True, I'm nervous.

[radiopalkiller]

Who: Philip, Jo Harvelle, Tauriel & [OPEN]
Where: Second floor hallway & the clinic
When: February 12th - February 21st
Rating: PG-13 to R for violence, blood and frequent mentions thereof
Summary: You'd thinking surviving the Valentine's Day killers attack would mean you're in the clear, but then again, this is Philip we're talking about here.
The Story:

He made it out, thanks to a certain Doctor's lucky intervention. He should've called it a day then, and headed for the clinic with him. But luck just didn't seem a good enough reason to brush off the fact that he couldn't get Evie to answer her device, no matter how often he tried. So he moved up to her room on the second floor, so he really should've changed out of his tunneling outfit first. Well, at least being mistaken for the murderer along the way guarantees he'll make his way to the clinic after all, and stay there for a solid week...

[[ OOC: Long story short, on February 12th Philip gets attacked by Tom and escapes. Jo mistakes him for the killer and shoots him. Tauriel finds him and patches him up, and he spends the next week at the clinic. That part is open to everyone, in case anybody wants to visit, comfort, bother, torment, entertain or question him. ]]

Comments

[radiopalkiller]

A bit scratched up is a surprising relief to hear. Philip didn't realise it at all at the time, but in the struggle and its aftermath he's paid far less attention to the Doctor than he was supposed to. Couldn't recall the state of him now if he tried, instead he could've sworn that he let the Doctor know why he had to leave again. Guess it all happened a bit too fast, after all.

"I could've sworn I mentioned, I just--" Ow. "I had to find somebody. Just after we were attacked, I didn't know what was going on, she didn't pick up when I called, so I figured--"

Well. The rest of that is sad, sad, history, at least it is for him, enough that he breaks off the explanation, and leaves a distant stare in place of its conclusion. Easy enough to connect, those bloody dots, anyway...

[selfrespecting]

To find someone. From the sounds of it, Philip had been worried, which meant this person was important. Seeing what was going on around here, Martha understands -- and can also see how someone might not be thinking straight in the aftermath of an attack like that. Both Philip and the Doctor made it out with their lives, so at least there's that.

"Was she all right, then?" Martha asks. With the wound cleaned to her satisfaction, she grabs the fresh gauze and starts to apply it, leaning forward for proper access.

She wants to ask who this person is, but it isn't her place to pry, curious though she may be. The fact is that this friend of his might not have been all right, and she doubts Philip's going to share her identity with her in that case.

[radiopalkiller]

"She wasn't."

Philip says it without skipping a beat, has to say it like that, really, because pausing to try and find the right words (words which probably don't actually exist) will only shut him up for good.

Biting his lips he silently looks for a mitigating addition to his answer, to the bright side, whatever bright side there may be, but it's only too obvious that the question has caught him at a bad time: At the moment he can't even say what has happened to her, only that it must have been bad, that this kind of prolonged radio silence doesn't allow for any other verdict.

That she ought to be back by tomorrow, at least if the timeline he drew in his head actually adds up.

"At least it won't be permanent."

Not all of it, anyway. Which begs the question who he's even trying to comfort here.

[selfrespecting]

It's the last thing that Martha wants to hear, and had she known who they were talking about, she'd be even more upset. As things are, she mainly feels bad on Philip's behalf, her face falling as she pulls away. One wound treated, but there are others hidden under his skin that she can do nothing about.

"I'm so sorry. Having been through it myself, I have to say... it not being permanent isn't that much of a consolation." Not at the time, anyway. She's happy to be alive, of course, but it also means she's got those horrible memories to live with.

Did she just casually mention that she died? Yes, she did, but she moves past it quickly, making a downward motion with her hand.

"You can lay back down. I'll dress your leg next." But she's clearly distracted now, wondering just high the body count is going to get. At least Philip and Sam are two who got away with their lives.

[radiopalkiller]

Philip huffs a laugh, because doesn't he just know it? Then again, his own deaths were rarely the ones that shook him. Looking back (grudgingly and quickly and without lingering) some even seemed the better alternative, compared to what was at stake, compared to what might have happened otherwise. It's not a rule that should be allowed to apply to Evie.

"People waiting for you to come back might disagree."

He lies back down, apologetic smile already on his lips. He knows their well-being is meant to matter more than his grief, he knows- he grudgingly knows that it does matter more, far more, but... he can't pretend that he'd ever happily accept it, as long as there is an alternative.

[selfrespecting]

"I know. I suppose what I really mean is that I wish it hadn't happened in the first place. But seeing how I'll be hitting the year mark here in April, I was due for one." It's not all that easy for her to speak about her death, so doing it casually helps in a strange way. Especially since Philip's a relative stranger.

He's easy to talk to, though, and Martha doesn't know why. Maybe it's because he's a captive audience, or maybe it's because he's a fellow Brit. The why doesn't matter right now.

She pulls his pant leg up to reveal another set of bandages and unwraps them. This time she's greeted by a wide gash, and she frowns. "You should have gotten this stitched..."