The Doctor Will See You Now [Vitale]

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[ Outfit ]

It was taking some time, but Rosalind was gradually adjusting to life on the Peerless. There were many obstacles - or in this 'Lewis's' case minefields - to avoid and get to grips with. Honestly, Rosalind could barely remember her time living and growing up on the Caliburn. A haze of very quick and fleeting childhood memories that all boiled down to her ending up on Beaumonde, and save for the one little war that she took part in, hadn't left until now. So it might have been a little jarring when the ship had taken off, or it might have just been another part of her day. Ros was good at seeming like nothing was the matter, it was almost her forte to regard the world with an indifferent glance or a scowl of mild annoyance. One of those moments when people break it to you that you ended up like your mother. That might have left a sour line across her lips, but Rosalind wasn't completely like Neena. Starling had been a cool, calm and competent Bounty Hunter. So she had two out of three, but she wasn't much of a Hunter. The one thing Neena had been certain she had got right in life had been make her daughter something more than a hired killer. So instead she was a hired bullet-finder.

It was that profession, and some old history, that had landed her on this very fine vessel. As ships went, and Ros wasn't exactly a mechanic here, it was a nice one. She could tell the tech and such was good, or at least it looked shiny enough. Now, the medical equipment she understood. The infirmary was just the place for her. She didn't feel crowded, it wasn't horribly in disrepair and neither was it terribly unclean. It would be kept in tip-top shape, too. Ros would see to that very definitely.

Now for the crew. Ros had made a small point of it being prudent for each of them to report to her so she could give them a check-up, assess their health and know of any medications or conditions - or in Lewis's case disabilities - that would need to be noted down. If they were going to get themselves shot up, it would be a step in the right direction of not dying any time soon. So down the list of men and women aboard this ship, of which Ros was somewhat reluctantly working her way through, she had gotten to the next in line. Cordoba. This was also quite helpful in getting to know her crew. These were people she was, at least hopefully, going to be spending a lot of time around. Only smart to figure out who all they actually were. Within reason. Rosalind wasn't looking for anything more than they were willing to share. And with some? She didn't even want to know that much. Really.

Her first impression of Vitale had been brief. The man had been carrying around another with a hole in his stomach. One that no one was entirely sure how it got there - or at least didn't know who's bullet it had been. From what she got was a bit of a smart mouth and equally ill-humoured sort. Though, she hadn't paid much attention to anyone in that room when there had been work to be done. A life to save and all that jazz.

Busying herself about the medical bay, she was tidying the area up - always keeping things in order like it was the only thing to keep her going stir crazy on this ship. She had her head in one of the upper cupboards, standing on the balls of her feet in those long, leather boots, flat heeled, and looking like something you wouldn't expect a medic to wear. Long, black hair was actually tied back and out the way as best she'd managed. Strands still fell around her face to frame it, but didn't much get in her way.

Safe to say, Cordoba knew it was his turn today, and should be along any minute, or should have been along about ten minutes ago. Not that she was keeping time or anything.

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Vitale walked down the corridor to medical with a fresh mind. He'd been shooting the breeze with Kuzn on the bridge for the last two hours. Discussing possibilities with the mission and what they could do to improve the nav charts. That may sound like work to some people, but Vi loved that part of the job. Planning and scouring was something he was never allowed to do before, Davis just let him do his thing, and considered the intel, only culling what he didn't need, rather than the typical backlash about over-intelligence. So, after a few hours of running all over Persephone's little sister of a world, it was nice to relax with something like reading and conversation. And coffee. He was running late, but the Doc had said it was primarily a visual check up, so he didn't think it was going to hurt things any. He didn't like to run behind usually, however, they'd been on a roll up front, and he also wanted to impress Davis with their report.

Vi walked into the infirmary with a hand on the doorframe, stepping in the room in time to see the new doc from the neck down. Her head and right arm were buried in a cabinet, but the rest was out to enjoy. And enjoy he did. Tali wasn't sexist, nor a whateveraphile that mind-raped every lass he came across. But, this ship did seem to excel at the eye candy, he and the rest of the male crew would have to thank Davis for that little perk. Between the lopsided male crew and days/weeks in the black without backup, the three gals of the Peerless should not go wanting for visual checkups themselves. With Keller, it was all jokes and such, much like a really hot.. eh, brother, or something. The lil chinese gal was also a looker, but he didn't know her outside of running from cops and the dog and pony show where he'd gotten a peck. But the Doc was something all together different wasn't she?

The first time he'd seen her, she was at her gig, pulling lead out of a pigu, and not complaining about anything except political blame. And she had been more like you expect, standard coat and all that, hair in the thing, gloves, blablabla. But now it was pants with inlaid kneepads and boots? The stuff of legends.

At any rate, what little he knew of Merrick suggested that the sultry side of the Doc probably stopped at the clothes. She seemed as cold as the infirmary back at that clinic, and three times more professional. Davis had said she was in the war, and that was about it. An army medic, with mafia affiliations, who bounced with the friend from her past at the first opportunity, certainly did not lend credence to a happy woman. And as much fun as the body before him looked, angry women were just zero fun. Vitale knew that better than any man alive. He had worked for Minerva Colt after all, and without even meeting the cold bitch, she'd nearly ruined his life. Not to mention the blonde devil who'd nearly killed them all from Onas' crew. That black hand lady. Then there was 'Killer' Keller who always had some witty reminder of what knives and grinders could do to a man...

Ah, who was he kidding, this would be awesome! Who liked anybody that wasn't eighty percent hard to get along with?

"Gooood, whatever time of the day it is Doc," Vitale said announcing himself while plopping down on the operation table, "How's the testing coming along, are we all going to die of some nasty disease? Should I go ahead and inject Lewis with bleach now, and save a few lives? Nice pants."


_{(((OOC: Eh, what he is wearing, right down to no shoes. Minus the pool. Tried the whole pick your outfit, but the hetero/lazy side of me rebelled. Still though, I found a way, and that took a while, I better get points for this effort, screw you jules!)))}

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[ OOC: The picture is... acceptable ]

Barefooted as he was, that lent a level of quiet that might have worked for sneaking up on the medic. Safe to say she didn't hear him come in, but there was that odd burning feeling of being watched. She didn't indulge the paranoia, and scowled at the vials she was arranging into an order that made no sense to anyone else but her, most likely. Then her hand patted around on the lower shelf, those age-old implements that doctors have been seen to use for check-ups a long, long time ago in a galaxy now far, far away. Tongue-depressors and the like. Better materials these days, of course. Better technology, equipment, inoc-guns and such that just made things go a little smoother. With most patients making things easy on both them and the doctor was a win-win situation. Ros was still getting used to this crew, though, so no idea what kind of patients they were going to be when the go se hit the fan.

She hoped none of them were panicky screamers, or ran at the sight of needles. She didn't want to have to try and aim a tranq gun at a moving target, or tie anyone down. Unless she had to. She could already tell by some encounters who was going to be the most troublesome when it came to her and doing her job. At least, she could tell the obvious. That was probably another crack at Lewis, but Ros had work to do and no time she wanted to waste on thinking about problem crewmen.

When Vitale eventually spoke after his visual assessment of just what kind of woman Rosalind Merrick happened to be - apart from the kind with all the various curves and soft portions concealed and supposedly in the right places - Ros pulled her head from out the cupboard, knocking the door closed with her shoulder. It was always hard to tell a person just from the outside. Even how they acted sometimes never truly revealed who they were. Ros was clearly a defensive trap of abrasiveness and cold shoulders until that could all be bypassed to being a little less like the cold steel of a scalpel.

"Well. At least you're... here. That's what counts." The medic responded in her usual humourless way, dry and deadpan were the closest to what you'd call that. Though, as she spoke, her eyes had moved all the way down towards his feet. A brow arched up just a little in silent inquiry, but instead just dismissed the thought and met his gaze once more.

Just Ros not liking having cold feet herself, personally. So maybe she was warm somehow, right?

"You'll all live. For now. Unless you go out of your way to catch more bullets than I can pull out in time, I think we can hold off on putting Lewis out of his misery." So maybe she did joke a little. If you could call it that.

She may have been considering crumbling sedatives into his food, but then realised the lummox might actually be needed for something useful - like a wall or shield - and wouldn't want him out of action for it. The butt of all the jokes and pranks - funny how that was the first, most prominent thing she'd learned so far - aside, Ros was busy blinking about the comment on her pants. Her mother's fashion. Sturdy and reinforced, but easy to move in clothes. And form-fitting. Apparently easily impressionable in her youth. Stuck with her. Also, now she couldn't wear an outfit that didn't have some kind of soft leather in it, either. She wasn't sure if she wanted to delve into a therapy session on that or not. Probably not.

Merrick just cleared her throat, lifted up her little penlight and flicked it into the gunhand's eyes, a pair of rubber gloves already on hers - magically - as she checked the reaction in each pupil. Standard fare.

"So, this is the part where you tell me if you've got any medical conditions that you know of or are on any kind of medication." She leaned away from him, turning around to find a gun already prepared. The kind of reverse inoculator type that extracted fluids instead of injecting them. Like drawing blood, for instance. Which is what she was planning to do.

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"You know Doc, I'm punctual. I think," He said through a grin at Merrick. She was kinda... what was the word? Distant? Maybe. Her eyes wouldn't look at him directly. Had they been on the battlefield, he would have taken that as a threat, and pulled first. Mind you, Vitale's battlefield was the urban kind, so things like eye contact and body language mattered. But, this wasn't a fight, this was the Doc, so it could be that she was havin a bad day. Which, if she was gonna give him a shot, very likely, could turn into him having a larger hole than necessary. Not that it lasted, whatever had her vexed, Merrick moved the conversation ahead after that.

Vitale laughed in good nature, "That I should apologize for. It was kind of my fault. The shooting I mean, not Lewis, he's Keller's fault..." Vitale started. He noticed while he was talking that she did that little space look again, and wondered what was on her mind, was it something he said? As she did the whole shine-bright-lights-in-your-eyes thing, he continued, "The Captain was letting me take a shot at negotiations. Which, I don't think it was entirely my fault. Chevy just sort of, opened fire on us. There wasn't a lot of time to react. We didn't even shoot him, it was at some point in the cross fire. Well..." He reconsidered, "I was using him as a shield, so maybe you could call it my fault, but... mam? Oh no mam, nothing to speak of. The occasional headache powder but I don't care for meds much, ah, no offense of course. But like I said, it was his bullets. Or, his guys bullets, so You cant really call it my fault. But, aside from random violence, your operation days should be behind you. I don't plan on collecting any lead for your collection."

Merrick produced a needle gun with nothing in it, so Vi could only assume she was taking, not giving. He knew the drill, and held out his right forearm a bit for her, closing his hand into an upturned fist.

"So yeah though, whats the word on Santo, no viruses goin around that I should worry about are there? I'd hate to bring anything back on-board and get a pretty thang like yourself coughin," He said with a wink. The Doc was kinda hot when she was all nursey. Then she stuck him, and he couldn't help but wince a bit...

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Not in a mood to be considered too bad for the good doctor, Ros was actually quite personable when not provoked in any way. Though, it wasn't particularly hard if you knew how to push the right buttons and flip the right switches. At least she was professionally personable. There might be a small, maybe cunningly evil little streak in her somewhere. The part of her that may secretly delight in scaring a patient with a large gauge of hypodermic needle or telling them they have some strain of venereal disease only found in stray dogs from the docks of Persephone. Little games, you know? She had to keep herself busy somehow. He was on to regaling her with just how it all went down prior to them bursting into her clinic with Cheverus shot up and a lot of suspicious talk about 'who shot first?' or bullet sponges. Rosalind had already had Roger's account on the ordeal, and to be fair she probably wouldn't hold it against either of them. It was her job, after all, to see to all the misfires and deliberate shots from one criminal thug to another. The fact that Merrick was now a crewman on this very ship had to say something.

Or it said she was willing to do anything to get away from that clinic; from Beaumonde.

"While the formal 'maybe' apology is appreciated, Cordoba, it's not necessary. I do my job regardless of my complaints. Though, maybe you should take a few lessons or back-seats when it comes to negotiations in the future?" She spoke mildly, around the time she was readying that needle gun. She hoped to be treated to a fair few more of the advancements in medical technology in their travels, but at the same time that Onas Knox man had really kitted out this ship with whatever was required. Anything else might just have seemed unnecessary.

Ros was glad this was just going to be an easy thing. No needle phobias - though he did express a dislike of medical-related practices, not that anyone was ever truly fond of them - and no fuss. His arm was held out like a good patient, and all she had to do was stick the 'barrel' of the needle gun to his arm and press it down. Then, of course, he spoke again. As she was setting it up, too. Lining up the shot, so to speak. She was about to reply, but he hadn't really finished, and when he finished it was with a sly look and a wink. She may've stuck him a little hard for the 'pretty thang' comment, but it wasn't something vicious. Just a little stab. Plus, there didn't look to be any anger, just a slightly unimpressed, flat look before she shook her head a little, lips pursing. Men, right? Though, he'd have to try harder if he wanted to ruffle her feathers.

"There we go. All done." She almost sounded nursey in a false-patronising way. As if talking to a small child. She took the gun away, though, filled with a fresh little vial of his blood that she went about labelling for her growing collection of crew samples. "And as far as Santo goes, I can only warn you against drinking the water, or partaking in some of the local girls. Lot of them hardly ever get checked out. Just my advice, of course, but I'd rather not have to deal with an outbreak of backwater venereal disease on this ship."

Then an afterthought, "And no petting the strays, though they're probably cleaner than the girls."

When she came back, she had a stethoscope around her neck. Round two. Sometimes you just had to be old fashioned about it.

"Lift your shirt. No comments. And take deep breaths."

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"Yep," He said with his grin, "I'll let Davis do the talking next time. I'd hate for you to have too many complaints. Well, about me." Vi was enjoying this visit. Normally, Doctors were just in such a hurry to get to the next patient. Ros was taking her time and engaging him now, and that was a good sign. He did have to smile when she stuck him though, it was cute. He'd been in the military. He'd had doctors stick him with the biggest needles out there. And he'd lived on Persephone, were doctors weren't the only ones wielding needles. But her giving the extra little umph was cute. Women, right?

She finished up and took away a sample of blood that some would pay a decent wage to have, and started in on the comical stuff. Those little anecdotes one might expect from Keller, had Keller had the patience to go to a class and stay with it. Did they allow skinning people alive in med school? Vitale didn't think so, Keller probably wouldn't have stayed the whole time. "Well, I can't make any promises. Which venereal disease is it that you don't have vaccines for, in case she mentions it?" But she wasn't done, so Vitale continued, "Woah now, what kind of guy do you think I uh... well... how much cleaner are we talkin about?"

Vitale sat back and waited for her to get out some sadistic machine that lopped off skin like that pun da shu ten from Verbena, but instead she came back with a stethoscope and more jokes. Wasn't she learning anything? He cleared his throat as he lifted his shirt up and turning his head. "On a scale of one to ten, honestly, how is this tan?" He couldn't help but laugh a little, then flexed his entire torso for all it was worth, showing off each muscle group to it's maximum. He was about to say something else, but she put the stethoscope on his chest to do her job. "Sorry," He said, then cleared his throat and relaxed his face and body, then took a deep breath. Then he followed each in turn with her instructions till she'd heard all she needed.

To be completely honest, Vi was a tad worried about his lungs. Red Peach was very well known to cause lung cancer and emphysema, he'd only used for two years, and they had lung scrapings and procedures to cure it, but he wasn't a rich man. He wasn't in the habit of telling anyone he'd been an addict, but if she asked, it was likely to be a bad sign. He silently offered up a prayer that he was in good health, and that his bad habits of past stupidity hadn't taken their dues. He felt fine when he ran, breathed normally, but he never knew exactly what the symptoms were, or how long it took to take hold. Could be any number of problems. Vi just didn't want to know, he always imagined he'd die from a bullet, not some disease.

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With the benefit of choice at her disposal, Ros was fit to set her own hours and take her own time. She was in no rush, and so that meant this would be a pleasant little doctor-patient scenario. The ship was bigger, however smaller than any huge crew she would've had to deal with on a capital ship. It was manageable and there weren't too many to keep track of in between this and that. This lead to the assumption that even if they were coming at her at all hours with cuts and scrapes - though she didn't encourage anyone to wake her for trivial reasons - she would be readily able to deal with them all. Maybe wrangle anyone she could to play as nurse whenever it was required. Just anyone good with instructions, quick to learn and not proficient at being clumsy. Ros would have to keep that in mind, for the future.

Though, there was small amusement taken at the thought of 'Nurse Davis' being the most responsible at the time.

"I'm equipped to deal with a lot of things. I'd just prefer I didn't have to have that conversation. Though, I'm sure you have the common sense to work it out for yourself. At least we can all hope." She explained, waiting for him to comply without too much fuss or flirting. It was a thing anyone usually did when the good doctor asked them to shed even one sock and boot. At least Vitale's response was a little more original than 'trying to undress me, doctor?', but she still shook her head. Maybe gave an amused little huff. "Could use some work."

The more surprising thing was when he settled down and complied, which was when an extremely - think fresh from the fridge ice-cube - cold stethoscope pressed to his chest. All the show he put on had been noted, and yes they did build mercenaries or gunhands or whatever you wanted to call them in a very fine form. All Grecian statue and everything. Merrick could recognise the attraction, but damned if she didn't hide it better than a person should hide their expensive alcohol. However, Cordoba was doing as he was told, and that was appreciated by the medic, who set about listening. The device was pressed to his chest and back, all the while Ros didn't say a single thing. Just had this intense look of concentration on her face.

It was a long moment before she finished, or so it seemed, but that silence stretched for a few moments more. Ros's brow was creased a little, still in thought as she crossed the medbay, "Do you smoke at all, Cordoba?"

Just a medical question like any of the others. Harmless, in a sense, like asking if he drank. Or was it?

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Vitale pfft'ed at her comment about his tan needing work, but that was all. She did her thing with the stethoscope and damned if it wasn't cold. She did it on purpose, he was sure by the way she pressed it against him to the fullest freezing extent. He did stay still though. Checking blood was one thing, the motions were just motions, the machine did the lion's share of the work. But this required silence, so silence was what she got. He half expected her to snap off some more banter when she finished, but when she walked away to do her thing, she left him sitting in his silence.

With Vitale, like most men of fortune, almost nothing could be said or hinted at that worried him. Death wasn't particularly worrisome, nor was it looming over his head. But cancer did frighten him, like paralysis. It was one thing to live, it was another to live lame. Vi squinted at the question. With all the antics of the ship, and the relaxed nature that he and the criminal crew portrayed, should he tell her his past? It was one thing to get plastered on a long weekend, or to cut loose on the ship during the long ride intrasystem. He'd be happy to announce that he'd gotten a rash he wasn't aware was coming, in the line of fire and all. Just to see her wince. But that didn't mean that he was out to give the wrong impression. On a job, he was the epitome of stoic and angry. The job dictated a hard veteran of combat, so that was what it got. But here, here was home.

And home was where you relaxed. Home was where you could chase your friends for alcohol and not go thirsty, and lose all your money gambling, but not be broke. Home is where you didn't where a gun, and left the shoes by your bunk. Vitale didn't half to be here a week to know that this ship was home.

Questions like that, to an ex-addict like Vi, were a threat to take all that away. Lung cancer. That, he would not abide. Oh there were cures of course, but they were expensive as hell. And he didn't have it like Davis must have. The Doc here could probably afford the surgery, but he was just a guy. We were all born to die one day, but Vitale didn't think he'd live that long anyway. He shrugged it off. That wasn't her business yet. Still... what to tell her? Should he start explaining his past? Would this woman understand that he had limits? Professional limits? Would she understand that her opinion of him mattered, if not to her, than to him. These were to be his crewmates. And Vitale didn't know if he wanted old issues interrupting new friendships.

La shi. Did she even give a rat's ass about him or his past one way or the other?

"Not for a long time. I have a cigarette on occasion. But I like my running, so I try to stay away from the aerosol stuff."

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Rosalind was still getting used to the idea of this being 'home'. The concept was new and foreign to the medic. Her ability to become more personal and settled was going to take a little time. This crew had it's ways, of course. They got under your skin with their very family-like squabbling and camaraderie. So much so that before long you find yourself smiling for no reason or enjoying the company of others. Although, it was partly because not a lot of company had been available to enjoy in Ros's life. Her mother had been the only staple kin around since she was born. Granted, before the war, she had managed to make friends in her youth - she'd had a boyfriend or too. These days, it seemed like so long ago since was less... closed off. That had to be something else a shrink would like to make her talk about. That and the thigh-high boots.

Mostly busy moving herself around the infirmary, Ros kept to the situation at hand - making sure all the crew were at their best. And now this very small - probably nothing - concern had arisen. If she ignored it, then she'd regret it. She also wouldn't be doing her job. Despite her usually, almost sadistic, little manners with her medicine, when it came to something troubling, Ros was filled with a distant concern. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth in thought, and she almost didn't catch his answer. Her attention was on a cortex screen - turned away from him. The light of the screen gave her features a paler look. So he didn't smoke.

"I guess that rules out my next question of any shortness of breath. Have you been ill recently? Cough? Chest infection, maybe?" To be fair, he looked fit and healthy - just as he claimed. Maybe it was nothing, but she didn't let it lie until she knew it was nothing.

Then the thought entered her might about this being possibly worrying or secretly distressing for Vitale - the patient. She hadn't noticed any of his veiled concerns, and whatever he had been thinking was not known by the medic. But she tried her best to be reassuring, nonetheless. It was the professional thing to do, and the human thing to do, "Just all routine. I like to be thorough. Don't want to end up finding something I could have prevented down the line somewhere."

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Vitale was about to get up to stretch, assuming they would begin again later when she had test results or whatever it was doctors did, when she again asked the same line of questions. He felt uneasy a minute ago, now he felt a little mixture of worry and irritation. Vi didn't want to be vulnerable, or take long walks down the dark roads in his mind. And certainly he hadn't been ill lately. So all these questions felt to him as though she could only have one reason to ask them. She heard something inside his chest when she'd examined him. Or she had the worst case of bad humor in the Verse.

"No mam, nothing out of the ordinary." He stood up and prepared to say adios to the exam. The irritation in him at his own problems catching up to him were enough to choke on, and he suddenly lost his sense of humor about this.

Ros continued, painting that picture in his head of a doctor who knew more than they let on.

"I suppose we'll know down the road then. I don't feel any different today than the day before. Will there be anything else mam?" Vi felt a foul mood taking him, and he wanted to get out of the room. He felt bad about the doc, and would have prefered to say something witty and humorous to part with, but nothing like that came to mind. If he had bad news, he'd prefer she just spill it. But then, he didn't want to know anymore. As far as Vi knew, he was healthy, and that was good enough for him. He was just given a chance at a life he could make something out of, and there was no virus or narcotic blowback that was going to take it from him.

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Nobody liked doctors. Or hospitals for that matter. Most stayed true to being grateful for their work, but the more you saw them the more chance it wasn't a good sign. Ros was used to this fact, and probably why she could easily remain so professionally distant. She was starting to feel that this wasn't going to cut it with a constant crew. People she would see day in and day out. People she'd be eating along side and sleeping in the room next to them.

She hadn't really thought that part through when she joined up. All Ros had seen was a chance to finally get away from Beaumonde and just maybe find the man who'd walked out on her when she was a kid. The more she thought about that part, the less she understood why she had to bother finding him. Just to know. She had to know why, or what had happened to him. Maybe he was dead?

Well, now she was a crewman of the Peerless, and probably needed to start acting like one. She picked up on Vitale's shift in mood, and knew it was her own fault. Too busy racking her brains for questions to ask and thinking less about how it would affect the patient. Why had that been so hard? She'd handled young pregnant teens with more tact.

"Sorry- Yes. That's all. You're free to go unless there's anything else you need." She wouldn't keep him here. The surroundings weren't... soothing. It was work for her and a bad time with no lollipop at the end for him.

Still, she wanted to at least try to know this crew beyond what their blood-type and allergies were.

"I did have... one more question." She put her hands up for him to hear her out, not a meek woman by any means. "I was just wondering... why did you join up? Or how did you? You seem to enjoy it here an awful lot, I was just curious."

Either he stayed or he didn't. It was up to him, really.

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Vitale tipped a non-existent hat to the doctor as she excused him, and turned to leave. Her dismissal perplexed him, was he in a bad way, or not? But, he had planned to leave anyway. Vi shook his head clear of it. Knowing his habits, finding out that he was doomed by some cancer he didn't have the capacity to cure, would likely end in him going back to Seph to finish the job proper, with days and weeks spent on crap that would leave a horse lightheaded.

"I did have... one more question," Ros said behind him, in a slightly hesitant voice. Vitale turned back to her, his shoulder aimed at her body, his face slightly more so. She had her hands out in peace, which should have been silly at best, but in that moment, it felt legitimate. She wasn't pursuing his medical petri dish anymore. He raised his chin and eyebrows in the universal sign of 'continue.' "I was just wondering... why did you join up? Or how did you? You seem to enjoy it here an awful lot, I was just curious."

It was a simple question with a complicated answer wasn't it? Vi cleared his throat, and faced the Doc directly, then leaned against the counter just inside the door, and crossed his arms. He grinded his teeth behind closed lips while he mulled over what to say. She was in the gang... part of the crew now, that gave her some level of attention she wouldn't otherwise have gotten. But she was far from a trusted friend. But then, weren't most people?

He rubbed his chin with his hand, scratching his stubble in his palm, then he breathed in. "That's a popular question lately Doc." He looked at her seriously. Why would she care about that? Was she trying to make friends, or was she just that kind of person? Vitale had to remind himself that all places had different standards, and that not all questions were meant to be harmful.

"Well I'm not Alliance anymore, if that's what you're asking." Vi looked away from her to just over his forearms. "I was sent by Knox as both a favor, and payment of a debt with the same stone." He looked back across the room to Ros, to her eyes, "You have some history right? Been a lot of places, seen a lot of things? Bet you can do a lot more than just sewing skin. More than doctoring I mean..." Vitale wasn't armed, but he had his scars, and his hands to show. He made a light fist as presentation, and continued. "I only have one real talent, I was sent to put that to... better use, for the benefit of some."

He smiled about that, what did that say about him? Personally, not for her, but for himself. "Anyway, it's a long sad story, my life," He said, his voice shifting to a lighter tone, Vitale leaned back comfortably, and regained a touch of his earlier cheer, "What about 'cho Doc? What's ah ex-browncoat lightfoot doing on a ship of criminals and crusaders?" As he finished, he had a smirk on his lips, but his eyes sported a serious advent.

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She wasn't entirely sure why it was that particular question she asked. Probably because it was the easiest and quickest to come to mind. Everyone new to a ship asked each other that. It was just the best way to break the ice - sometimes. Depending on the how and the why of it, really. Thinking back to a few moments ago, she wondered why she just didn't let him leave. Ros was never worried over receiving any wrath. People got angry at her a lot - she was a doctor. She either gave bad news or denied a junkie their fix. Plus, she'd rather not fill his head with all kinds of possible worries about a problem that might not even exist. He could ask her outright what she thought was wrong, but he didn't. That generally led Ros to believe either he didn't want to know, wanted to wait until she actually knew, or he already knew something and wasn't telling her. Everything about mistrust and withheld truths was understandable. This wasn't some up-market hospital where he was assigned officially as her patient and she his physician. This was an unlicensed former mob clinic medic and a hired criminal enforcer on a ship in the Black. It kind of stood to reason no one was going to assume her to be wholly professional about secrets and confidentiality. It'd be a while before people realised she did that that oath somewhat seriously, even without the license. She wasn't going to air Vitale's medical laundry any more than she was going to go around telling people about the plate in Roger's leg, nor the rash Atkin-- okay. Well, that was different.

Still, the question gave him pause, and he didn't just leave. It was almost as if she could see him wrestling with the idea and forming his answer. Maybe she wasn't so terrible at this social business after all, right? Well, more out of practise over the last few years. She leaned herself forwards on the opposite end of the counter, listening to him speak. Her hands were clasped together, still surprised to have a second conversation out of someone around here not Davis.

"We're all not exactly what we were before. You don't see me starting fights on U Day or wearing brown. Though I never really was much of a firm believer. I only joined because it was the side that took me - I'd wanted a fight back then, but ended up trying to save lives instead." She had wanted to prove herself, because her mother had refused to let her follow in her footsteps.

She regarded him when he spoke of why he was here - what his purpose was and what he could do. It made sense from the perspective of any hired gun. No mercenary tended to join up with a crew for anything less. It was the reason they were named as such. But Cordoba had come from Onas Knox's side of the fence. The Syndicate. That was probably a little different, but not by much. So he was a present to Davis.

"I saw a lot in the war - places, too. Since then I haven't really moved. Stuck to Beaumonde. Don't really remember before but I was born on a ship, so I guess you could say I've been places." She elaborated just a little more, letting those little pieces of her life come out of their own accord.

"Well, you saw how Davis bumped into me. Offered me a choice right then and there. Compared to what I was doing, what choice would you have made when someone you actually recall being on good terms with offers you a job away from it all, and in better conditions?" Ros posed the question without expecting an answer for it. It spoke for itself.

The surface was pushed off of and Ros moved back further across the room, as if to emphasise her point, "I mean, just look at this place, and then think of that operating room. No more addicts holding me a gunpoint for drugs - although I am aware there will be shooting. I'm not disillusioned enough to think this is some missionary ship."

From there, she didn't entirely know where to go. She had made her choice with this ship, and made her choice trying for conversation. The air was open to any other questions, if he felt like it, and if she thought of more to ask, then she'd voice it. As it stood, Ros had taken those first steps into becoming more a part of the crew and less of just that icy medic woman who sticks you with needles. Ros remained standing in the middle of her own medbay, the room seeming somewhat bigger than she first realised.

"I think this was a good choice. A change." She spoke a little more distantly, almost trying to convince herself more than just to say it to him. Her head had tilted away, regarding the overhanging light and the operating bed itself.

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"Well, you saw how Davis bumped into me. Offered me a choice right then and there. Compared to what I was doing, what choice would you have made when someone you actually recall being on good terms with offers you a job away from it all, and in better conditions?" Ros almost said the question, Vitale wasn't sure if she was looking for an answer by her tone.

"I don't know," He answered her anyway, "I couldn't say unless that situation had been put before me..." But that wouldn't happen to him, Tali didn't have that kind of life, and whatever her war experience had been, he hoped she didn't carry the guilt around that he did. He kept a stoic face now. This was a memory he'd spent years hiding, and just didn't talk about it anymore. Ros went on to talk about her time spent with junkies and scumbags, and the conditions that tended to follow that around. He doubted Mai or Jeri, or even Davis had spent a great deal of time in such presence. As for himself and others, Ollie, Keller, they knew the life of a scumbag all to well. Vi had to agree with the doc, this was an impressive step up. Luck was usually something he didn't err to. But when lady luck handed you a deal like she had for Rosalind here, well, you don't look a gift horse in the mouth.

She had a thoughtful expression on her face, as she moved around, and stood in the middle of the room a length. "I think this was a good choice. A change."

Vi could understand her, maybe not everything. He didn't understand joining in with the rebels. Or becoming a skilled doctor, and staying with scum, making pennies or being robbed for supplies. But he understood change. "You know Doc, theres a saying," He stood up, and walked to the door, "When you're through changing, you're through."

He stopped before he walked out, "We're not done yet Merrick, keep your chin up."

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