Paralyzer [Gotham]

17

Raising my mug to my lips, I took a long drink of coffee, unable to break my focus of reading the textbook. Working with the mob, you saw a lot of...curious injuries. It's always good to be kept up on even the most odd proceedures; Don Falcone had even provided books pretaining to the most frequent injuries he'd come across.

I jumped when the door flew open and quickly closed, mild panic hidden well on Zsasz's face, his left hand raised to his shoulder as the other held something in place. "Is everything okay, Victor?" He didn't answer or even meet my eyes, sitting at my sterilized table as his eyes ran back and forth on the floor. "Hey," I softly chided, slow as I moved to stand in front of him. "Doctor-patient confidentiality. You're safe."

He took a slow, deep breath, still not turning his gaze to me as he offered me his wrist. When I took the cloth from his grasp, his other hand shot to his sleeve, holding onto his wrist as I gently pulled back the fabric. I only got a quick look before replacing it, the immediate rush of blood rushing my movements. My eyes shot to his face in shock, but other than the panic I needed a second to pick out, Victor was impassive and unreadable. "Keep pressure real quick," I advised.

Once his bony fingers slid over the cloth in place of my own, I moved quickly, finding a coagulating agent and dousing a cotton ball in it. I held it at the ready as I took hold of the cloth again, quickly removing the fabric and putting the cotton ball in it's place, holding it still for a moment before gently dabbing and watching carefully as the alarmingly rapid, for such a small cut, flow slowly reduced.

Every now and again my eyes would flick up to his profile, but for a moment I thought he miniscully turned further away from me each time. "I wasn't trying to off myself," he finally spoke, the monotone of his voice surprising me.

"I didn't think you were," I breathed. "Most people who do try don't bring themselves to get medical attention." After he stopped bleeding, I cleaned up his wrist, at least the small portion he gave me to work with; his other hand still held his sleeve in place. Once I could actually see what I was working with, I kept his skin together with butterfly stitches, to keep it from spurting like a fountain if it should open again.

I was smoothing a band-aid over his wrist when I tried to turn it over, inspect him for anything else, but he quickly snatched his wrist back, wide eyes on me before I'd even turned to him. I took a step back with my hands held palm out at my sides, breathing again once I was sat in my chair. "If you need someone to talk to--" I tried, quickly getting cut off.

"I do what I do because I like it," he informed, sending a chill through me that left goosebumps on my skin. "I only came here because I slipped. It won't happen again, don't ask about it if you like your job." I nodded and fought the urge to look at him, keeping my eyes glued to the floor. I was used to patients being defensive over how they ended up in my care, I saw a lot when I was interning. I'd just never had any hostile ones. Most of them were in too much pain to fight me.

But Zsasz was cold, and he wasn't like the charming, chuckling man he made himself out to be. He was the don's favorite hitman, and it was about time I reminded myself of what the people I worked for were capable of. When the door shut behind Zsasz I ran my hands over my arms, hoping that warming myself up would release me from the chill he'd left me with, but I had no such luck. Not even the coffee was enough to do the job.

[]

"Do you ever think of retiring?" I asked the don, tying a rubber strap just below his elbow. "It might be easier on that old ticker."

"It's crossed my mind," Falcone considered, a frown on his lips as I stuck him with a needle. The man himself was worried about his health, as he should be. This life was not easy on him in the slightest. He'd had a heart attack scare last night, thankfully just a scare, but it definately influenced his choice to come in.

"These aren't much different from the nitrates you'd usually take, but they'll get to work faster this way," I explained, holding a cotton ball over the prick in his arm shortly before placing a band-aid over it and removing the rubber strap. "Even if you don't retire, think about spending some time out of Gotham. Clean air would do you some good."

There was a light smile on my lips as he moved to stand. "My daughter is living in Miami, I might pay her a visit," he nodded as he fixed his sleeve.

"Take it easy, Don Falcone. I mean it," I advised as he leaned forward to kiss my head.

"Don't let Victor push your buttons," he advised in return. "He has his bad days, but he's generally civil." I couldn't help the sudden laugh that fell from my lips, quickly stiffling it and causing the don to chuckle.

"About as civil as a stomach ulcer," I decided, causing his laughter to increase slightly. "Have a good day, Don Falcone."

"You, too, Lucian," he hummed, amusement in his tone as he left. It had been a couple days since Zsasz had came through here, but the don saw him more often than I saw either of them, it made me wonder how he knew Zsasz got under my skin. In any case, after my brief house call with Butch Gilzean, I think I wasn't the only one whose skin crawled at the behavior of Victor Zsasz.