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Max grimaced as he shifted in his seat in the waiting room. All those months in anger management and he was right back where he had started. He had been shopping for some groceries when someone had stepped in front of him, forcing him to knock a few things down. One thing had led to another -- more like words had led to angrier words, and Max had ended up throwing the first punch. After knocking a bunch of shelves down, Max had been pulled away from the other person and tossed out of the store. The owner knew who he was, and knew that a run-in with the cops was the last thing Max had needed. It wasn't until he was halfway home that he realized he was bleeding pretty badly on his hand. He had tried washing it out at a water fountain in the park, but the gash was pretty deep, so Max had been forced to suck in his breath and go down to the damn hospital to try and get stitched up. But upon arriving he had been asked to take a seat and wait until someone could see him.
<p>
And that was precisely what he was doing. Sitting and waiting. Max felt like an idiot. He wasn't supposed to be letting his anger get the best of him like this anymore. He was supposed to be able to control his anger and interact with people civilly. This wasn't civil. Punching someone and threatening to kill them was probably five steps backward. How many steps did anger management have? Max honestly couldn't remember right now. It was hard to think about anything other than the gash on his hand. If hurt like hell, and all he wanted was some damn medicine and stitches. He wasn't stupid enough to think that he didn't need stitches -- he definitely did. He just wanted medicine to numb the pain, and hopefully stave off infection if there was any chance of that happening. He hoped not. It wasn't like he had money to pay for the stitches and medicine, anything more than that would completely break him.
<p>
Glancing around, Max tried to see if anyone was coming for him. He felt he had been waiting around long enough that someone should be coming to take him back and fix him up. A few nurses kept entering the waiting room, but they kept going for other people and not him. How many people were in line in front of him? The only consolation was that the few people that had come after him were still waiting as well, so that meant he wasn't being overlooked. It still felt that way. He felt as though he was in excruciating pain -- dying, or something like that. It was his own fault, and he knew it -- that's what made him angry the most. He shouldn't have done what he did, but it was done. At least he hadn't been picked up by the cops. He still had no dinner, but minor details. As soon as he got his damn stitches, Max would be able to get some food in him. So long as he wasn't stuck in the hospital for the entire day. He had to get to work later, and eating at the parlor would be kind of weird. He already knew he was going to get some questions about the stitches and bandages when he got them -- there would be no hiding them.
<p>
Max let loose a deep sigh and slumped in his seat as he leaned his head against the wall. He closed his eyes to wait, not really paying attention to the time. A moment later a soft "ahem" alerted him to the fact that someone was trying to get his attention...

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She was pissed. Absolutely pissed. While her academic career was certainly on track it was the only thing going for her at the moment and did not have enough lustre to calm her temper. Instead all the other factors of her life were conspiring against her and going crazy and at a pace she couldn't control or keep up with - and if there was one thing Aimee hated it was being left behind and not having a semblance of control. A feeling she was certainly getting when it came to her mother's progressing relationship; despite Rei's help there was no sign of that stupid ring going back to Takeshi either from a toss or in the store's box. Even the attack on the mall which had cancelled one of the dinner dates - being a witness (and in Aimee's case a combatant) to a monster attack triggered enough parental feelings to derail romantic thoughts - hadn't been so much as a speed bump in the road. If Aimee had known the monster would escape with the date only being postponed, she wouldn't have acted.

Which brought up the next source of frustration - more soldiers like herself. (Or more accurately weaker than herself since she'd witnessed three girls who weren't really effective fighters.) She had been sure after the incident at the pool that she was the only "Sailor Senshi" but after the mall and the park she had seen three others and the local paper hinted there might be at least two more, the thought of which made Aimee grimace (and made the water in the water cooler behind her bubble quite strangely, though Aimee had been putting that down to faulty mechanics). The girl had never dealt well with competition, especially in academics, and had not really liked physical activities being the equalizer. When she had gained her mysterious powers through the crystal moon that now never left her neck she had suddenly felt that she had been given an opportunity to prove that she could do something that involved physicality - and she certainly had with the destruction of the monster at the pool. But what was that to her if there were others like her out to steal her thunder and taunt her for being the slowpoke and the weakest. Especially when the three she had encountered had caused her to fail in killing the creatures at the mall and park?

As much as the girl really did need to focus, the angry thoughts kept chasing themselves around her head, prompting a few of the orderlies at the hospital to ask if she was alright - to which she just nodded and forced a smile. Of course I'm not okay. she fumed. My mother wants to marry and idiot, my one shot at physical glory is practically in tatters and I've also been suckered into tutoring the dumbest girl at Crossroads High. All things she couldn't say out loud of course. Still she needed to focus on the day's mission and it had nothing to do with school or the strange senshi business - today's focus was her mother. Specifically using her volunteer time as access to the scheduling room to coordinate some schedule sabotage with Rei. So far she'd managed to get the month's regular shifts but too much hanging around the upper levels would get suspicious so Aimee had retreated to the emergency room to assist with triage paperwork. And certainly not because the emergency room was close to the on call station where the girl could see how many times her mother was on deck for the month...or add a few nights of on call status.

Before that could be done she had her volunteering to do first - which was sorting out the non serious patients, getting their information and getting a queue going. Reapplying sanitizer - one never knew what lovely diseases people brought with them, even before peak cold and flu season - Aimee grabbed a clipboard and a pen, took a breath and forced herself to not act like she was ready to bite someone's head of for saying something stupid. (A slight hazard in the last few weeks.) It was also a task becoming increasingly difficult as the first people she came across were all bellyaching about minor complaints that even she could tell were not harmful or life threatening. As soon as she had left them, the girl marked their sheets with a purple dot - the colour one of her mother's friends said was code for a hypochondriac. A warning doctors appreciated immensely. The next patient was much more amusing because it appeared to be some kind of high powered business man being dragged in by an annoyed wife; he was insisting nothing was wrong while his wife launched into a litany of observations that seemed to go back months. In the end Aimee just handed the woman the clipboard and told her to give it back when finished. After getting a new board, Aimee found where she had been stopped - only to find the young man had seemingly fallen asleep. Or perhaps not since he responded to the noise she had made. Which was a point in his favour compared to the last few people she had gone through.

"Sorry if I woke you." she began in her "polite" voice. "To get you through triage and to get the right doctor to attend you we need you to fill out some information." Looking at the injured hand, Aimee raised an eyebrow and quickly began making a few ticks on the piece of paper related to gender, age range and observable injury type. "The hand you injured; is that your non writing hand or should write in answers for you?" Hopefully she would get an intelligent response back unlike the firs person she'd talked to. Or at least not some sort of asinine comment or imperious demand.

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Opening his eyes, Max peered up at Aimee, his expression going from groggy annoyance to startled surprise. He doubted she would recognize him -- their one and only run-in had been ages back, and very brief. Max had bumped into her, had made her drop some things, and had actually tried helping her pick up her things -- only to end up with a blue pen that they had both missed. Max couldn't really explain why he had kept the pen, but he had told himself some time afterward that he would give it back -- if only to stop staring at it every day. He didn't know why the pen bothered him so much, but it did. He felt the sooner he got it back to the girl, the sooner he could be left in peace. Why he didn't just toss the pen out, or give it away... well, Max couldn't say why he didn't do either. For some reason the idea had never crossed his mind.
<p>
After a moment of gaping at Aimee, Max replied, "Uh, well, I wasn't really sleeping. Just had my eyes shut..." It didn't sound very convincing to his own ears, but at the very least, it was the truth. He wasn't sure what triage was, but he didn't want to sound like a complete idiot and ask about it. Instead, he tried to straighten himself up in his seat so as to look more awake than he had a moment ago. He hadn't realized she worked here... Max's understanding of hospitals was that only doctors and nurses worked here, and wasn't she awfully young to be either? Of course, he thought he vaguely recalled someone mentioning volunteers at a hospital, or was it volunteering? Either way, it was possible she didn't really work here, she just helped out in some way. Which still didn't make much of a difference. Max hadn't expected to run into her here.
<p>
As a matter of fact, he hadn't been sure he'd ever run into her again after that initial time. That should have been reason enough to get rid of the blue pen he had accidentally confiscated, but he hadn't. Now, here he was, face-to-face with her again, and he didn't even have the pen with him. It was back in his ramshackle apartment. It wasn't as though he had expected to run into her today, and although he had originally started out by carrying the pen with him just in case, he no longer did so as regularly. That was why the pen was back on his desk today. He hadn't thought he'd run into Aimee today, or any day. He also hadn't thought he'd end up in the hospital, but such was life. He was here, and now he wasn't sure what to do or say -- which, while normal to some degree, was also a first. The first being that he didn't think being his usual self would be a good idea.
<p>
Max's eyes fell to the clipboard with the form he was supposed to fill out. He grimaced at the very idea. He hated paperwork, and he usually went out of his way to avoid it. He didn't want to wimp out completely and say he couldn't fill it out, but it seemed that he didn't need to. Aimee solved his problem for him by saying she could fill it out on his behalf, but that also presented a problem. Max didn't know her very well, but for some reason he wasn't sure how to act around her. Answering questions might seem an easy feat, but he doubted it would be. What if she asked a question, he answered, and she decided he was some sort of idiot, psychopath, or worse? He didn't know why the idea bothered him, but it did. Still, he couldn't very well fill out the paper work on his own. It wasn't as though he could actually write on his own right now. Not with his hand in the condition that it was currently in.
<p>
"It's my writing hand," he admitted, pulling the injured hand into his lap as though he didn't want Aimee to inspect it. Was he going to have to tell her what he had done to injure his hand? Now that the possibility lay before him, Max had to admit that the whole event was starting to sound ludicrous even to himself -- and not that long ago he had been rather put out with the whole damn thing. "If it's not a lot to fill out, I can still do it. It's not like I have anything better to do, and the wait seems to be long anyway." A bit of his usual self finally shone through, which relieved Max immensely. He hated when he didn't sound like himself, or when he started acting like he was someone he wasn't. Besides, didn't he have every reason to sit here and grumble about being kept waiting? That had been why he had shut his eyes in the first place...


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At the claim to have been resting his eyes rather than sleeping, Aimee fought the urge to roll her eyes. Didn't people realize that was the lamest and least believable excuse ever? Eyes didn't need rest like other body parts did; the purpose of blinking and closing one's eyes was to keep them from drying out. Eye strain on the other hand was a different story as it stressed the usage of the eye, due to reading or - more likely in this day and age - staring at too many electronic screens. But no one it seemed, understood the difference between the conditions. Combined with the fact that the young man seemed confused when she spoke the word "triage" wasn't helping matters either; did no one bother to learn basic hospital terms at some point in their life for just such emergencies? Especially since medical personnel couldn't not use jargon after their periods of extended education and everyday usage. (Aimee's excuse for doing so at 17 was the fact she'd grown up with it having a doctor as a mother.)

At the reply that the injured hand was the writing hand, Aimee bit back a sarcastic noise and allowed herself only a "Well that is hardly surprising. Dominant hands are far more prone to injury since they are used slightly more." A few more ticks on the form to note which hand had been injured. But now for the more personal fields. And this is why they have admin assistants or volunteers like me. the girl thought to herself. Speed things along and make the doctor seem that much more impressive when they finally get to the patient. "Well first off are some pretty basic questions so this will be a lot less painful than your hand is probably feeling." she began. "First I'll need your name and age and either your NHI or EHI card to verify your health insurance carrier." She silently prayed this would be one of the people who carried their health cards on them at all times; far too often people forgot leading to huffy demeanours when they were asked for their home address and nasty phone calls later on when the hospital sent a letter reminding the person to either pay the treatment fees or contact their insurance carrier to cover them after treatment.

As her pen flew across the page to record the answers and observations, Aimee had the distinct feeling she was being stared at by her patient, causing her left eyebrow to lift in suspicion. What was his problem? Her youth? The fact she was a girl? After all she could have sworn she didn't know the man at all. Given that Aimee didn't see herself as particularly attractive to look at or remarkable in anyway (unless she was transformed, but she couldn't exactly brag about that) - she could see no real reason for being stared at. Especially someone who didn't seem all that bright. "I suppose you will want to fill out the reasons for injuring your hand yourself?" she asked once she'd finished writing. "As to wait times you do need to consider the practice of treating the most severe cases first. And the volume of people who have been streaming in here convinced that minor, invisible complaints are life threatening. It tends to clog the system a little." Unable to help herself, Aimee added, "Believe me, about half the people in this room could have waited ten minutes on hold with the prefecture's tele-health line and been told there was nothing wrong with them or been told certain over the counter medicines would solve most of their problems in another five minutes. However they seem to think only a doctor they can see - who will tell them the same thing after twice the wait - is trustworthy. Which is foolish in the extreme." Which was probably the only point in stare-boy's favour; he actually had an honest to goodness injury that required medical attention unlike several of the people she'd already spoken with. It still didn't excuse the staring though.

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Max glanced down at his hands as the girl spoke. The way she spoke made him feel kind of silly for not knowing that, and almost as though the injury had been his fault. He didn't think she had intended it that way. Max could easily be reading into things because he already felt kind of stupid for why he was at the hospital in the first place. It didn't help that he though the girl was the same one he had run into all those months ago, but he knew he could easily be mistaken. It had been an awfully long time ago, and even Max wouldn't really trust his memory after all that time.
<p>
Unsure how to respond about his injured hand, or even if he should respond, Max breathed in relief at the next question. He could do that, thank-god. "Max," he stated. "Well, Maxfield Liam Sanjouin -- that's my full name. I'm twenty-one -- do you need a date of birth, too?" He vaguely recalled that being one of the many usual questions asked on forms and the like, but perhaps things had changed. Or maybe that kind of information wasn't important right now. After all, he just needed his hand to be fixed up again, and what would his date of birth have to do with that? With his good hand, Max dug into his pants pocket, struggling to pull out his wallet. It was kind of awkward opening it up once he had it out, so eventually Max gave up and offered the wallet up to the girl. "My card should be in there," he muttered, avoiding eye contact. The fact that he couldn't even do that much bothered Max immensely. He wasn't used to having to rely on people for anything -- not even something as simple, and for as short a period as this.
<p>
Max watched as the dark haired girl filled out the form, the pen flying across the paperwork. She seemed to know what she was doing, and acted in a businesslike manner. It was almost intimidating. It was made even more so when she seemed to ask if he would rather fill out his reasons for his injury himself. Max glanced down at his injured hand, debating whether or not he could actually write anything. He probably had time to do so -- one painstaking letter at a time -- but Max lacked the patience to even bother with such a thing. "Not really," he said finally. "I mean, I couldn't fill out the form by myself to begin with, so I doubt I'll be able to write out the reason. It's not like it's a big secret anyway. I cut my fist in a fight." He didn't add what sort of fight, or that he had probably initiated it -- that didn't seem very relevant right now.
<p>
Max glanced around the waiting room as the girl explained how the wait would work. He had more or less assumed as much when he had walked in. The last time he had been to a hospital the wait had been fairly long. Hospitals weren't known for being short and breezy -- a lot of people used the hospital as their only form of medical care, like himself. Who needed a doctor when he only needed care in the most extreme cases? It wasn't exactly the smartest way to go about things, but what did Max care? Seeing a doctor was expensive. At least at the hospital he could run from a bill for a longer period of time... he eventually paid them anyway. They didn't hound him like doctors did for regular checkups and the like.
<p>
"So long as I don't bleed to death out here, I guess I can wait." Max winced ever so slightly when he realized how much of an ass he sounded just now. He continued to evade the girl's glance, seeking a topic change. His mind seized on the first thing that sprang to mind, and it popped out of his mouth before he had a chance to make sure that didn't make him sound like a complete idiot as well.
<p>
"You don't really work here, do you? I mean... you just... you look young," he finished lamely.


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She was about to tell the young man that a date of birth would be helpful to go along with his name, but when he handed over his wallet and told her his health card would be within, she stopped. Now this was a pleasant change; not only did he treat her as trustworthy enough to handle his wallet (even if he did look like someone it wouldn't be worth to pick pocket anyway, but it was the thought that counted) but it also meant that she could skip about six other questions since any other cards she would need would be at her disposal. For the first time in weeks, Aimee's face broke out with a small genuine smile as she shifted the pen and clipboard to open the wallet and - after a few moments of fumbling - deftly extracted the public health card and other pieces of id to fill in birth date, social number and the health card number. As she filled in the last of the information, she heard the babbling about his hand and recorded in the corner the reason for the injury. Which only left one final question to ask and then this patient's paperwork was going in. Grabbing the green sharpie on her key chain, she put the dot in the top corner. He'd been helpful so she may as well code him as a decent patient, despite the fact that he had gotten himself here because of a fight.

Handing back the wallet, she added "Thank you for giving me this. It was quite helpful. In fact it means there is only one question left; do you have any allergies to any type of medication that you are aware of? It helps the doctors in case they need to prescribe you anything. The last thing they want to do is give you something that will bring you right back here and in worse condition." Not to mention the possibility of a lawsuit. She'd heard stories through the candy striper and nurse gossip network about doctors whose careers had floundered because of little mistakes like that...and of course of the man who tried to sue a doctor for prescribing him a medicine he was allergic to - but lost the suit because it turned out he lied about not having allergies. Nasty business, but in a profession like this, one could never be too careful. Particularly with the number of idiots that kept cropping out of the woodwork determined to make a fast buck at the expense of those who actually worked for a living. She was pulled out of her thoughts by the young man's - Maxfield's - comment in response to the wait times. With a slight laugh she quipped back "Oh don't worry, the doctors will wait until you are mostly dead before they treat you. It will make their "rescue" seem much more impressive."

Unfortunately he had to go an ruin this perfectly nice conversation by commenting on her specifically. In an instant Aimee's good mood evaporated and the low level anger and aggression that had been a part of her since the day at the pool returned. "And what does young have to do with anything?" she snapped. "Youth doesn't necessarily mean I lack competence or knowledge. Sure I may be only seventeen by before the year's end I will be in university, preparing for medical school. There are such things as volunteering and internships at places like this you know. After all it takes more than memorizing medical dictionaries and passing classes to becoming a doctor." she hissed. Marking down the answer to the allergy question, Aimee slid the pen back into the slot behind the clip and straightened up, regretting the dot that would ease him through the process. "I am going to go drop this in the cue. Your name will be called soon so a nurse take blood pressure readings right before a doctor is ready to see you." And with her posture as rigid as an ancient tree trunk, Aimee turned her back and deposited the clipboards she had filled out on the desk of the duty nurse and took the lit of patients who were now able to be seen by doctors.

"Inada Cara, Shimizu Ken and Furihata Mamoru. The doctors will see you now."

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Max watched the girl, a bit uncertain as to what the newly formed smile on her face meant. There was nothing worth stealing in his wallet, so he didn't get she found so interesting. He didn't really think he could ask, because he wasn't sure there was a real answer to be found. Maybe she was just relieved that she didn't have to ask him any more questions. Or that she wouldn't have to listen to him at all at this point. This job of getting information must be boring. All one did was ask questions, write down answers, goad people into rooms to see doctors or nurses -- it was all mundane. For Max, the mundane wasn't something he did well with. He didn't know how other people did it, but he doubted it was easy. How could she keep from snapping at people for being too slow, or if they were slightly befuddled during a visit? Max doubted he would last five minutes in a job like this.
<p>
His mind returned to the matter at hand, a frown coming to his face at the question asked of him. "Er... I don't think I'm allergic to anything. I don't normally go to the hospital for meds, or take any medication a lot. I try to make it a habit not to need a doctor." Not to mention how much it cost to see a doctor, or to buy medication. Being sick was out of the question for someone like Max. If he was allergic to anything, he honestly wouldn't know. And he doubted his brothers would know either, not that he was really talking to them, or interested in finding them. "Sorry," he added a bit awkwardly. He got the importance of knowing about allergies. Made it easier to stay alive that way. He didn't know if it was possible that the doctors had a way to find out if he was allergic to anything, but he had a feeling that would be a stupid question, so Max didn't ask it.
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His eyes widened slightly as the girl said the doctors would be likely to rescue him from death if they let him wait too long. It took him another moment to realize she had to be joking. It was just that she hadn't said it like a complete joke like other people normally did, not that Max knew what normal was anyway. He wasn't sure if he should laugh along, but before he could really consider it, her face darkened and Max found himself wondering if he could just take his words back... He hadn't meant to make her angry, and he hadn't really meant any offense -- he just hadn't understood how she could work there at her age, or if she really did work there... This was why Max preferred not talking to people at all. There was less of a chance of him saying something wrong, or having other people say something that might make him upset.
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He tried to backtrack, but he wasn't sure how to do that. "Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that -- I just, well, I mean, I didn't know -- I don't know how hospitals work. I don't go around spending a lot of time in any." That didn't sound quite like an apology, but Max was afraid to say anything more that might make the girl angrier at him. How was he to have known that she would take offense about a simple question about her work here? It wasn't like he had asked anything really personal. But the damage had been done, and she was now walking away. He really hadn't meant to say the wrong thing, not that he had thought it had been wrong at all. As she walked away, something stirred in Max, making him get onto his feet as well. He followed along behind her, trying to get her attention again, even as she was calling some names. "Look, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to make you angry. I was just curious, was all. I don't know about internships and volunteering -- I don't know anyone that works in a hospital, and I don't know anything about the university either. Can't we just forget I asked? Or tell me how I can make it up to you?"

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With a cloud on her face, Aimee stormed away from the rude young man and was decidedly on edge with the next few patients. Once she got the chance to drop off the stack of clipboards and pick up some new ones, the duty nurse gave her a funny look and asked if she was alright. Taking that as a cue that she needed to put her mask back in place, she shrugged the comment off and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. Usually the gesture worked, but it took several repetitions before she felt she was ready to go back and not bite someone's head off. Once she felt she could pass the duty nurse's inspection, she turned and handed out a few more clipboards, doing her best not to snap at any stupid questions or the questioning glances being sent her way. How dare anyone assume I cannot do this because of my youth. I don't see them getting off their asses and doing anything useful in the medical field. she thought sourly. After all it wasn't like she was treating patients. Yet.

The sort of work she was doing could be done by anyone; however it was trusted to medical professionals if not for the sole reason that they understood the body and how it failed to be able to offer a reasonable diagnosis. However the supply of such professionals was scarce and quite frankly the doctors and nurses had better things to do than gather information. Such as actually treat patients and get them through the system at an efficient rate. And the staff at this hospital were happy to let her do the grunt work - after all she was the daughter of one of their well respected doctors, was serious, knew what was going on and wanted to enter the field. That way when she graduated from medical school (with the same speed she got through high school) her resume would blow others out of the water by virtue of having previous experience. Age shouldn't have to matter - talent, intelligence and experience should. The doctors and nurses she worked for understood that. So why does the concept escape everyone else? she wondered, absently handing out her clipboards and pens to the people in the ER. She got through about four more patients before she realized that the guy had gotten up and come after her to speak to her. Which was the wrong thing to do considering what he said.

"If I was able to forget that you had made such an offensive remark, I wouldn't have reacted now would I?" she snapped through a glare. "Haven't you ever heard of thinking before you speak?" Why was she not surprised to see that the young man in front of her had not made it to any sort of higher education? Education needs to be mandatory for far longer than twelve years. she thought irritably. With the comment of trying to find a way to make things ups to her, Aimee paused. Before discovering her powers - and the aggression that came with it - she might have responded favourably to such a thing. But that was past - her tolerance for idiots was at its end. She'd purge the city of monsters - or at least claim she drove them off when they escaped - to win accolades from the people as Mercury. But in the meantime she wasn't going to defend those too stupid to live, they could get themselves eaten for all she cared. "Right now, you can sit down and leave me alone. I have work to do. You've been processed and many people here have not been. And next time it would be wise to think before opening your mouth." she quipped. turning her back on him for the final time. Now might be a good time to take my break. she thought, collecting the last of the clipboards. Hopefully by the time I'm done, he'll be in the nurse's station. With a suspicious glance at the young man, Aimee dropped off the collected boards and signalled that she was going to take her ten and then strode through the staff doors where she could catch her breath and if she was lucky, pace and rant in private.