The doctor's office was warm, comfortable, and oh so sterile. Despite the paintings on the wall, the soft carpet, the cushy chair, the gentle lighting, or the practiced way Dr. Bell engaged his patients, Rick could feel no life here, could find no comfort. The room felt empty. It felt cold.
In the doctor's defense, everything had felt cold to Rick since he'd taken an uranium round through stomach. Cold iron on steroids, it'd tumbled through more than mere flesh and bone before exiting out his back in a bloody burst of dark red like a vicious comet punching holes in the sky; it'd tumbled through his soul, too. Punched holes in his spirit, for which there were no bandages, no band aids, no help. That part of him was dying now, if not already dead. The rest of him was just a corpse waiting to drop.
Rick felt tired and alone and cold, and realized Dr. Bell had been talking for some time. Dr. Bell was straightening things on his desk while he talked. Nervous habit, probably. Meant Rick was getting bad news from yet another specialist. Rick tried to focus.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Spade. In cases like this, there is very little we can do except try to make you comfortable. Cases like this are.." Dr. Bell paused, searching for the words, and adjusting a row of pens so they were perfectly and evenly spaced. He made no eye contact. Few did with dying men, even dying men in their care. "..difficult. Yours, particularly, because of your preexisting special, er. Condition." Dr. Bell was aware that Rick didn't age, and hadn't for close to 60 years. He was one of the few doctors who worked with wizards. "I echo the directions of my colleagues, Mr. Spade, and emphatically suggest you reconsider coming to stay with us. We can make your last moments much more comfortable and even prolong your functional days. Give you more time with your family and more time to get your affairs in order. It's your best option at this point."
Dr. Bell looked up, but instead of looking Rick in the eyes, he focused on his nose. Rick might not have even noticed if he wasn't used to people refusing to look him in the eyes on account of being a wizard. Funny enough, Rick was one of the few of his type who couldn't soulgaze. Even if he could, he wasn't so sure he'd be able to do it now.
"Dr. Bell, as I told the last doctor, and the one before him, and the one before him; I'm not interested in spending my last days sitting in a hospital bed, waiting to die. If you can't help me, just say it so I can move on and seek other options." Some days were easier than others. Today, even talking took a lot out of him. He was thankful that Quinn was in the waiting room, because he wasn't sure he'd make it all the way home feeling like he did.
"Mr. Spade.. Rick. Let me rephrase, as delicately as I can. It's not just your best option; it's your only option." The doctor almost winced just by saying it. It was a truly difficult task to tell a man he was dead and there was absolutely nothing to be done about it. He looked away again and started adjusting the cord on the phone at the corner of his desk. After some time, he sighed, and looked back up. "I'm truly sorry, Rick. My father told me what you did for him. He said you were a good man. If there was something I could do for you, I would. If you want my honest advice, I think it's time you accept what's happening and make the best of it. Try not to see .. your.. fate, as a curse. See it as a .."
"Blessing." Rick cut him off, bitterly. "Yeah, I've heard that before. Funny how everyone who isn't me wants to talk about curses as blessings. Tell your dad thanks, kid, but I'm not giving up. There's always an answer." Sometimes, they were just hard to find. Or they had steep price tags. But giving up wasn't what Rick did, even when it would have been so easy. With some effort, Rick stood and made for the door.
"I will, Mr. Spade. I visit him every Sunday after church. I'm sure he would have liked to have heard that. And I'm sorry. If you need anything, don't be afraid to call me. I'll have Janine at the front desk give you my personal number." Dr. Bell stood up to watch Rick leave.
It felt like a man standing for a funeral procession. Rick waved over his shoulder and left, shuffling slowly down the hallway.
He had no idea how to tell Quinn he was dying, and he was running out of time. It made him want to cry. If only he had the energy..
In the doctor's defense, everything had felt cold to Rick since he'd taken an uranium round through stomach. Cold iron on steroids, it'd tumbled through more than mere flesh and bone before exiting out his back in a bloody burst of dark red like a vicious comet punching holes in the sky; it'd tumbled through his soul, too. Punched holes in his spirit, for which there were no bandages, no band aids, no help. That part of him was dying now, if not already dead. The rest of him was just a corpse waiting to drop.
Rick felt tired and alone and cold, and realized Dr. Bell had been talking for some time. Dr. Bell was straightening things on his desk while he talked. Nervous habit, probably. Meant Rick was getting bad news from yet another specialist. Rick tried to focus.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Spade. In cases like this, there is very little we can do except try to make you comfortable. Cases like this are.." Dr. Bell paused, searching for the words, and adjusting a row of pens so they were perfectly and evenly spaced. He made no eye contact. Few did with dying men, even dying men in their care. "..difficult. Yours, particularly, because of your preexisting special, er. Condition." Dr. Bell was aware that Rick didn't age, and hadn't for close to 60 years. He was one of the few doctors who worked with wizards. "I echo the directions of my colleagues, Mr. Spade, and emphatically suggest you reconsider coming to stay with us. We can make your last moments much more comfortable and even prolong your functional days. Give you more time with your family and more time to get your affairs in order. It's your best option at this point."
Dr. Bell looked up, but instead of looking Rick in the eyes, he focused on his nose. Rick might not have even noticed if he wasn't used to people refusing to look him in the eyes on account of being a wizard. Funny enough, Rick was one of the few of his type who couldn't soulgaze. Even if he could, he wasn't so sure he'd be able to do it now.
"Dr. Bell, as I told the last doctor, and the one before him, and the one before him; I'm not interested in spending my last days sitting in a hospital bed, waiting to die. If you can't help me, just say it so I can move on and seek other options." Some days were easier than others. Today, even talking took a lot out of him. He was thankful that Quinn was in the waiting room, because he wasn't sure he'd make it all the way home feeling like he did.
"Mr. Spade.. Rick. Let me rephrase, as delicately as I can. It's not just your best option; it's your only option." The doctor almost winced just by saying it. It was a truly difficult task to tell a man he was dead and there was absolutely nothing to be done about it. He looked away again and started adjusting the cord on the phone at the corner of his desk. After some time, he sighed, and looked back up. "I'm truly sorry, Rick. My father told me what you did for him. He said you were a good man. If there was something I could do for you, I would. If you want my honest advice, I think it's time you accept what's happening and make the best of it. Try not to see .. your.. fate, as a curse. See it as a .."
"Blessing." Rick cut him off, bitterly. "Yeah, I've heard that before. Funny how everyone who isn't me wants to talk about curses as blessings. Tell your dad thanks, kid, but I'm not giving up. There's always an answer." Sometimes, they were just hard to find. Or they had steep price tags. But giving up wasn't what Rick did, even when it would have been so easy. With some effort, Rick stood and made for the door.
"I will, Mr. Spade. I visit him every Sunday after church. I'm sure he would have liked to have heard that. And I'm sorry. If you need anything, don't be afraid to call me. I'll have Janine at the front desk give you my personal number." Dr. Bell stood up to watch Rick leave.
It felt like a man standing for a funeral procession. Rick waved over his shoulder and left, shuffling slowly down the hallway.
He had no idea how to tell Quinn he was dying, and he was running out of time. It made him want to cry. If only he had the energy..