Ironed Out - Robin

At first Robin isn’t sure what’s wrong.
The bland oatmeal in his bowl tastes off. It’s not supposed to. His file, every singe page, has the bright red “Seelie” stamp on it that informs the staff of what he can and can’t tolerate. He set that up with them at John and Maira’s insistence after the lack of documentation for him caused a reaction to an in-field treatment. I hadn’t gotten around to updating what Silver Blade had sent over, and that information was…lacking. To say the least.
He’s still shocked he didn’t have a bad reaction to the on-the-spot transfusion he was given after Arion. John’s fully human; it’s not like they had more options, but Robin is still surprised his body accepted blood with that much iron. He’s had them take his own blood since to hold in storage.
He’d sat down (while on the injury leave from his ill-fated field experience) with the medical team and set up a full spectrum of the things he can and can’t be given, from medications to meal plans. So they shouldn’t have given him anything with preservatives in it.
But something still tastes off. His tongue and throat are burning, like that time John handed him his mug of Mexican hot chocolate instead of Robin’s. John adds twice as much pepper to his…
I got the wrong food. The realization hits him at about the same time as the nausea. He hasn’t eaten much yet, so he doesn’t think anything in it will make him truly sick. But something is wrong.
He hopes it’s an honest mistake. A mix-up with charts or nurses. Maira has made it clear that anyone who has a problem with Robin is not welcome in her agency. She doesn’t have the final authority on that, of course, but she can certainly make their lives miserable until they pack up and go.
Still, there are people who are smart enough to keep their mouths shut. Robin’s seen the dirty glances in the halls and felt the not-so-casual collisions in the lunchroom. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that someone decided to take advantage of him being in the infirmary.
But he’s going to ask first. No sense jumping to conclusions. And when the nurse comes around to check on him, he holds up the almost full bowl.
“I think I might have gotten my food mixed up with someone else’s?” He says quietly. He recognizes the nurse, Jess Martins, trusts her not to be interested in hurting him.
Her eyes go wide.
“I think I gave you Robison’s.”
Alan Robison is a pretty recent addition to Chimera’s roster, and the unfortunate similarity in first initials and last names has led to more than one complication. It wouldn’t be the first time those two have gotten things mixed up. Gear, reports…and now apparently their food.
“He’s in for severe blood loss, he had added iron in his meal plan.” Jess grabs up the bowl with a distressed gasp. “I’m so sorry.” That explains the burning. Iron supplements have a slightly different taste than the iron filings used in some cereals to get them labeled ‘iron fortified’. Which he’s also encountered the hard way.
“It’s okay. Noticed before…” he winces as his stomach cramps. “Before I ate too much.”
“I’m sorry.” She repeats. “I’ll get you a new tray right away.”
“I’m okay. Not your fault.” Robin tries to reassure her. Now that he knows it was a mistake, no one is trying to hurt him, the tight knot of fear in his stomach is receding. He doesn’t feel half so bad, just a little cold.
Jess brings him a fresh bowl of oatmeal, yet another apology, and a second blanket. Clearly, she knows iron makes him feel cold. He appreciates the concern, and the food, and by the time the rest of his team gets back from their hunt, and begins fussing over him, he doesn’t feel bad at all.