Back in the Saddle, Again
AN: This is the second Angela Z. (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!
Chapter 4: Keloid
Angela occupied herself by analyzing the rest of Jesse McCree's medical records. She was mildly surprised by how young the man was.
Man. Ha. More like a boy. An overgrown killer boy.
Jesse McCree had somehow managed to become a menacing outlaw by the age of twenty. In her 19 years Angela felt that she had managed more than this boy could ever hope to achieve.
Angela felt her neck go stiff as the waiting room door opened. She could hear spurs clink as heavy leather boots fell against the floor. Despite her efforts at belittling the bandit cowboy, Angela couldn't help but feel intimidated as the hulking killer strode past her. Keeping her head pointed down at her laptop screen, Angela rolled her eyes to observe the cowboy.
The man was filthy, save for a surprisingly clean red bandana. His riding leathers were splashed with mud and what appeared to be crusted blood. His plaid button down shirt was clearly ripped in some places, with several buttons missing. Covered in grime and dirt, darkly tanned skin looked as beaten as boot leather. His tangled sooty brown hair was overgrown, and his facial hair was sloppy. Angela wrinkled her nose at the strong aroma of tobacco smoke.
A killer, a slob, AND a smoker... Just great…
Angela watched as the cowboy strode over to the front desk, spurred boots clinking all the way. She was surprised to see the man take off his hat and bow before Janice.
What the hell is he doing?
"Oh Madame, I just wanted to return here and apologize for the way I was behaving before. I've just been having a bad start to my day, and well, there's no excuse in me hollering at you that way. Can you forgive me?"
Angela felt a mixture of relief and confusion. She had been expecting more confrontation. Not… whatever this was. Angela looked away and listened carefully as Janice forgave the man.
Oh what a suck up… Angela thought. I bet this sly bastard practices before a mirror. A common snake charmer. A degenerate hooligan. Probably doesn't even own a mirror. Or a shower based off his hygiene.
Angela felt her attitude change, her intimidated weakness was replaced with a fiery resolve. She had nothing to fear from this common snake of a man, and she had no issue with letting him know what she thought of him. She dug her eyes into the back of the cowboy's dirty head, and got ready to assert herself.
The cowboy turned his head away from Janice, and Angela could see a satisfying flash of surprise in his eyes. He broke eye contact for a moment, but recovered quickly. Putting up a disarming smile, the cowboy acted as though nothing was amiss.
"So, are you going to take me to the Doc Miss...?" He asked.
"I am the 'Doc' Sir. Follow me if you will."
Already off her chair, Angela snatched up her laptop and started down the hall wordlessly. She wouldn't oblige her captive with small talk or pleasantry.
Angela tried her best to walk rigidly at first, but her sore bottom ached in protest. She obliged her body and relaxed her hips, praying silently that the sleazy cowboy was looking elsewhere.
Arriving in the exam room, Angela directed the outlaw to her still out of place exam table. Angela went to find her clipboard, and almost bit her tongue as spurred boots scraped along the bottom of her expensive exam table.
Angela procrastinated for a few moments and thought about how she wanted to approach her exam. She had been avoiding the thought, but the lack of information in her patients medical file meant that she, as his first real primary care provider, would have to do a full medical assessment.
Angela knew what that meant, but she checked her clipboard hoping that somehow she wouldn't be responsible for some of the procedures.
Overwatch Medical Command Protocol: All new Overwatch personal must have a complete medical file with included medical history information. History MUST include:
-Records of past injuries. (Special interest in how injuries may affect performance within Overwatch)
-Allergies & Known reactants
-History of Genetic predispositions and congenital Diseases
-Testing for Sexually Transmitted Diseases
-Basic Medical Information: Resting Blood Pressure, Respiratory Function, Pulmonary Function, Cardiovascular Function…
-Sensory Function Testing….
Angela skimmed over the document incredulously.
Up close and personal for a full day of work... Zuper…
Angela risked a sideways peak at the cowboy as she pulled on her latex gloves. If his skin was as dirty as his clothes suggested, she wouldn't be able to finish her exam while maintaining good hygiene practices. The thought of performing an STD exam on a phallus covered in mud and grime made her gag.
Our sleazy cowboy needs a shower…
Angela picked up her clipboard and strode to her exam table, trying to look as confident as possible.
"So Doc. do you have a name or anything?" the cowboy asked.
Angela internally wanted to scream at him, but found her manners as she went for her stethoscope.
"You can call me Dr. Ziegler." she replied.
"Nice to meet your acquaintance Dr. Ziegler. I'm Jesse. Jesse McCree."
I know your name your murderous mongrel… what kind of a stupid name is Jesse McCree anyway...
"I'm aware of that Sir."
Angela smiled bitterly and reached for her stethoscope. Popping in the earpieces, she tested the white plastic diaphragm with a slight tap. Hearing the appropriate response in her ear pieces, she deemed that is was safe to start her mission.
"Please remove your shirt."
"Sure thing Madame Err… Dr. Ziegler."
Angela watched as the cowboy undressed, doing her best to seem uninterested. Angela noted the way he carefully untied his red bandana and folded it into his hat. The ripped plaid shirt was torn off without any such care, revealing a tanned and hardened body.
Angela felt something stir within her as she eyed over Jesse McCree's strong form. Angela caught herself and averted her eyes, attempting to think of other things.
Why does he need bullets in his hat? So stupid…. And why does his belt say BAMF? Tacky…. And who brings a giant gun to a little clinic anyway? Typical macho man. Must be compensating for his tiny brain….
Angela returned her gaze to his chest, avoiding any awkward eye contact. McCree was a very well built young man, that Angela could not deny. Richly suntanned skin covered a bed of scarred and bruised muscle. It was clear that this man had never seen the inside of a gym. All his bodily strength came from constant and rigorous physical strain.
Angela swallowed, alieving her suddenly dry throat. Pressing her stethoscope diaphragm against McCree's bulging pectoralis major, she listed to his heartbeat. Everything seemed to be in order there, so she moved her scope down to listen to his lungs.
Nothing out of the ordinary… let's check from behind.
Angela pulled her scope away and walked around her exam table, glad for once that Reinhardt had moved it. Angela noticed her patient grow stiff then. His back arched rigidly, and his hands moved to grip the edge of the table.
Oh no…
Angela grimaced as her eyes found McCree's back. Scars covered his back, crisscrossing in X shapes from the shoulders to the hips. There were darkened scars concentrated around the left shoulder area, and it was clear that some severe trauma had occurred there.
Angela felt nauseous then. This looked like something out of a domestic abuse case. But she knew better.
A victim of flogging. Whipped and lashed a dozen times at least… and the shoulder? How?
Angela felt shaky as she approached his back and examined closer. Some deep muscular damage had occurred here, and some of the muscles had not healed properly. The shoulder in particular appeared to be trouble.
Angela remembered her purpose and continued her heart lung examination. She didn't want to make her patient self-conscious just yet. Placing a single finger on her patients back, Angela set out to find the Triangle of Auscultation in the tangle of scarred flesh on her patients back.
Lets see…. Latissimus dorsi…. Here? Here? Ahh right there. And the Trapezius is… over here? Hard to tell for sure…. And the scapula under here…. Hmm….
Angela ran her gloved fingers over McCree's back, pushing and prodding to find the ideal spot for her stethoscope. Eventually successful, she pressed the diaphragm down and listened.
Boom! dum! boom! Dum! boom! dum! boom! dum! boom! dum…
Angela pulled her stethoscope away from McCree's back. His heart was pounding hard and fast, as if he had just finished running a marathon. Angela took a step back and noticed that her patient was still rigid, almost frozen in time.
Cautiously Angela stepped her way around the exam table, making an effort to have her red flats snap against the tile floor audibly. McCree's face was strained, his jaw clenched, and his eyes pressed shut tight enough to make his skin wrinkle.
"Sir…?"
No response.
"Mr. McCree…?"
Still nothing.
"Jesse? Are you doing alright? Can you hear me? Jesse?"
Angela felt relief as her patient gasped and opened his eyes. Busying herself with her clipboard and pen, she gave her patient a moment to recover himself.
Migraine? Seizure? Glucose Shock? Withdrawal? Angela felt her medical mind whirl with possibilities as she scribbled on her clipboard. After a moment had passed, Angela decided to press her patient for relevant medical information.
"Mr. McCree can you please tell me about the injuries on your back?" she asked professionally.
"Got thrown from the saddle, and my old bronco dragged me a quarter mile." he said with an amiable grin. "My own fault really, I scared the poor fella."
Angela looked upon his face and saw the lie plain as day.
"And what of your shoulder? How did it sustain so much trauma?"
"Well, old Toro was always a kicker. He knocked me a few times before I got up."
Why is he lying? Angela wondered. She suspected that her rough and tumble patient had never received professional medical care, and therefore didn't know about the importance of not lying to a medical professional.
"Mr. McCree, please be honest with me. I can only help you if you tell me how you sustained these injuries."
"I just told you. I had a riding accident. A bit embarrassing, but it happens to the best of us out West."
"As a doctor I am sworn to confidentiality. Please Sir, tell me what really happened so that I can help."
Angela noticed her patient's eyes darken as he crossed his thick arms around his chest.
"I told you Doc. Now get off my case."
"Some of your muscles have healed improperly Mr. McCree. If left untreated you could have serious complications in several years."
"Don't you worry about me Doc." he stated dangerously. "I don't need your charity or your compassion."
Angela opened her mouth to refute, and immediately regretted the decision. Jesse McCree leapt to his feet, hands curled into fists. He towered over her menacingly and stared her down. Angela momentarily considered meeting his gaze, but her instincts told her to back off.
Angela turned away abruptly and didn't say another word. Instead of feeling the usual fear, she felt very… flustered?
Angela pushed the emotions from her mind, quickly concocting a plan to clean up her dirty patient and diffuse the situation. Angela lifted her hand and found the diaphragm of her stethoscope. The previously clean plastic of her instrument was smudged with a bit of dirt from McCree's dirty chest. Angela turned around and faced her tobacco scented patient.
"Mr. McCree I'm afraid that you currently lack the necessary hygiene for me to continue my exam. I request that you clean up your act and report to the medical command when you are more prepared."
Angela pursed her lips and held up her dirty stethoscope accusingly. To her surprise, Jesse McCree looked genuinely wounded by her words.
"So I'm too filthy for you Doc? You want me to reschedule with someone else so you can be done with me right?"
McCree looked at her in a tough accusatory manner, but Angela could see the wounded look in his dark eyes. Angela met his gaze wordlessly, gripping her stained stethoscope with a vice like grip.
"Well I don't get a say in how my scheduling works, and I don't get to pick who takes care of me. I'm a prisoner in this organization, and I do what I'm told."
McCree turned away and reached for his clothes. He was halfway done buttoning his shirt when Angela found her breath again.
"Mr. McCree I didn't mean to insult you. I would simply appreciate it if you... maybe... showered a bit... and came back to finish your appointment."
The cowboy scowled at her through a sideways glance and continued buttoning his shirt.
"Please Mr. McCree, you don't have to go. I'll let you use our facilities if that makes it easier."
McCree paused on the last button on his plaid shirt and eyed her suspiciously.
"Why the change of heart Doc?"
Now it was Angela's turn to scowl.
"I simply wish to provide adequate medical care." Angela huffed. "Please follow me."
Angela strutted out of the exam room, and prayed that the cowboy would follow her. She felt a bit of relief as she heard spurred boots jingle behind her down the hall.
"A cornered fox is more dangerous than a Jackal!" -Grey Fox, 1998
