"Its not that strange. Its Italian", he replies.
Probably a dime a dozen in this city. He toys with his fingers for a while, content to just let the quiet humming of the hospital machinery wash over him. Not two seconds pass by before his daze is broken by Nathan's groggy questions. He turns his gaze to the other man, chuckling softly with amusement at Nathan as he promptly passes the hell out. Clarice huh? What a big shot.
Lucas checks his wristwatch for the time and decides Nathan's timely loss of consciousness is probably his queue to move onto the other wards now. Hands on his thighs, he stands up and does a little stretch, rolling his shoulders. He spins on his heel but pauses to quickly tuck the sheets over the sleeping patient, nodding to himself when Nathan looks decidedly warm.
The wee hours of the night in the hospital are rather lonely. The only activity being scheduled surgeries wheeling off into ORs and the shuffling of sullen night shift nurses. The hospital is almost eerie, as he passes by the gift shops. Sleepy flower bouquets and get-well-soon teddy bears bathed by dim blue lighting. It's Lucas' favorite time of the day though. Or night, rather. Occasionally, he'll hear an old-timer hacking up a big wad in one of the rooms, but it dies down. Sometimes he stands by the infirmaries and watches the subtle rise and fall of the chests of premature babies. Not a lot happens, really, but it thrills him.
A few hours pass, with a small amount of patients to see. The common mugging victim he has to stitch up, old ladies who fell down the stairs and broke their hip maybe. They are few and far between. When he gets some alone time once again, he finds a small staff room. He decides its a better time than any to go get a little boost again. It's been about a week since his last.
These rooms are the size of cleaning closets usually, stuffed with a tiny bunk bed for use of the weary surgeon or slacking resident.
Lucas pulls the plastic baggy out of his coat pocket. He makes himself comfortable on the floor, laying the white chunk of ice on the bag. He rolls his sock down, retrieving a small blade. Its all muscle memory from here. He had never intended to, but he's probably done this more than dozens of times at this point. It started off in his desperate med school days, when even on 4 hours of sleep he could barely find it in himself to manage all the study, study, studying. Med school isn't particularly hard, but he needed to graduate two years ahead. Substance abuse had always put him off, figuring he was too good for that. It was exactly the same belief that he was too good to get hooked that led him to giving it a shot. I'll try it just once, destroy this research paper I spent so long on.
Fast forward eight months and here we are. Lucas Odierno, snorting a line from a linoleum floor.
Not like anyone can tell, he thinks as he shuts the door behind him. He's feeling the high surge through his arteries as he strolls through an especially long hallway. Around the corner, he sees a figure leaving a room. He thinks he knows who it is before he even gets that close.
"Mr Fischer. I don't think those sweats are hospital standard issue, are they?", he says casually, ring finger hooking into Nathan's pant pocket and flapping it around. He looks to the man's face and notices how pale he is. Even his face looks kind of damp, as if it was clammy with sweat. His motions are kind of unsteady too. He gently places his hand on the other's shoulder, another one supporting his forearm. What a handful.
"I hope you're not trying to escape", he mutters under his breath. "Are you looking for something? Should I send for a nurse?", he asks quizzically, speech rushed.