#Sorry this turned out to be more Andy x the French healthcare system | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

extremelynormalblog · 4 years

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Okay so

Obviously Andy/Quynh is The Angst OTP of DOOM here, but also--Andy/the pharmacist! It could be a romance thing or maybe Andy could Make a Friend, or they could slowly develop a nice, simple friends-with-benefits thing on the side of whatever crazy thing Andy’s got going on.

[SPOILERS BELOW]

Or read it on AO3!

Like, imagine how many times Andy is going to visit that pharmacy now that she has to take care of her body/health for the first time in millenia. The last time she had to seek a cure for something, the prevailing medical theory was all about balancing the humours, and she hasn’t really kept track since. Other things were on her mind.

Also? Andy is OLD.

The first time she goes back, Andy wanders aimlessly in the aisles for a while because the pharmacist is busy with a client, and then she keeps idly browsing after the client leaves, glaring at the pharmacist until she FINALLY takes notice and comes over.

“Hi! I thought it was you, from the stab wound, no?”

Andy nods.

“Did it heal okay? Are you safe, do you need something?”

Andy mumbles something. She hasn’t been embarrassed for centuries, and she knows it’s idiotic, but. Nothing really *new* has happened in centuries for her to be embarrassed about, either.

“What?” the pharmacist asks.

“My back.”

“Oh! Did something happen? Should I take a look, are you bleeding, do you need me to call someone?”

She’s starting to look worried, so Andy has to swallow her pride and say: “Nobody hurt me, okay? I didn’t do anything. I just woke up like that, I don’t-- I don’t know what’s wrong.”

And then the pharmacist’s face relaxes and she nods understandingly, and guides Andy towards the anti-inflammatory creams and heated patches, and explains that she should try to get a physical therapy appointment perhaps and also think about doing regular stretches or taking up yoga.

“--back pain is very common at your age,” she’s saying, and Andy startles, but the woman continues, like, “--I mean, you must be, what, late thirties, early fourties? Oh god, I hope that wasn’t--I mean, not that you look--I mean, you look--really good, whatever your age is.”

Andy relaxes again -- as much as the twinge in her lower back allows her to, at least, and the pharmacist’s blush doesn’t escape her notice. Interesting.

And so she takes all the stuff the pharmacist recommends and leaves, but the next time something undignified happens to her body that isn’t caused by like, people trying to actively kill her, she goes back.

“I have this ringing in my ear.”

“Ah? That happens sometimes. Do you know what caused it?”

“C4.”

“Is that a band?” At Andy’s blank look, she continues: “Anyway, it’s probably tinnitus, it’s fairly common after being exposed to loud noises but it should go away on its own in a few days.”

Andy comes back a few more times with similarly mortifyingly mundane complaints -- she has a burn that blistered and she’s not sure what to do about it (”Here’s another cream for your collection! Just make sure it doesn’t start swelling and go see your doctor immediately if you get a fever!”); the back of her throat has been itchy for a week and she feels like she’s slowly going mad with it (”Pollen allergy, you too, huh?” the pharmacist says, pointing at her own face. Her nose is red and her eyes are slightly glassy. “Did your script expire? Here are some anti-histamines to tide you over until you can get it renewed! Or I could give your family doctor a call for you?”); she caught a cold, which was annoying enough but nothing she needed medical advice about, until she sneezed and now she can’t turn her head all the way (”All I can do is give you some more anti-inflammatories, I’m afraid,” the pharmacist--Celeste--says. Andy finally found out her name by accident when she overheard her make a phone call; she wouldn’t have asked, obviously. ”I can’t give out muscle relaxants over the counter anymore, but if it doesn’t go away...” “Yeah, see my doctor, I know.”)

Obviously Andy doesn’t have a doctor, or scripts, or a “Carte Vitale,” whatever that is.

(It’s the French insurance card, Celeste explains patiently, though she frowns a little the way she does whenever she says asks something and Andy blanks -- no, she doesn’t have a French social security number, or a European Health Insurance Card; yes, she knows she could get it all covered but she will pay it out of pocket, yes, in cash please, thank you.)

There’s something appealing about the way Celeste just listens to Andy talk about what’s bothering her this week, without judgement and without ever pushing for details.

(And there’s mostly always something, now, a pain somewhere or some bodily process that isn’t doing what it should, which is insufferable frankly, how do regular humans stand it?

“No choice, mostly,” Celeste says, matter-of-fact, the day Andy voices the thought half to herself as she pays for the latest haul of painkillers. “But as my grandfather used to say: if I wake up someday with nothing wrong with me, that’ll mean I’m dead.”

She shrugs, like pain and illness and death are just facts of life, which for her they probably are, Andy knows. She doesn’t know if she hopes to have time to get used to it, or not.)

And then one day Andy finds herself pushing the door of the pharmacy when nothing is wrong, just because she thinks it would be nice to have a chat with Celeste for a minute after the crazy month she’s had, just fifteen minutes of normalcy, and Celeste is about to finish her shift so she invites Andy for a drink, like “Oh hey, by the way,” smooth in a way that’s obviously taking effort on her part, and Andy sees right through it but it’s really quite cute.

Andy doesn’t find many things cute.

So they go for a drink, and then Celeste says, “Listen, you obviously have some--stuff going on with your life, but I thnk I’m reading this right, and so maybe you’d like to come home with me? It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“Uncomplicated sounds really good right now,” Andy says.

She follows Celeste to her place, and just as Celeste is about to open the door, she turns and says: “Er, this is awkard but you’re not a serial killer, right?”

And Andy laughs, startled, and threads her hand into Celeste’s hair and kisses her, right there on the doorstep, and then she whispers “I promise” into Celeste’s ear, even though technically the definition probably suits her pretty well.

And after, once they’re both breathing hard from the fourth round and Celeste’s bed is a complete mess and Celeste’s eyeliner is smudged all over her face and also Andy’s, she looks to Andy for a second before bursting into laughter & wheezing out: “Now there’s an itch I can always take care off!”

And Andy went off puns somewhere in BC times so she just rolls her eyes, but once Celeste’s head is on her shoulder, she lets herself smile anyway, like, ugh, humans. They’re so dumb but sometimes they are quite good.

Hmpf.

The end!

#the old guard #andy x celeste #not!fic #i made this #Sorry this turned out to be more Andy x the French healthcare system #Andy needs a carte vitale!!#anyway i hope this made you smile :p

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