As far as Creed can tell Dr. Rosen is being sincere in his ignorance--he certainly seems to be sincere in his slight wince at Creed's words.
"You don't know what it's like," he mutters, glancing away, only for his eyes to widen at the sight of a small figure rushing down the hallway towards them.
"There's some sandals." Grace sounds doubtful as she opens a closet, reaching for a dangling metal chain above. "Maybe...maybe you ought to wear a mask too."
Creed sighs, fairly certain Rosen was tapped out as a source of information. The older cop turns at the sound of footsteps, "What now?"
A small wince crosses Charlie's face at the mention of sandals but he nods in assent. His eyes widen at Grace's further suggestion, "You...you really think I'll that's necessary? I wasn't any more exposed than you...or the crash team for that matter. We...we're safe to leave the hospital right Grace?"
"I don't know." She glances at Charlie out of the corner of her eye. "On the other hand...judging by what we saw up there, you're probably not safe here either. Mr. Inez..."
She shakes her head, flicking wet hair over her shoulder. "No, if it was airborne, we'd have seen more than this. Just...come back if anything doesn't feel right. Anything."
She leads Charlie back upstairs, winding through the halls and ignoring the occasional second looks they get.
(Also, Charlie soon finds that hospital issue flip-flips are not very comfortable at all.)
Grace perks up at the sound of a pitched argument as they come closer to where they started--one that bursts into clarity as they open the closest set of doors.
"What? What?" A short, roundish brunette hisses at Dr. Rosen. "You did not just say that to me, you sh*teating little pr*ck!"
"I'm only trying to explain--" Dr. Rosen no longer looks quite so contrite, frustration boiling over into his pinched expression.
"Explain it to Dr. Piet!" The woman snaps. She turns around to look at Grace, fury mingling with relief. Dr. Rosen, meanwhile, sags against a wall, taking another puff of his cigarette.
"Jackie." Grace relaxes as Jackie brusquely checks her over, then moves to do the same thing to Charlie.
The arrival of his partner and the nurse drags Creed's attention away from Rosen's thoroughly entertaining tongue lashing. Still smirking the older officer pulls out a cigarette of his own from the dented metal case in his breast pocket and makes his way over to the pair.
Tapping the filter against the case to settle the tobacco, Creed waits for this Jackie woman to finish fussing over the pair of them. He had to admit the feisty little brunette had already won his approval for the new *sshole she'd torn Dr.Rosen.
Once she's finished he lights the cigarette and takes a long drag while giving his younger partner a slow once-over, taking in his new outfit with an amused grin, "The flip-flops really speak to your authority as an officer of the law, kid.", he blows a long puff of smoke, "So, not about to kick the bucket are you?"
Charlie is far from reassured by Grace's words but nods anyway, "I will, trust me."
Following the sounds of argument, Charlie has to admit he is pleased to see Dr.Rosen being dressed down so thoroughly. If he and Creed weren't going to charge the man, it was at least nice to know he would be facing internal consequences for his recklessness.
Moving to meet this new nurse, Charlie winces as the edge of his flimsy flip-flops catch on the floor and curl painfully under his foot for about the tenth time since leaving the decontamination showers. The look he receives from Creed certainly doesn't help either.
Despite himself he blanches slightly at his partner's question, how would be even know if he was? Running a hand through his wet hair, Charlie clears his throat, "Don't smoke in here Creed.", he shoots a quick, nervous look at Grace, "And I should be fine to leave the hospital. Probably just come back for a check-up once we finish with the case."
He turns to address the other, angrier nurse, doing his best to ignore how unofficial he looks, "Jackie, yes? You've been appraised of the situation. Anything you'd like to add before we go? There are some leads that need following up on...and you seem to have the situation in hand here."
"I'll be in touch. As will hospital administration, I'm sure." Jackie releases Charlie with a short hum, shaking her head. "If I can get your names and badge numbers for an incident report? And crack a window if you're going to smoke, Jesus."
It doesn't take long for Jackie to jot down what she needs from Creed and Charlie before she takes hold of Grace and escorts her away. Grace waves an awkward goodbye over her shoulder at both of the detectives--Charlie in particular, something Creed probably isn't that surprised by.
Outside, the weather is still bright and sunny. The hospital sits placidly on its rambling grounds, betraying no sign of the chaos that unfolded inside. After getting their parking validated by a surly security guard Creed and Charlie are free to leave on whatever their next step is.
(Is that just a breeze, or did Creed feel something shiver in his coat?)
Holding his breath without realizing, Creed settles a hand on the outside of his coat where the bio-hazard container is tucked away. For once he hoped it was merely his mind starting to go.
After a few seconds he's mostly certain it's the wind. Letting the air out of his lungs, the older cop joins Charlie in the car. Adjusting his coat, Creed quickly flips down the sun visor. It was always so damn bright out here, what sort of idiot lives in the bloody desert...
Still squinting, he looks over at Charlie sitting awkwardly in his scrubs, "Back to the station kid. You're gonna need to change or Caesar and his crew will laugh the both of us right out of their little sh*thole."
Charlie grimaces just thinking about it, "No sh*t. This whole thing is a damn mess Creed."
Reaching down, he pulls off the flip-flops and tosses them under the seat. No way he was driving in the bloody things. A long sigh escapes his lips, "Sarge is gonna make me pay for the damn uniform, guarantee it..."
Bare feet on the pedals, Charlie pulls out of the hospital parking lot and heads back towards the station.
Creed hops out of the car as soon as Charlie pulls it to a stop in the parking complex beneath the station, "Go find a new prom dress kid. I gotta see Brandy about something. Meet me back here in 20...and don't tell Weissberg f*ck all about what happened over there. Not till we know more."
With that Creed strides off. Up the stairs from the parking level to the the dingy basement, he makes a beeline for musty back office that makes up the Navidson Station Lab. Without knocking Creed pushes his way in, There you are Brandy. Put the porn away, need you to take a look at something."
Striding up to the central island, he fishes the bag containing the pilfered bio-hazard container out of his coat pocket and sets it down gently.
"Wait what? Creed! What do you need from the Lab?", Charlie turns off the car and grabs the flip-flops to follow Creed. They may be garbage but only an idiot would walk through the parking garage in bare feet.
Unfortunately, by the time Charlie has finished fumbling with the flimsy plastic footwear and made it out of the car there's no sign of his partner anymore, "*sshole."
On the other hand it's probably for the best, not like he was willing to go to the lab dressed like this anyway. Stuffing the keys in his pocket, Charlie take the back stairs and does his best to make it up to the lockers without being noticed by anyone.
After what seems an eternity, he pushes through the back doors to the lockers. Throwing the cursed flip-flops in the trash, he pulls off the green top of the scrubs and goes looking for a spare uniform to change into. An extra pair of boots he had in his locker but the rest he would need to scrounge up for the time being.
Brandy--known to his mother as Brandon--flushes and half-sits up when Creed walks in, his empty hands held well above his waist. With a thin face still haunted by acne and slightly limp black hair Brandy fits right in with the NPD's dingy basement lab. Other places might be experimenting with advanced forensics, but here things still hark back to the 50'swhen the lab was built.
"Hey, Creed," he says, sitting back down with a look of resignation, "What, uh, do you want me to look at?"
Upstairs the locker room door opens as Charlie pulls his shirt over his head, letting in two of the detectives from Homicide. Mercer and Craig are about Charlie's age, a pair of blonds who almost look like they could be brothers.
"So I said to him--" their conversation falls silent when they see Charlie.
It isn't that most people give Charlie a hard time, at least most of the cops who care more about their jobs that interdepartmental gossip and old war stories. It's more...this. Broken off discussions and a pointed failure to notice Charlie's in a room.
Creed raises an annoyed eyebrow at the weasely lab tech and points to the bagged container on the counter, "You tell me chuckles. I need to know what you can tell me about what's in that container? Hope you had a light lunch cause I can tell you whatever it is it's pretty gory. Top priority on this, got it? I'll be back later to see what you found. Just...", his expression softens somewhat, "Just listen kid. Be careful with this one okay? Whatever precautions you've got in this broom closet, f*cking use 'em. Lives hanging on this one yeah? Clear?"
Adjusting the shirt, Charlie grinds his teeth in frustration. Maybe it was just his nerves from the incident at the hospital but he was so sick of this crap.
This cold shoulder bullsh*t from guys like Mercer and Craig was worse than the pricks who made jokes about his discharge. At least have the god d*mn courtesy to acknowledge if they hated his guts or not. Weirdly enough, this was one of the things he actually liked about his caustic partner. Creed was an *sshole sure, but he was like that to everybody and honestly didn't seem to give two sh*ts about Charlie's past one way or the other.
Turning to look at them directly, Charlie addresses the blond officers with near critical mass levels of sarcasm, "No please, finish your story boys. I'm certain it was riveting..."
"Oh, same old, same old," one of them says--Mercer, distinguishable by his bushy mustache being longer than Craig's. "Just talking about the game. You catch it?"
Craig snorts almost imperceptibly, loosening his tie and beginning to unbutton his shirt.
"...Creed." Brandy prods the edge of the baggie with a pen. "Creed, is this from, ah, one of your...'girls'? Oh, jeez, man, I don't want this..."
His weak protests fade out as he reluctantly starts scrubbing up, muttering to himself. Brandy, for all his faults, is fairly compliant when ordered to work--especially when those orders come from Creed.
Reigning in his frustration as best he can, Charlie shrugs the sarcasm lessened but not eliminated from his tone, "Depends, Jays and the Cardinals was pretty good. Double in the ninth. Real nailbiter."
Creed smirks, biting back a particularly cruel jab in favor of a slightly less cutting one, "Sorry Brandy, but you're innocence is safe on this one. Doubt the junkie they pulled this out of is your type. Nasty stuff though, just about choked the poor bastard to death. Whatever caused it is most likely laced into a new batch of smack. Need you to tell me anything you can about it. Just...like I said. Careful.", honestly the lanky lab tech wasn't so bad. Gripe or not, he at least had the sense to do as he was told most of the time. Made him vastly more useful than most of the other chucklef*cks at the station.
Adjusting his coat, Creed half turns to the door, "Anything else you need Brandy? Sh*t to do."
Brandy pales as Creed elaborates on the origins of the box, slowly setting down the scalpel he was about to use on the tape holding it shut.
"I better, uh, get some goggles..." he mutters, "And no. No, don't stay, uh--I got it."
"Football, brother," Craig says, shaking his head with a scoff, "The Navidson Braves were playing. Aren't you from around here?"
"Like we want him," Mercer mutters, apparently reflexively.