fromjean

[fromjean]

seeing sullivan's eyes light up reminded jean why she wasn't a people person. even back home, she was a homebody. she went to work at the hospital and then went home to her family. she didn't have many friends, she was friendly with her coworkers but that was the extend of it. if her husband hadn't have made every first move with her in college, she probably would have never married him. she was stubborn. "don't be too flattered, this is a one time thing."

her eyes follow where van was gesturing too and rolled her eyes. "it's not like there's any other bar in town," she half jokes with a chuckle. their options were limited, unless sullivan expected her to go home with them.

reluctantly, she followed after them and tried to ignore how happy they seemed about the idea of drinking together. "making me drink with you and wanting me to laugh?" she asked with a snort. "you're asking a lot of me, sullivan."

Sullivan’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, their grin spreading so wide it nearly broke their face. "Well, I’ll be damned, Jean," they drawled, leaning in like they’d just won the lottery. "Didn’t think I’d see the day you’d say yes to anything I suggested. Color me flattered."

With an easy flick of their head, Sullivan nodded toward the bar visible through the window, its neon sign flickering weakly in the early evening gloom. "Looks like that’s where we’ll conduct our little experiment. Might not have my grandma’s secret recipe on hand, but I promise I’ll make it worth your while." They shot her a sly wink.

They pushed off the counter and gestured for her to follow, the teasing edge of their grin softening into something almost earnest. "C’mon, Jean. Let’s see if I can’t make you laugh for real tonight."

[fromjean]

she always hated this part, especially with newcomers who didn't fully understand the circumstances they were under. they couldn't spare anything here but newcomers come straight from a world where they could have anything right at their finger tips. now they needed to accept that it wasn't like that. "don't really have use for a purse around here," she says, putting her hands on her hips, looking at flick. a second offers comes just as quick. "i like my shoes," jean stands firm. "the best i can offer you is some expired throat lozenges. how about you head over to the diner and have some tea, you'll feel better."

SOME PART OF FLICK GETS THE LOGIC . the mindset of scarcity, of preparing for a rainy day, of waiting for that rainy day . but a bigger part of her feels like her stuffy noise might drive her to insanity . " there's nothing you'll take for it ?" flick can't help but plead in a last ditch effort . " i can give you anything !" she perks up a little with the offer . " anything that's in my suitcase at least ." her gestures are firm as she says, " if you want it, it's yours ." the uselessness of money in this place was something that she was still struggling to get used to . after all, all of her cards suddenly not working felt like a nightmare only comparable to when she realized the lack of service might be a forever thing . but flick could barter . after all, it was basically just negotiating with a little more juice . " i mean, you look like you could maybe use a new purse ." flick tries to entice, her smile widening in a way that she hopes might be tempting before she's glancing down to the doctors feet to add, " or maybe new shoes ? you look around my size, actually ."

[fromjean]

jean gave a nod as natalia says that she is surviving. she knows well what that means. all they do now is just survive, they can distract themselves and pretend like this is their new normal, but at the end of the day, it was all about surviving, to make it through another night so they can go on pretending.

she listened carefully as natalia went on to describe how she was passing the time. she knew it couldn't be easy, and it probably wasn't east for natalia to talk about, but she appreciated the honesty. "routine is good, it helps make the days go by easier. something to focus on instead of getting lost in it all."

shoving her hands in her pockets, she thought of how to answer when the questions are turned to her. typically she would lie to a newcomer, tell them some half truth to make it easier for them to settle in. but after spending a few weeks with natalia and watching the way she acted, the young girl reminded her a lot of herself. so she decides to be honest with it. "it took me awhile," she starts, looking out in front of her. "i think the first couple of months were the hardest. i didn't want to accept what was going on here. i pushed away anyone who tried to help. but then it started to feel more normal, i could sleep through the night without worrying one of those things would burst through the door. i started working at the clinic, started talking to people again." it wasn't perfect, but it helped. "for what it's worth, i think you're doing the best you can for you and your sister."

With a brief nod of thanks, Natalia stepped through the door, pausing to let Jean follow before falling into step beside her as they began their walk. How are you doing? A common question here, especially when you're relatively new like she is. Not the easiest to answer, but she gave it a go.

"Surviving," she said after a moment's thought.

Saying she was 'fine' would be a downright lie. While her sanity wasn’t exactly hanging by a thread, there were days when it felt like it was flirting with the idea of snapping. Thankfully, Natalia was far too stubborn to give in to going insane. She wouldn't have it. Not with Stella here to take care of.

"I've been trying to stick to a routine. Something predictable," she shared. It gave her a sense of control in a place when so little else did. "Pilates in the morning. Work until late afternoon. Then Stella and I go over what she's learned at the Youth Academy when..." We have to stay inside. "It's time to wind down for the day," she finished.

She fell silent for a moment, their footsteps the only sound between them, before voicing something that was on her mind. "How long does it take for someone to feel safe enough to sleep normally here? How long did it take you?"

[fromjean]

"trust me, if we did have any, i would give it out. i did take an oath to help people, but this place seems to make it hard." she tried hard to not let her annoyance to show on her face, but she was never good at hiding that. her face was like an open book, especially these days where she was living in constant stress. "tea would definitely help, there's some at the diner that should do the trick." wasn't the best option but human survived for centuries before advil was invented. "you work at the library right? do you know if there are any books on natural remedies? maybe we can grow something to make some natural medicine so the next time your head is hurting, you can use your theatrics somewhere else."

" are you sure there's not a single advil cold and sinus back there with my name on it? " the dramatics were still there, but waning. finally, with a sigh he threw his hands up in mock surrender, relenting. " alright, alright. i hear ya, no wasting medicine on my misery. " mason was acutely aware that his charm (if you could call it that) had a short shelf life and he was worried he might be pushing his luck if he kept it up for much longer. knowing that he could be a little grating didn't always stop him, but he found jean a little intimidating. " is there anything else i can do, y'know, tea i can drink or something? i just want my head to stop hurting. "

[fromjean]

there was something calming about alex that jean preferred to some of the other people in the town. maybe it was because they always seemed so level headed even under the circumstances, but she didn't mind their company. it was definitely better than them begging for meds they didn't have. "well we can't have any fires around here, i can only image the panic that would set in the town." but as they go on to say their throat is itchy, jean rolls her eyes at them. "oh shut up and get out." she doesn't mean it because she moves aside for them to look around. it was kind of strange how this place worked. they were cut off from the real world but there always seemed to be electricity, but the electricity only worked for things that were already in the town, not the things that came in with them. she wondered if alex has learned to understand how it works but decides against asking them. asking too many questions about this place only seemed to bring up more questions.

listening to jean’s little rants and rambles brought alex a comforting sense of normalcy in a world where it was otherwise scarce. it reminded them of the rhythm of regular life: like a mail carrier delivering packages on the same route, a barista exchanging small talk with familiar customers, or a barber slipping into the same easy conversation with a regular client. those simple, repetitive routines probably didn’t even exist outside anymore. a smile played on alex’s lips as jean carried on about vicks and stuffy noses. "mine would too," they chimed in, their chuckle warm and nostalgic: the memory of their own mother’s ministrations surfaced—vicks rubbed onto the soles of their feet, sealed under socks, or slathered on their chest before they were snugly tucked in under blankets that creased just below their small chin.

alex waved a hand lightly, reassuring jean. "nothing like that, actually—just business. routine lights check. i’ve got to make sure the wiring’s good and that you’re not at risk for a fire here." yet, the longer they stood there... the more the thought of lingering felt appealing. procrastination crept in like an old friend. alex leaned a little closer, feigning a sheepish grin. "but, now that you mention it... my throat does feel a little itchy..."

[fromjean]

dealing with newcomers was bad enough but having to explain that they don't even have enough medicine to give out for every day sicknesses was one of the worst parts of the job. they're used to being able to go down to the store and get any type of medicine for any aliment and now they had next to nothing. "you aren't dying," she says, trying to keep her voice steady and calm and not let her annoyance show. "well, we don't know when we're going to get more medicine, even the no name stuff. so we need to ration when we use what we have. if there is a flu outbreak, we're going to need that medicine and you'll feel way worse than you do now with just a little congestion." she hated having to think about it that way. "take a hot shower, the steam will help, and then get some sleep. i promise, you'll feel better in a day or two."

" OKAY, BUT WHAT IF IT ISN'T, THOUGH ?" the nasally words are accompanied with a tilt of flick's head, her legs crossed where she's sitting primly on the cot in waiting for meds, a feat that's proving decidedly more difficult than she thought . " what if i'm dying ?" the dramatic words are accompanied by flick's arms spanning wide, her eyes meeting the doctors in what's nearly desperation . she sighs loudly, frustration in her voice as she pleads, " i mean, come on ! what else are you even using the cold medicine for but colds ?" flick's expression twists . " i'll take tylenol ! benadryl !" she allows her head to fall back with a desperate huff, " fuck, i'll even take the no name stuff, give me anything !" flick points to her reddened nose . " i can't function like this !"

[fromjean]

jean chuckled, but there was no humor in it, just a huff of air pushed through her nose. "i'm going to hold you to that, i do not want to deal with a hungover old man." that was about the last thing she wanted to do, especially if he was just going to come and try asking for meds again. that was van's job now.

"what can i say, i live a wild life," she says it sarcastically but after a beat, she lets the tension in her drop, giving up on the little cold hearted edge she usually had around sullivan. "ah i see, weighing your options." she thinks it over for a second. jean really didn't put herself out there much. she mostly went between the clinic and her house. she's barely made any friends in the past year, not wanting to get too close to these people. but maybe she did need a break and drinking with someone else was a little less depressing than drinking alone. "okay," she says, giving in. "let's see if your hot toddies are with the raving."

Sullivan chuckled softly, leaning one hip against the counter and letting Jean’s words settle in the air. Their grin widened, that signature mix of charm and irreverence lighting up their expression. "Well, Jean, if he comes back with a hangover and a stuffy nose, I figure that just means I'll owe him the whole bottle at that point," they chuckle before shrugging, "Nah, I'll deal with him. Promise," they offer a salute to her as a gesture of good faith.

Then, as if unwilling to linger too long in sentiment, Sullivan shifted gears, straightening up with a playful glint in their eye. "Dinner, moonshine, and early to bed, huh? Sounds like a wild time, Jean," they teased lightly, arms crossing to mirror her stance. "Why do I ask? Let’s just say I’m weighing my options for the evening. And, for the record, if you ever decide to switch things up, I make a mean hot toddy myself—though it might be more whiskey than toddy."

They leaned back against the counter, smirking, as if daring her to keep the banter going. "What do you say? Moonshine trade for hot toddies? Could revolutionize your nightly routine."

[fromjean]

lightly touching the skin around the scar, jean ran down the list of things inside her head of what could be going on. "no puss is good, that means it's probably not infected." it's definitely not a surgical scar with clean cuts so there was bound to be some issues with healing. "i think right now, i would suggest going to the pharmacy and get some non scented lotion, i know there are a few bottles down there. then do a light massage over the scar a few times a day. try that for about a week. it should help loosen up the skin and relax the muscle and hopefully the pain will go down. if we were back home, i would give you a steroid cream for a few days, but we'll just have to make due."

"no go ahead," he said as he winced a bit as she touched it. "there was no puss, but it was red for a bit then turned to a light shade of pink, now it looks how it does." maybe he should have stopped by sooner, "it does feel tight," he said as he pointed to the spot above and next to where it was hurting. "I just don't want it to be anything that'll mess with the flow. so lie to me if you must."

[fromjean]

hearing the quip, jean looked over her shoulder to see natalia, a light chuckle coming out of her. "no, that's the new studies coming out of oblitus medical school," she answers, half joking, half serious. it was never ideal, but it was what they had to do. finishing up with the patient, she turns to natalia, a small fear in the back of her mind that something happened to her or stella and that was why she was here.

thankfully, that wasn't the case. she looked fine and if something happened to stella, she knew natalia wouldn't be wasting time with pleasantries. "hi," she repeats back, offering a smile. its been a few weeks since natalia had come into the town, begging at her door for someone to let her and her sister inside. the fact that she was still here and hasn't done something to get herself killed was relieving. she knew the first few months were hard. jean has been here for over a year and it was still pretty hard.

"yeah, of course. i could use some fresh air." she usually stayed inside the clinic most of the day, always worried something would happen, but sometimes she did need a break. "if anyone come in, sullivan is around here somewhere, they can hold down the fort." moving towards the door, she held it open for natalia. "how are you doing?"

"Is that what they taught at med school back in your day?" Natalia quipped, making her presence known as she lingered by the door, waiting for Jean to finish with her so-called 'patient.'

Once the patient shuffled off, Natalia stepped closer, a polite curl tugging at her lips. "Hi," she greeted, sounding a little tired but otherwise present enough. She was partial to Jean. The older woman had essentially saved her and her sister on their very first night here — their first point of contact in this... endlessly strange place.

Since then, Natalia had gotten to know quite a few people around town, but there hadn't been many she'd preferred as much as Jean. It wasn’t favoritism, just fact — Jean’s personality was one Natalia naturally gravitated toward.

"I was wondering if you're allowed a break soon," Natalia said, her tone easy. "Thought we could take a short walk, maybe catch up?"

[fromjean]

"do you mind if i touch it?" she asks, leaning in to get a better look at the scar, wanting to feel how tender it is. "if i had to guess without any proper testing, i would say that it could be inflamed, possibly didn't heal properly so the skin is tight." god, she wished they had a lab here, it would be way easier to know what was going on inside his body. "has there been any puss coming from it? if not, it's probably not an infection."

"a few weeks ago, i got scrapped here," he said lifting his shirt up a bit to show pointing at the healed scar on his hip. "and it wasn't anything much so i just put water on it and it healed up, but now it's causing me a pain if I turn or bend over. I can work with it," he said not wanting to be an inconvenience, especially with what she just said. "just wanted a diagnosis or to be told it's just in my head."

[fromjean]

jean looks up from taking inventory of the medicine cabinet when she hears the sound of someone clearing their throat. seeing muz, she nods before shutting the cabinet. "of course, always have time." she had too much time here. back home she would be juggling a bunch of patients but here, a slow day was a good day because it meant nothing bad was happening. she would take a hurting ankle over something way worse. "come take a seat," she gestured to one of the cots that lined the wall of the clinic. "how long has it been bothering?"

the clinic, jean. @fromjean

Muz winces, his boot scuffed and ankle protesting with every step. The twist in his ankle had been minor at first. Out scavenging and being unlucky enough to catch some uneven ground, but now it felt like his whole foot was throbbing in rhythm with his pulse. Muz leans against the doorway, and clears his throat.

'Got a minute?' he asks, voice low but laced with a faint humour he likes to keep handy. 'Ankle’s arguing with me. Figured you’d settle the score.'

[fromjean]

"well i'm sure we could all use a hot toddie from your grandma right about now," jean says, only slightly sarcastically. it did bring up a bit of softness in her, memories of her own grandmother fussing over family members and making sure everyone was okay before she even took the time to take care of herself. she pushes those thoughts away, not wanting to get caught up in old memories.

she wished it was as easy as giving everyone a little drink to feel better. some days it was, both others it wasn't. sure, sullivan was probably right with their line of thinking but she didn't want to admit that. "and what happens when he comes back with a hangover and a stuffy nose?" she asks, a hint of teasing behind her stern voice. their charming personality does have a tricky ability to ease their way into her, which of course annoyed her.

jean crossed her arms over her chest and looked at van with a raised eyebrow. "i'm going to do the same thing i do every night. make dinner for me and [name of her kid idk] and have a glass of gross moonshine and go to sleep before the noises start. why do you ask?"

Sullivan scoffed, unfazed by Jean’s retort, their expression melting into an exaggerated eyeroll. “Oh, c’mon, Jean. You gonna tell that to my 96-year-old grandma? The same woman who used to whip up hot toddies for the whole family whenever someone so much as sneezed?” Their lips quirked into a grin, their tone dripping with playful defiance. The mention of their grandmother softened their grin for just a moment, a flicker of warmth and loss crossing their features. They couldn’t help but wonder if she’d still be presiding over Thanksgiving this year, turkey baster in hand, or if she’d finally passed the torch to one of her twelve kids.

The thought faded as Sullivan refocused on Jean, hands lifted in a mock gesture of surrender. “Alright, alright, I get it, Jean. I do. But hear me out—wouldn’t you rather send that guy off with a glass or two of whiskey, let him sleep it off ‘til tomorrow afternoon, than deal with him barking at us again about how we’re not taking care of him?” Sullivan tapped their temple lightly, a mischievous glint in their eye. “Work smarter, not harder. Isn’t that the saying or somethin’?” Their Carolinian drawl stretched each word like syrup over pancakes, disarming as always.

They leaned casually against the counter in their makeshift office, their easy charm settling in like an old habit. “Speaking of working smarter, Jean,” they began, their curiosity piqued, “the day’s almost over. What’re you up to tonight?” They tilted their head slightly, their tone warm and teasing, but laced with genuine interest.

[fromjean]

it took everything in her not to sigh or groan or roll her eyes. it was hard when mason put on quite the show of acting like he was going to die over a little cold. "you aren't going to die," she says instead. "at least not today if you get some rest before the sun goes down." nothing was certain here, but mason's antics was one thing that she could count on. "it's just a cold, you'll feel better in a couple days. if it doesn't, then we can have this talk again and i'll say the same thing unless you actually are dying. and maybe by then a miracle will happen and we'll gave more things to treat you."

there was a laundry list of things that mason still wasn't accustomed to in this town and the lack of access to advil cold and sinus was absolutely one of them. chasing away sickness with liquor was always his next go to, but he was annoyingly dedicated to sobriety this time around. "are you sure it's just a cold, doc?" he speaks with a familiarity he hasn't quite earned and internally cringes a little as soon as the words leave his lips. thinking before he opens his mouth is still a lengthy work in progress. "i really feel like i could be dying." every word is exaggerated, and his hand coming up to rest on his forehead like he might faint at any moment is the cherry on top.

[fromjean]

she had to stop herself from audibly groaning when van cut in. they were incredibly smart, she would admit that, but their arrogant charm always had a way of rubbing her the wrong way. maybe if they worked together in a real hospital, she wouldn't mind it as much, but when they were forced into this small space with limited resources, sometimes she wished she had never told leaders that she was a doctor. of course, her conscience would never let her do that when there were so many dangers out here.

jean thought about ignoring them, go fill out the sorry excuse of a medical chart they keep. but instead she followed after sullivan. "you know, whiskey isn't going to help a cold. it expands the blood vessels making it worse. that's like first year med school stuff." she knew they knew that, they were just trying to keep the old man happy. but she couldn't help but point out their mistake.

Sullivan leaned casually against the doorway, their arms crossed and a knowing smirk dancing on their lips as they observed the interaction between Jean and the patient. Their dark eyes sparkled with amusement, a quiet chuckle escaping as Jean’s bluntness landed with all the grace of a brick. Sullivan agreed with her sentiment, of course, but their approach was far more refined—a velvet hammer instead of a sledge. They had a knack for weaving charm into even the toughest conversations, softening blows with their signature blend of charisma and wit. It wasn’t just a skill; it was a carefully honed art form.

With a confident stride, Sullivan approached the bedside, their presence commanding attention without trying too hard. "What Jean means to say is," they began smoothly, their voice warm and disarming, "we can’t afford to burn through our supplies on something as mild as a cold." They paused, leaning in slightly toward the old man with a conspiratorial wink. "But here’s the thing—" their voice dropped, conspiratorially smooth, "I’ve got a glass of whiskey with your name on it, and it’s guaranteed to chase away anything lingering."

The man’s furrowed brow softened, a reluctant chuckle rumbling up from his chest. Sullivan straightened, shooting Jean a sly, raised eyebrow as they turned on their heel and sauntered away from the bedside. Their hand lazily motioned for Jean to follow, their pace unhurried but deliberate. "Charm always wins," they muttered under their breath, the faintest flicker of mischief curling at the edges of their grin.

[fromjean]

once she was finished with this cry baby with a little cold, jean turns to see niles waiting for her. she offers him a forced smile before rubbing her hands on her pants. the hardest part of this job was the fact that they didn't have anything they actually needed. no equipment, not machines, they didn't even have enough medication to spare. everything was rationing game. it went against everything she was taught in medical school. "yep, you're up," she says as she gestures for him to come over. "well, we'll see about that. what's going on?"

niles stood outside the door, his hand on his waist as what he could only describe as a lingering pain from the past few days over his scar. He was going to ignore but as three days past he figured he should get it checked out. he wasn't a doctor by any means, but he figured nothing was ruptured, but he couldn't figure out why it'd been stinging. "my turn?" he said knocking on the door as he heard the words of jean. "i don't want medicine or anything- just to be told i have nothing to worry about?" the last thing the man needed was to be inconvenienced or slowed down.

[fromjean]

SANDRA OH as Dr. Cristina Yang 'Grey's Anatomy' #2.09

[fromjean]

"harsh is when there's a flu outbreak and no one can get medicine because we waisted it on stuffy noses that happen every day," jean says, maybe a little too harshly. the roll of her eyes that she throws alex only punctuates the point. could you really blame her though? they were working with limited supply and the four people working the clinic could only do so much. it's not like an ambulance or something was going to magically drive into town with exactly what they need. "trust me, if we had some vicks, i'd give it but we don't even have that around here. my mother would be ashamed." sending the other person on their way, she turns to alex fully and looks them up and down. making sure there was no blood or broken bones that she could see. "what can i do for you? hopefully you don't also have a stuffy nose because i'll tell you the same thing."

"kinda harsh, don't you think?" ⸺ thought it's undeniably unfair for alex to pass judgment, especially considering they’ve only overheard the tail end of the conversation. but, as always, they relish the opportunity to pull jean's whenever possible. ( perhaps they've made a habit of it over the past fourteen months, but who’s really keeping track? ) "i mean, who wants to hear they're nothing more than a waste of medicine?" no one, and certainly not alex. but in this instance, alex is being something of a hypocrite. after all, they’ve always been the type to rub dirt into a wound in the misguided belief it would heal faster, pushing through any ailment without so much as consulting a doctor. they couldn’t even recall the last time they’d had a proper checkup. "at least throw in some vicks vaporub," they mutter.