Moema checked on Patrick's heart beat as Moira and Atlas were in the room. Hearing a healthy beat, she nodded, "A healthy babe." Moira reached up and held Atlas' hand to her shoulder, a proud smile on her face.
Handing the child back to Moira, Moema jots down the information gathered from the quick check-up into a file. Once finished, she begins to close the folder, when Atlas sets something on the pages. It's wrapped in heavy paper and smells vaguely like Mackerel. Looking up at Atlas, Moema blinks, "What is this for?"
"For your help." He states earnestly. "Can't really pay you, but I can give you this."
She nodded slowly, "Alright. I wouldn't mind going back to this sort of payment."
Moira tilts her head curiously. "You've tended to people like us before?"
Moema chuckled, "I was you. Top side – even down here- I have skin that isn't pale and I am not a man. I was poor and people tried to take advantage… But I enjoyed reading and got my hands on medical books. That allowed me a greater medical knowledge. I was the go-to Doctor. People paid me with favors and food and protection. It was…" her brown eyes glance around for the words, "familial… Money is cold and uncaring. But a gift such as yours shows care and appreciation. I can appreciate it far better."
Moira's chin quivered and she buried her face into her baby's chest. Atlas was at her side almost instantly. "It's alright Moira…"
Reaching out, Moira gripped Moema's left hand and squeezed, "Thank you."
Opening her door that afternoon, days later, at the knocking, Moema was surprised at the appearance of Frank Fontaine. "Frank?"
"Hey Ema." He pointed, "Can I?"
She shrugged and let him in. She knew where all the knives and guns were hidden. "To what do I owe the pleasure."
"I had a very interesting conversation with Atlas a short while ago…" Frank states, moving to the couch and sitting after unbuttoning his suit jacket.
"That's nice." She said, bending down in the doorway to pick up the three baskets left by her patients. She shut the door absentmindedly with her foot while skimming for names of who these happened to be from. When she found the names she went to a satchel to heft out the folders to write down who had given what.
"Look at you, gettin' all them gifts! Must think yer some sorta saint!" Frank chuckles.
"Jealousy is an ugly perfume, Frank." She glanced up, "If it bothers you that I'm getting gifts, perhaps you should do something charitable to those who can't give you money?" He scoffed. "So what happened with Atlas?"
He clapped and leaned forwards quickly, pointing at her, "I knew you still wanted him!"
"He's a married patient. I like his wife and his infant son is adorable… For a baby. I like them. They're a great family. Earnest and honest and sweet." She responds, finishing her notes before setting the files back and then setting away the fruits and vegetables as well as the wine and hard liquor bottles.
Frank grumbles and leans back again, "Yanno he happens to be interested in you? Talks about how yer one of them and shit…" he waved his one hand around while leaning his head back to watch the sea beyond the window behind the couch.
"Again, I'm his Doctor. It's only natural he would wish to know me better… I take care of him and his family… His colleagues." She states, kneeling down on the opposite side of the coffee table. She'd been completing a puzzle. "Was there something else you came to discuss?"
"Eh." He shrugged, moving his gaze to fall upon her in her light green blouse and buttery yellow long skirt and house shoes. Her hair was braided once more. "Heard of Tenenbaum?"
"Brigid, yes. Smart woman… Lacking in basic humanity." Nods Moema.
Frank scoffed, "I s'pose. Been talkin' t'er a while now."
"Oh? What about?" presses Moema almost uncaringly
"Things." Comes a half-felt response.
"Ah, secrets. More secrets…" She nods, having expected such.
"I still don't know if I can trust you, Ema." Says the lounging man.
"Whatever you say, Frank." She gives a vague shrug and presses a piece into place correctly.
It's quiet a long moment before Frank leans forwards, "You know, men wish they were me and women wish they were with me!"
"Are you upset that since you won't trust me, I won't trust you? Or are you upset I won't fall for your tricks?" she looks up briefly, "That, in all honesty, I want nothing from you, thus you can't leverage me?"
He grits his teeth before leaning back again and leans his head back before setting his hands over his face. A growl and sigh of discontent escape him. He is shocked when he feels her straddle his lap.
"Is this what you want?" she asks softly, setting her hands to his shoulders. "You want what I won't give you because you think it is a means of control over me?"
The confusion on his caused her to smirk slightly and lean forwards, gently kissing him. He glanced around before turning away, "That's too easy."
"Ha!" she retracts and stands to move back to her puzzle, "That's what I thought."
"Yer a fuckin' riot, Ema."
"So I am aware." She nods.
There is urgent knocking on Moema's front door that startles her from a deep sleep. She pushes herself up and throws on her housecoat and shoes before grabbing her nightstand revolver. Brushing back her tangled mess of hair, she looks through the peep hole to see Frank and some other men. "What do you want, Frank?"
"Atlas needs yer help." he states.
"If this is some sort of ploy-"
"Damnit Ema! Open the fuckin' door! He's dyin' here!" comes the enraged tone of Frank, causing Moema to tisk before unlocking and opening the door. Frank pushes in and clears off her dining table with quickness. "Set 'im over here." he instructs.
Some of the men, all of whom had recently become her general patients, greeted her fleetingly as they carried Atlas to the table. Moema glanced out the door momentarily before shutting and locking the door. She pocketed her revolver and rushed to the bathroom to gather some supplies. Moving back to the dining room, she flipped on the over-head light and set down her supplies.
His entire shirt-front was soaked in blood. So much so that she couldn't tell immediately where the blood was coming from. "Holy mother of God." she murmured before snatching up a scalpel and slicing the shirt open. She shoved a roll of gauze in Peach Wilkins' hands and pointed to the gaping hole that was semi-revealed. "Cover that wound and apply pressure." she ordered before moving back to her kitchen and fetching a bowel and filling it with water. It sloshed violently as she rushed back to the table to set it down. Peach was pale and clearly confused. He was standing there, uncertain of what exactly to do.
So, Frank snatched the gauze and pushed Wilkins aside to do as Moema had instructed. "You men should go home to your families. We've got this covered." He states as Moema goes to work cleaning off the blood around the wound. The gaping wound was a little larger than a golf ball!
"God... It's an exit wound..." she whispered to herself.
"Exit wound?" Peach asked as the other men began out quickly. "Y'mean he been shot?"
"Most likely." nodded Moema. "Go, Mr. Wilkins." The older man nods slowly before rushing out and shutting the door behind himself, all the other men gone as well.
That left Moema, Frank, and Atlas. Moema removed what was left of the bullet inside Atlas and stitched shut the entry wound. She cleaned up what she could and did all she could before wrapping Atlas up. "I have a guest room. Can you carefully move him to it?" she asked Frank.
Frank gave a hesitant look before nodding and carefully scooping up Atlas and hauling him to the suggested room. That gave Moema a moment to catch her breath. She looked down at herself and found her nightgown covered with splotches of blood on the front. Even the housecoat and shoes were splattered. There was blood in the creases of her hands and around her nails... Under her nails... Heaving a small sigh, she glanced up briefly as Frank shut the door behind himself, having set Atlas down, and she began cleaning up.
He stood in front of the door, eyeing her a moment, "Y'alright?"
She shook her head, "I have two surgeries tomorrow." was all she said.
Frank scoffed, "Those broads can reschedule."
A rough sigh comes from Moema as she drops the tools with a clatter on the table and leans on it. "I thought my days of emergency bullet wounds were over, Frank. I thought, hey, Rapture is a brand new place with a slightly better culture, let's go there and try again... Right?" she looked up at him with her dark eyes, "Rapture was supposed to be better than top-side. And it's only been the smallest fraction better. There are still homeless, still a self-proclaimed elite... Some of the people I tend to, some of my patients, they can barely feed their children... What the hell are we all doing down here? I could have solved the problems that drove me down here by moving in any other direction! But I chose Rapture and I can't fathom why anymore." she bowed her head in slight resignation, "This place is turning out to be just as horrible as everywhere else."
Frank grimaced and glanced around for what to say. What could he say to that? It was him bringing the bibles and such down here... It was profitable! What could he say?
Moema straightened and continued cleaning up. Once things were packed away and the table cleaned off, she moved to the kitchen to clean the bowl before grabbing a domed lid and burning the bloodied gauze under it. She then pulled out the peroxide and filled the sink with cold water, splashing in a fair amount of the chemical. With that done, she pulled off her housecoat and shoes. "Put your bloodied clothes in the sink..." she states before moving to her bedroom to change into a bathrobe. Tying that shut around herself she walked back out to the kitchen sink and set her nightgown in the cold water as well. Frank had removed his suspenders and button-up.
"I'll buy a new jacket." he states, standing in his slacks and undershirt. He watches as Moema nods and stares at the soaking clothing items. "Are you alright, Ema?" he leans his backside against the counter, arms crossed until he reaches over to brush her hair from her face. She sucks in a breath and shakes her head before shrugging. "Well, you obviously care for the man..." He almost misses the disbelieving scoff and shake of her head.
"It's not that, Frank..." she states bitterly. "I have no one to talk to about these things... I don't think I have ever been more alone in my entire life..."
There is a long moment where Frank watches her as she stares at the floating items of clothing. "Still not talking to Maiara?"
She scoffs, "She told me not to." a dangerous look turns towards Frank, "Because of you, I assume." Moema pointed a still bloodied - but the blood was dried - finger at Frank who gives an incredulous yet amused look, "What is it you are forcing her into, Frank?"
"Nothing!" he laughs. "What is with your witch hunt concernin' me?" he holds out his hands and shrugs. "Why do you gotta find all these faults?"
Moema growls, "Why do you feel the need to always lie to me? Do you think I was born yesterday, Frank?" He says 'no' but she barrels on, "You're just like Don Antonio... That son-of-a-bitch got what was coming to him, Frank. Whatever you happen to be into, I recommend you leave it alone..." she took a step back, "It'll kill you." she then turned and began towards her room, "Are you going home tonight?"
Frank, who had been watching her with utter seriousness looks away and scratches at his forehead, "I dunno..." his stare returns to her, "Am I?"
She rolls her eyes and goes into her bedroom only to reemerge with extra blankets and pillows. She drops them on the couch before making her way to the bathroom. There is nothing that she says before closing the door behind her and starting up the shower.
Heaving a tired sigh, Frank went and sat down on the couch, then removed his shoes and socks. He hadn't realized how tired he was. For the love of Christ, what the hell was he doing anymore?
Moema walked out of the bathroom, clean and looked towards Frank who looked back at her. She motioned towards the bathroom after a moment, "Feel free to take a shower..." he nodded, but like her, made no effort to move. "There are... extra towels hung up..." he nodded again she glanced towards the clean dining room table. After another prolonged moment, she began moving to her door, "Goodnight." Frank took his shower and when he came out, he found the couch made up for him.