milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[OOM: "I want the best doctor in this hospital here, now, or I'm going to start killing people."
"What seems to be the problem?"]

The door leading out of her office turns into the door leading into the bar before she even realizes what's happened.

Numbly, she makes her way to the bar and orders a drink, but her hands are shaking too badly to even pick up the glass.

No one died today, thank God, Cuddy thinks. But they came pretty damn close to it. Almost losing not one, but two important people in her life has done a good job of shaking her up, and she's going to need another minute or two to recover.

[tiny oom!tag: thirteen]

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"Hi."

There's a scruffy young man observing her from a little way down the bar with curious, very black eyes. He's short - five foot eight or nine, though it's hard to tell while he's perched on a barstool - and slim, with disproportionately long legs, his ruffled black hair framing a pale, boyish face.

"Are you okay?"

Edited 2009-05-03 00:22 (UTC)

It takes her a little longer than she normally would to react to someone speaking.

But after an extra second, she turns her head.

"Hmm? I don't know if I can sum it up in one word."

"Well," Sam remarks, "You don't have to. It's not as if we're pushed for time."

"That's true," Cuddy admits, making an attempt at a smile this time.

Her second try on sipping her drink comes a little easier.

He offers her a small smile in return, bright and just slightly impish.

"Makes life a lot easier sometimes, doesn't it?"

"What, time?" Cuddy asks. "Sometimes.

"Sometimes it just makes things harder."

Sam shrugs, giving her a curious look. "I usually prefer an excess of time to a shortage. But then, that's something I've always got, bar or no."

"Oh?" Cuddy looks down the bar. "Why would that be?"

Something Sam's learned in the bar, where he can talk about who he is, that when someone seems upset then distraction is key. It's a talent he's honed with Cal Chandler, and it seems to work pretty well.

"Because I'm immortal," he tells her cheerfully. "Four or five thousand years and counting. I'm also called Sam."

"Four thousand--what?"

To say Cuddy's surprised is a vast understatement.

"But you look... well, not four thousand."

Sam laughs.

"Immortality does that. Wouldn't do me much good if I was wrinkly, even if it does make getting drunk a hell of a job."

"Is that even possible? I mean," and here she shakes her head and tries to grip the idea again, "it would take... how long, exactly?"

His eyes dance. "Anywhere but here, roughly five bottles of absinthe - the proper illegal stuff - will get me tipsy for a few hours. Here, though? A few pints of Atlantean. Much cheaper."

"I see," Cuddy answers, an amused grin playing over her lips now.

Here, in Milliways, further away from the chaos of today's earlier events, things don't seem so bad.

Well, that's better.

"I'm Sam, by the way," he repeats, offering her his hand with a smile.

She takes the offered hand and squeezes gently.

"Lisa," she replies, since apparently first names are good here.

"Pleased to meet you," Sam says politely, squeezing back and then - after a second - letting go.

"Where are you from?"

"Princeton, New Jersey," she replies, without much pause.

Of course, thinking about the hospital now is somewhat of a sore subject.

"And yourself?"

He shrugs a little bit.

"That one's a bit tricky. I move about a lot. I'd say that I live in London these days, but I've been Bound for getting on for two years now, so you might as well say I live here."

She hasn't come across many who are Bound.

"Oh," Cuddy replies, frowning. "Do you miss London at all?"

Sam gives a funny sort of nosewrinkle.

"In a way. Mostly I miss the freedom. I'm used to travelling a lot."

Cuddy's smile returns. Vacations and travel don't exactly enter into her job description.

"That makes sense."

It's a good smile. Sam smiles back at her, cheekiness somewhat subdued but still present.

"What about you? Do you travel a lot?"

Cuddy shakes her head and an expression of regret briefly registers in her face.

"My job doesn't exactly allow for it."

"Milliways could," he points out, quirking a brow. "What is it you do?"

"I'm a dean of medicine," Cuddy explains. "Basically, I'm in charge of a hospital."

He nods. "Serious job, then. Are you as serious as your work?"

No, it isn't ever too early to flirt. Why do you ask?

"That all depends on what kind of behavior I have to put up with," Cuddy replies.

And by behavior, she means House's.

Edited 2009-05-06 22:08 (UTC)

He gives her a curious look, head slightly tilted.

"Oh?"

"Some employees are a little more challenging than others," she explains.

He laughs. "Lawsuit magnets?"

"My hospital's no stranger to lawsuits," Cuddy admits, "but certain doctors attract more of them."

"There's some lecturers like that where I work," Sam says. "Mostly the Chemistry lot. Considering what they work with, you'd think they'd be a little more safety-conscious..."

"This one isn't so much tampering with chemistry as he is people's lives," Cuddy replies. "But he's good at what he does, and he saves more people than he doesn't."

Sam nods. "But it's hard to remember that when you've had to evacuate the wing and are standing outside in a thunderstorm, right?"

"Definitely somewhat harder to remind myself."

"I can imagine," he smiles, and sips his coffee.

She echoes the smile and sips her water.

"Maybe I could use a vacation."

"Sounds like you could," Sam agrees. "I'd offer, but-"

A wry smile, and a slight shrug.

"Bound."

"Maybe a Milliways vacation is what's needed," she replies, smiling back at him.

Sam's smile now is a little brighter.

"It's certainly different from anything else."

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