I meant more that a medical book or a quick Google search should bring up some results of what I’m talking about. Images of things too small to normally see.
But if you want a hands-on approach, medical does have a lab.
You shouldn't care about proving things to me, you know.
[She informs him, trailing a finger over one end of a roll of gauze.]
I can't prove most of the things I've seen. People here are shocked when I tell them I've been to Tartarus and met Hades, but it doesn't matter to me whether they believe me or not.
[Proving that he was right has become less and less important; this is more about making sure she doesn’t keep poking and prodding at her wound after the fact.]
It matters whether or not you believe me, because it influences just how likely you are to ignore my instructions. Personal stories about… Hades and Tartarus are different, because whether or not I believe you doesn’t affect your health.
[There's an unspoken Obviously there, though really, there shouldn't be; Callisto is both capricious and reckless, and while she's honest more often than not, she also doesn't consider herself particularly beholden to promises.]
But you shouldn't care about that, either. My life means nothing to you.
[He looks at her as though he cannot fathom how she’d prefer indignant anger over proper health care, but it isn’t a logical stretch to blame it on environment, on upbringing, on an acute uncaring for the state of her own health, for whatever reason it might be.]
[Whatever retort he had poised on his tongue, he bites it back. This is treading into territory that dives a little deeper than just plain stubbornness; it’s as he thought, an ingrained belief wrought from something bone-deep.
Some of his dubious bite’s left his tone. Exasperated still, but not so disbelieving.]
Rage might keep you alive. But it won’t heal you.
[He isn’t the one to have this conversation with. His own wounds from years past he keeps close to the chest. Even so—]
[He’s definitely stumbled upon the crux of something here. Stephen denies himself feeling offended, but he won’t rein in a correction. Not with this.]
I care about healing because I care about people.
[At the core, that’s the simple truth. He is not warm, nor always personable, but Stephen cares for life so much more than first impressions allow.]
And believing that my life’s a bed of roses just because of that says more about you than me. I’m sorry about your family, but I’ve lost people, too. I’ve lost everything — more than once. But I still have more to give to the world than grief and anger.
[But then her tone shifts into something a little less flippant.]
Maybe I want to hear about what could be waiting for me, the girl who's only lost everything once - or what I could be avoiding by having nothing left to lose.
[Stephen sighs, long and beleagured. The addendum, perhaps too easily, makes him give in, though he still doubts his point will be driven home.]
First time was when I lost proper function of these. [He lifts up his scar-laden hands, wiggling faintly shaking fingers.] I lost my purpose in life as a doctor. In my desperation, I lost everything else - my home, my reputation, anyone left who was close to me. I had nothing.
Second time was when I disappeared from existence, and half of the universe disappeared along with me. [That is a far longer story, and he's generalizing it greatly.] Nothing like turning into dust and hoping the people left behind can find a solution, years later. I was literally nothing.
[During his explanation, she opens her mouth a few times, like she's going to speak - but in the end, she never does. When he finishes, she pauses, like she's trying to decide what to say first.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[She asks, perking up in interest.]
Making invisible things visible?
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I meant more that a medical book or a quick Google search should bring up some results of what I’m talking about. Images of things too small to normally see.
But if you want a hands-on approach, medical does have a lab.
[And microscopes, too.]
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[She informs him, trailing a finger over one end of a roll of gauze.]
I can't prove most of the things I've seen. People here are shocked when I tell them I've been to Tartarus and met Hades, but it doesn't matter to me whether they believe me or not.
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[Proving that he was right has become less and less important; this is more about making sure she doesn’t keep poking and prodding at her wound after the fact.]
It matters whether or not you believe me, because it influences just how likely you are to ignore my instructions. Personal stories about… Hades and Tartarus are different, because whether or not I believe you doesn’t affect your health.
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My point is— Are you going to follow my instructions about taking care of your wound after you leave here?
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[There's an unspoken Obviously there, though really, there shouldn't be; Callisto is both capricious and reckless, and while she's honest more often than not, she also doesn't consider herself particularly beholden to promises.]
But you shouldn't care about that, either. My life means nothing to you.
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[Stated as though it's explanation enough. It is. It should be.
Stephen finishes up with the bandages, leaning back and inspecting the work. Not bad for a man with shaky hands.]
It's my job to care about your health, believe it or not. Is there a reason why the idea's so offensive to you?
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[She picks at the corner of the bandage, though mercifully leaves it there.]
Having my health cared about does nothing for me. If you're going to give me something, I'd rather have you rage. Are you any good at that, Stephen?
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[He looks at her as though he cannot fathom how she’d prefer indignant anger over proper health care, but it isn’t a logical stretch to blame it on environment, on upbringing, on an acute uncaring for the state of her own health, for whatever reason it might be.]
Rage doesn’t have any use for me.
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[She says, and there's a note of solemnity to her words.]
It's the only thing that ever has.
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Some of his dubious bite’s left his tone. Exasperated still, but not so disbelieving.]
Rage might keep you alive. But it won’t heal you.
[He isn’t the one to have this conversation with. His own wounds from years past he keeps close to the chest. Even so—]
Why do you feel like you need to be so angry?
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[Her tone is upbeat, but not genuinely so: it's manic, not happy, and biting anger wells up from underneath the words.]
And you - you care about healing because your life has been so good, is that it?
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I care about healing because I care about people.
[At the core, that’s the simple truth. He is not warm, nor always personable, but Stephen cares for life so much more than first impressions allow.]
And believing that my life’s a bed of roses just because of that says more about you than me. I’m sorry about your family, but I’ve lost people, too. I’ve lost everything — more than once. But I still have more to give to the world than grief and anger.
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[She says savagely.]
Xena, their killer, took that part of me, too.
[But now she leans forward, eyeing him - not apparent sympathy for their shared situation, but definitely interest.]
How did you lose everything more than once? Tell me.
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Why? So you can dismiss that, too?
[It's a two-way street, Callisto.]
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[She might.]
Not unless you lie, of course.
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Why do you care? Just want to satiate your curiosity?
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[But then her tone shifts into something a little less flippant.]
Maybe I want to hear about what could be waiting for me, the girl who's only lost everything once - or what I could be avoiding by having nothing left to lose.
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First time was when I lost proper function of these. [He lifts up his scar-laden hands, wiggling faintly shaking fingers.] I lost my purpose in life as a doctor. In my desperation, I lost everything else - my home, my reputation, anyone left who was close to me. I had nothing.
Second time was when I disappeared from existence, and half of the universe disappeared along with me. [That is a far longer story, and he's generalizing it greatly.] Nothing like turning into dust and hoping the people left behind can find a solution, years later. I was literally nothing.
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Nothing, meaning no memories?
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No. Hard for space dust to remember anything at all. I was gone — obliterated. And then I was back, and five years had passed.
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[Muses Callisto - who hasn't yet reached the point of actively seeking obliteration, but who still sees some attraction in the idea.]
But I assume you're just-- mm. Ever so happy to be here?
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Why do you think anger's more appropriate?
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