.
[ you old man!! he continues quickly, at least, given his concerns that stephen might ditch him. ]
Are you familiar with hypoxia?
no subject
Yes. Go on.
no subject
My medical history. I'm talking you through my medical history.
[ said by way of explanation. maybe if he says it, he'll actually do it. ]
I want your advice as a doctor — and a bloody magical mystery man, and outsider on my experience, and as a person who has seen a timeline or two. If you don't want to give it, I'll stop talking.
[ said with finality. ]
no subject
Stephen's brow quirks just slightly as Fitz plows through what he has to say. when he's finished there's the ever-present urge to be sarcastic, but this is clearly not an easy trip for the guy, so instead: ]
I haven't got anywhere better to be.
[ advice was what was asked for, and here he is. whatever exactly the nature of it's going to be, since Fitz has found it worth a healthy preamble, he's not sure. but it can't hurt to hear him out. ]
Carry on.
no subject
his delivery is even and rapid. stephen can keep up. ]
Severe hypoxia caused by a combination of oxygen deprivation, the bends, and drowning in 2014. Nine-day coma. Six months of severe symptoms. Loss of motor skills, difficulties with speech, short-term memory loss, hallucinations.
[ a beat, to breathe. ]
Six months of lessened symptoms. No hallucinations throughout the majority of 2015 and 2016. [ too good to be true, so it doesn't last. he tips his head in a "what can you do" gesture. ] Enter the end of 2016, a classified project goes wrong. Myself and several other agents are trapped in a simulation and experience an entire second life, as real as this one. All agents are awakened by a rescue team and willingly leave, [ a pointed look. ] except myself. The shock of the forced exit has the potential to fry the brain. [ he half-shrugs. ] It would appear that didn't occur — but now I have two sets of memories in my head. Often contradictory ones, at that. Six months of minor hallucinations follow, escalating this past week.
Splitting, prodromal schizophrenia. [ any! fucking! ideas! despite the edge of exhaustion in his slouched posture, he maintains an air of indefatigability. this is just another problem in the queue. it has to be. ] Give me any direction to pursue before this escalates.