<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf">From the young man's demographic page, he was twenty one and still lived at home with his parents. Nothing had been written down about a college education. Then there was the fact that had had accumulated his injuries from a <i>bike </i>accident at a skate house where the typical punks congregated. Underneath where it read <i>employment</i>, he had simply jotted in something about videography. On paper, Daxon Ripley was a far cry away from being an adult, regardless of the fact that he was able to bring his antics into a bar.<br/>
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It was why Dr. Callaghan's voice came out sounding dry, with just that little bit of edgy condescension peaking toward the end of his question. It also explained the wry twitch of his mouth when the pain killers slurred Daxon's voice as he pitched his thoughts up in the air, regardless of whether he expected them to be caught. Instead, the twitch turned into a smirk, and in turn led to the narrowing of his razor sharp gaze tempered in copper and iron all blended together to form a glittering sheen out of his irises. Both orbs seemed to hyper focus on the young man's face as if to peel away the layers to see what was underneath. For the time being, he ignored the commentary and moved on to his inspection.<br/>
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“I see from your chart that you were involved in a biking accident. You had a collision with another young man named Michael and the two of you came in together. Is that right?” His tone had mellowed out from his initial inquiry, though it was still twined heavily with that hint of sarcasm. Barely veiled, hardly there, but still a sucker punch no one expected in this particular line of questioning. He already knew the answer to the rhetoric, but had raised a brow to see if the other would answer. “Care to explain how that happened exactly?”<br/>
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It wasn't his business or place to ask the question. The <i>how </i>was unimportant unless it was relevant to his diagnosis. It was curiosity that brought the question. As soon as it was out in the air, he moved his attention away from the boy's face to drift over his torso.<br/>
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“Tell me if you feel any sensitivity or sudden, sharp pains, Mr. Ripley,” he warned. Then his hands took the place of his eyes. The pressure he applied was subtle but firm, his fingertips doing most of the trace work as he felt his way up the boy's rib cage, across his stomach, then up and over his sternum. His attention had lifted again to study his face, both to study his reaction and to gauge his expression. Ian had found that facial triggers were a better interpretation of pain than trusting a patient's word; more often than not, someone would either overreact in order to sucker another prescription of painkillers or hide the amount of pain they were really in based on pride.<br/>
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He said nothing more when he lifted his hands and shifted lower so that his touch skimmed up the sides of his injured leg. Due to the nature of the injury, he would have been asked to remove his jeans so that the damage could be better assessed. The good doctor didn't bother to hide the cheeky grin that tugged at his cheek and softened the chiseled jaw sternness of his working face. The question was tossed out nonchalantly, while his fingers pressed the tender bruising that was starting to purple the boy's skin where he had been injured.<br/>
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“Do you?” He didn't clarify at first. Instead, he applied just the right amount of pressure where he was the most tender to get his attention. “Have one handsome face to look at while you're here, that is.” <br/>
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Of course, his patient would get no further indications than that while he finished his physical assessment of the damage. Lifting up his gaze to meet the boy's, he leaned back up and stood up straight, his hands moving away to tuck inside the pockets of his coat. The grin was still there, surly in its boldness, though his voice lost its teasing connotations once he made his diagnosis.<br/>
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“You have what's called a very minor stable to oblique fracture, so you won't need surgery or a cast. What you are going to need is a brace and a set of crutches. You'll need to stay away from weight bearing activities as much as possible until you follow up when an orthopedist in four weeks. That includes any biking expeditions you might be planning in the near future. My suggestion is pick up reading for a little while...” <i>A joke. </i>It was marked by the presence of another grin, this one more prominent.<br/>
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“Other than that, I've prescribed you some pain killers to take the edge off. Your ribs and chest won't feel so tight in a few days. Hopefully, they'll also get rid of your headache. You also ave a few fractured ribs, but a lot of rest and an anti-inflammatory and about three weeks' of time will heal those up. I'll send Zoey back in here to stitch up that cut on your forehead.”<br/>
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His lids lowered halfway over his eyes once he was finished giving his brief explanation. Though his eyes raked the young man in much the same way as they had earlier, the professionalism had been swapped out with a different kind of attention. One hand lifted up from his coat pocket and dipped into another, using two fingers to pluck a business card from his breast pocket. He extended this out to Daxon. The words that fell out of his mouth might have been professional, but the neutrality had left the tone of his voice and the interest that sparked in his eyes lingered.<br/>
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“If there's anything that you need, you have my office number and cell phone on there. Do you want me to send your parents back in here now or do you have any further questions for me?”</span>