While studying, Deanna, or Dean as most people called her, had never expected herself to get a job, much less being able to pay her student loan debt so quickly after graduating. But she did both.
Having finished top of her class, Deanna's teachers expected her to become someone special. Like the person who would find the cure for cancer. But Deanna took her esteemed medical degree and landed herself in prison. In the medic wing, treating inmates of course, not as an inmate herself.
Funnily enough, despite her being used to treating nasty injuries, seeing blood and needles everyday, Deanna despised violence. And needles. God she hated needles.
"Dean are you ready for our one o'clock?" Sara asked poking her head into Dean's office with a small smile. "Yes, Dr. Tancredi." She answered signing the last couple of papers on her desk.
Sara smiled at Dean's good manners. She was always a ray of sunshine with a kind smile on her lips and easily one of Sara's favourite colleagues. Even the inmates adored her. "—Alright, a newbie, Scofield, type one diabetes, you'll be giving him his insulin shots."
"As in every time?" Dean looked at Sara somewhat betrayed, but the woman only laughed at her expression. "Consider it training, and therapy. He's a sweet one. I will only monitor you this one time to make sure you can actually do it. After that he'll be your responsibility." Dean shuddered at the mere thought of this daily task. "You've already met him?"
"Yesterday. He's very.. charismatic." Dean sighed at Sara's description. She'd dealt with many prisoners at Fox River State Penitentiary. None of them really scared her, none besides the 'charismatic' ones. The clever ones. The serial killers, the intelligent ones, the ones who looked at her like she she was a puzzle that begged to be solved.
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"Trypanophobia." Scofield's eyes followed Dean as she walked around the room to prepare everything. She'd visibly paled when Dr. Tancredi had pulled out the syringes. "Excuse me?" She looked at him surprised.
"Trypanophobia. The fear of hypodermic needles, or needles used for medical procedures like injections and such." Dean held his gaze, her eyes never wavering. He was one of the intelligent ones. She could see it in his eyes. They were sharp, analysing her every move. But he didn't scare her.
"So, what did you do?" She asked without looking at him as she prepared the things for his insulin injection. He wasn't surprised she'd changed the subject. Michael watched her hands work quickly and with a certain accuracy that surprised him since she was visibly shaking every time the needle even neared her. "Bank robbery." He said simply.
"Oh." That surprised her. She'd expected a Zodiac-ish crime, but with a twist. Like he'd gotten bored and turned himself in or something. It was almost a bit disappointing.
Dean enjoyed making up stories for the different inmates she treated. And most even enjoyed hearing her small works of fiction as they got treated. "Alright, can you pull up your sleeve for me?" She asked politely. Michael did what she said, watching as she paled visibly picking up the syringe. "How can a doctor be afraid of needles?" He thought out loud. Dean's concentrated stare flickered up to him for a second before it went back to his arm. "I ask myself that same question everyday, please let me know when you find out. Take a breathe in for me please." She quickly and precisely stuck him with the needle as he breathed in, he noticed her breathing in as she injected him as well. It didn't hurt, and her hand didn't shake as long as that needle was in him. Which was reassuring. However as soon as it was out, she quickly threw it on the table with her right hand and put pressure on the microscopic puncture wound with a cotton ball with her left, her breaths small and shallow.
"Good job Dr. Bertinelli." Dr. Tancredi praised her pale colleague. "Thanks." She sounded almost out of breath making Sara chuckle. "I'll go get you some water and sign the rest of his papers. Can you finish his physical exam? I need weight and height, and just check these papers for any mistakes." Dean nodded swiftly as Sara walked out.
"Bertinelli? Like the–" Dean stopped him before he could finish his sentence, "Yes." It was a sore subject. She hadn't talked to her father for years. Not for a lack of him trying to contact her, but a lack of her picking up his calls.
"Alright, Scofield comma Michael, born October 8th 1975, married to Nina Volek, conjugal visits allowed, diabetes type one, is this correct?" Michael nodded and smiled charmingly. "Any allergies?" She asked tapping the pen against her lower lip as she waited for his answer. "None that I know of." Her pen scribbled over the paper quickly.
"–Alright, blue-eyes can you take off your shoes for me please, and then stand with your back to the measuring tape on the wall over there." Michael did as told standing patiently by the wall till Dean turned around from the file on the desk and walked over. He felt her breath softly fanning his neck as she stood on her tippy-toes ever so slightly leaning a hand on his shoulder for balance as she struggled to see the number.
"6'1." She mumbled under her breath taking a step back away from him as she wrote it down. "Alright, now strip down to just your sweat pants and then we'll weigh you."
Dean turned her back on him as she read over his file again while he took off his clothes. Half a minute went by before she turned back around and smiled at him kindly. "Great, now just step onto the weight." Michael did as told and watched her scribble down the numbers. He was surprised that she didn't ask about his tattoo.
"Alright I think we're done here, you can put back on your clothes. I'll be back in just a second with a guard who will follow you back to your cell." Michael thanked her and watched as she left him alone in the room.
Dean quickly popped her head into Sara's office and threw the file on her desk.
"There you go, one weighed and measured Michael Scofield. Enjoy." Dr. Tancredi chuckled as Dean quickly continued her journey down the hall.
"Bellick! Scofield is ready to be taken back to his cell. Will you please escort us?" Bellick smiled at the young woman. She was probably one of the only people in here who everyone liked. Guards and inmates alike.
"Sure thing Bertinelli." He said walking back with her to the room where she'd left Michael. "Mr. Scofield." She said opening the door. "Are you ready?" The smile he gave her made Bellick take a small step forward.
"I'll be walking back with you and explain a few things on the way. I also need to see your cellie before his conjugal visit this noon." Scofield nodded as Bellick put a pair of handcuffs on him and they all three began walking.
"Alright, since you're married, you're allowed conjugal visits. The reason it says that in your medical file is, that before and after a visit like that, you'll need to see your assigned doctor. In this case that's me." Dean explained taking a small break so he could ask questions. When he didn't say anything, she continued. "–Personally I enjoy giving out condoms and mints for the inmates. It never fails to make them uncomfortable and I believe that such cruel actions are necessary for my own amusement."
"You should be in here with us, you're practically an evil mastermind." Michael said sarcastically making Dean chuckle. "Ah, to be in here would mean to get caught." She said, a mischievous glint in her eyes making Michael ponder whether she'd actually done anything that could ever land her in a place like this. He didn't doubt she was intelligent enough to get away with it if she had, he could see it in her eyes and hear it in her silk smooth voice.
"—As your assigned doc, I'll also be taking care of any other physical injuries or problems you might face in here. If needed I also offer my patients a weekly conversation about any- and everything they want really as long as the topic stays somewhat relevant, since I find it crucial that they're healthy and happy in both body and mind." Scofield just nodded as Bellick opened the door to his and Sucre's cell and took off the handcuffs.
"Ayee Dr. Bertinelli!" Sucre said excitedly as he noticed the woman standing slightly to the side of their cell door. "Ready to see your girlfriend Sucre?" She asked, a smile grazing her lips at his excitement. Officer Bellick was about to cuff him when Dean shook her head smiling. "That's not necessary. He's not going to do anything stupid."
"How do you know?" Bellick asked annoyed.
"He's a free man in sixteen months if he behaves, and he just proposed to his girlfriend. He's not risking anything. Besides, I can clearly take him on if he does." Dean rolled up the sleeve on her white lab coat and showed her muscly arm. Bellick shook his head at her as he watched Sucre hold up the thinnest part of his arm for a comparison. Which was still almost twice as big. "In the end, size doesn't really matter." Dean assured the amused Sucre. "I don't question your philosophy chica."
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After his conjugal visit, Deanna and an officer Michael hadn't seen before, escorted Sucre back to their cell. Michael was expecting the inmates to yell or catcall as Deanna walked in, but the only thing he heard was the occasional 'hey doc' or things like, 'when is our next meeting?' and 'Do you have time for an extra appointment this week?' He couldn't quite figure out what made her so different from any other person who stepped foot in this prison. But the inmates all seemed to be on their best behaviour when she was around. And she gladly stopped to make conversation and answer each and everyone of their questions making the guard sigh as he had to stop as well.
"I'll see you next week for our scheduled conversation Sucre. In the meantime, be a sweetheart and show Scofield the ropes yea?" She asked nicely. Sucre nodded his head. "Will do. Thanks for the flower, my girl loved it."
"Good. Special occasions unlocks special treatment, congratulations with the engagement. And Scofield. Please do try not to show up in my office before your next insulin shot." Michael huffed amused at her. "I'll try not to get myself into any trouble."
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"Not getting into any trouble huh? It's only been a day and I hear you're already flirting with the warden." Dean sighed as she prepared the insulin with shaking hands.
"I'm helping him build a gift for his wife." Michael said shrugging."Build?" Dean asked interestedly as she carefully picked up the syringe.
"A small scale model of the Taj Mahal for their fortieth anniversary." Michael revealed. Dean nodded absent-mindedly. "Cute; Breathe in." Michael did as told and Dean quickly stuck in the syringe with same accuracy and steady hands as earlier.
"You went to Loyola right?" She asked as she pulled the syringe back out and quickly threw it to the table exactly as she did earlier. "You've been checking up on me." Michael stated giving her one of his charming half smiles.
"I like to get to know my patients." Dean said shrugging at his accusation. "–I went to Northwestern, graduated a year after you did." She then added writing something down in his file.
"Maybe we've met before. You know, drunk, out at a bar somewhere." Michael began making Dean chuckle to herself. "I would have remembered." She stated still concentrating on his file.
"That a compliment?" Michael asked, a mischievous look in his eyes.
Dean shook her head chuckling a little louder. "It really isn't." Michael smiled at the ground before his eyes drifted up to her once again, watching as her eyebrows furrowed together in deep thought and she tapped the pen against her lip. A habit; he noted.
While he'd been occupied studying her, she'd been occupied studying his blood sugar levels in the file. She let out a confused "Hm.."
"What?"
"Your blood glucose is at fifteen milligrams per deciliter." She stated finally looking up at him. "So?" He asked, those hooded calculating eyes watching her.
Dean sighed, "That's hypoglycemic. Your body's reacting to the insulin like you're not a diabetic. Are you sure it's Type 1 Diabetes you've got?" She asked him puzzled.
Michael looked at her as she began fiddling with his file again, flipping through the pages. "Ever since I was a kid." He lied.
"You're not experiencing any tingling sensations, cold sweats, anything?"
Michael shook his head, just as the phone rang. Dean quickly got up and answered it. Miming a 'sorry' to Michael before turning her back to him.
"Infirmary.." Dean answered simply. Michael listened to her side of the conversation as he walked to the window.
"Yes this is Dr. Bertinelli, why?" Her voice was cold now and didn't carry a single ounce of that kindness she spoke with when addressing the inmates.
Michael looked out of the window at a wire that went from just outside the infirmary window all the way across to the prison wall. "No, it's been years since I cut ties with that man. Listen, the only thing we share is a name, now don't call my work phone again detective or we're gonna have a problem." Michael looked down at his hand only to find it shaking, he quickly grabbed it to make it stop as Dean hang up the phone and took a deep breath before turning back around.
"I'd like to run some tests next time you're in. The last thing I want is to be administering insulin to a man who doesn't need it." Dean said, her eyes soft and her voice back to its normal tone. Michael nodded understandingly, "Yeah. Sure." He would just have to figure something out before then.
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