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sincerelyella · 3 years

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Always Remember Us This Way Part 4

Book: The Royal Romance/Heir (AU)

Pairings: Liam x MC (Ella); Drake x OC (Alyssa Devereaux Walker)

Song Inspiration: Always Remember Us This Way by Lady Gaga

Characters belong to Pixelberry; MC Queen Ella Rys and Malia Ann Rys belong to me; Alyssa Walker was created by the brilliant mind of @burnsoslow and used with permission.

A/N: In celebration of King Liam and Queen Ella’s baby girl being born in TRH2 I wanted to write something to commemorate it (kinda). Some things are canon, but don’t expect it to follow the book much.

This is the last chapter! Thank y’all for coming with me through this kind of dark mini-series 😉 catch up here if you like.

Big thank you to @burnsoslow for reading over this and editing and making suggestions so I don’t sound like a crazy person.

Warnings: Some angst … but mostly fluff. Also, I do not work in a maternity unit at my hospital so please excuse any inaccuracies.

Words: 1261

A pounding headache and a beeping in the background slowly wakes Ella up from a groggy sleep. Her eyelids feel heavy and it takes several seconds for her to open them one at a time. Her vision is blurred and she blinks once, twice, three times to clear it. I feel so hungover. Ella puts her hand on her forehead and looks around. There is a blood pressure cuff on her right upper arm and a pulse oximeter on her left finger. That’s what was beeping. Ella removed the annoying thing and rubbed her eyes. The beeping went from steady to flatline and several hospital workers ran in quickly. Oh shit. Ella figured out her mistake - never take the pulse ox off.

She gave them a nervous smile. “Sorry everyone,” she croaked. “I just took it off for a second. The beeping was giving me a headache.”

The team chuckled. “It’s good to see you awake there, Your Majesty.” Ella turned her head and saw Dr. Ramirez peek into the room.

Ella smiled. “Hey doc, you don’t need to call me that. It’s nice to see you. Where’s my baby and my husband?”

Dr. Ramirez laughed, shooed everyone out of the room and sat onto the bed next to Ella.

“Ella,” she pulled her into a big hug. The two had gotten close working together at the hospital, and then when Ella got pregnant, they saw each other more often. “I’m so relieved to see you awake.”

“What happened?”

“You went unconscious a few moments after giving birth. You had an adherent placenta and hemorrhaging. I was able to remove it manually and cauterize the area to stop the bleeding. You’ll likely be -”

“Really, really sore for a while.” Ella finished.

She nodded. “Yes. We’ve been monitoring you here in the ICU, making sure there won’t be anymore bleeding, but you’ve been fine so far. Labs are good except your hemoglobin is low … but I’m sure you knew that already,” she chuckled.

“Yes,” Ella swallowed the lump in her throat that formed before she even asked her question. “How’s Liam?”

“The king is -”

A loud knock sounded and Ella called for them to come in. A young woman in scrubs opened the door and curtsied. “So sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty.” She turned to Dr. Ramirez. “Doctor, another one of your patients is in the ER yelling that she’s in labor.”

“Thank you, Marie, I’ll be out in a moment.”

The nurse nodded, curtsied to Ella and walked out, leaving the sliding door open as it was.

“If all looks well, we’ll probably be able to get you down to the maternity unit to be with Malia.”

“That would be amazing.”

Ella suddenly heard running down the hallway and turned towards the door. She saw her husband staring at her from the glass, his clear blue eyes watering as he gazed at her. “Ella …” he whispered.

“I’ll be back to check on you.” Dr. Ramirez murmured and made her way out the door, shutting it behind her. Liam was still staring as he was unable to bring himself to break the eye contact, fearing this might be a dream.

“Hey babe,” Ella smiled.

She greeted him with her normal term of endearment and his tears fell immediately; he quickly sucked in a breath so he wouldn’t cry out. He walked towards the hospital bed, grabbed her hands, kissed each finger and then her palms. He leaned over and wrapped his large arms around her small body, holding onto her like she might disappear. “I … never want to … let go of you, love …” he sobbed into the crook of her neck and she cried onto his shoulder. He pulled back after a moment to kiss her and he knew then … his wife was alive and this wasn’t a dream.

Liam finally sat on the bed in front of Ella, his hands pushing hair out of her face, his eyes roaming over her, like this was the first time he had seen her in years. “How …” his voice hitched. “How are you?”

“I’m really sore. But Dr. Ramirez said I’m okay so far. She said I can probably be moved to be with Malia.” She smiled softly, then placed a hand on her husband’s cheek. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to … worry you.”

“I don’t want to talk about that, my love. Today has been one of the scariest days of my life. I want to just be here with you, okay?”

“Okay.” She grabbed his hands and squeezed. “Did you call Drake?”

“Oh!” Liam reached into his pocket for his phone, pressing Drake’s number. “Hey! … I’m not out of breath … Everything is fine, Ella is awake … It happened just now, Drake! … Yes, come up. Just let the staff know … ‘Bye.”

“Come up? Where is he?”

“He and Alyssa are downstairs with Malia.” Liam smiled. “Alyssa was cuddling her for you.”

Ella’s eyes welled with tears. “Lyssa came?”

Liam leaned down to kiss her lips again. “Yes, of course she did, love. They both came running.”

“Sh-she’s pregnant, I don’t want her to stress too much and I definitely don’t want her running!” Ella’s lip quivered. “Is she alright?”

“She was upset when she first got here, but she got to talk to you for a bit and then she perked up a lot when she met Malia.”

Ella flashed him a watery smile. “Good, I’m glad she’s here.”

As if on cue, Alyssa and Drake opened the door and walked in, big smiles on their faces. The women squealed and yelled simultaneously.

“El!” “Lyssa!”

Alyssa ran towards the bed and engulfed her friend in a big, but gentle hug. The women pulled back, Alyssa taking a seat next to Ella, both wiping away tears. “How are you feeling? Can we hatch an escape plan to get you out of here?”

Everyone laughed. Drake approached the bed and leaned over to give Ella a hug. “Hey, you worried us, you know.”

“I’m sorry.” She chuckled as Drake pulled away.

“The doctor says she can maybe be moved down to be with Malia.” Liam was unable to hide the grin on his face. His family could finally be together in one room.

“That’s great! Then … home!” Alyssa clapped in delight.

“Thank you both for coming. I love you guys.” Ella’s tears kept streaming down her face.

“Okay no more of that, you’re fine!” Alyssa grabbed her friend’s hand. “Also, Malia is so beautiful, Ella! She was sleeping when we left.”

“Thank you for holding her for me …” Ella felt the lump in her throat form again and she swallowed.

“You don’t ever have to thank me for doing that. I was so happy to do it!” Alyssa suddenly let out a huge yawn. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. This has been a stressful day,” she chuckled and squeezed Ella’s hand.

“You guys go get some rest, especially you.” Ella pointed her finger at Alyssa.

“But -”

“Ella’s right, baby, I think some rest will be good.” Drake looked down at Ella. “We’ll come back to see you after Sleeping Beauty gets her rest.”

Ella waved her hand dismissively. “I’m fine, you guys go. We’ll keep you updated.”

Alyssa huffed. “I’m not even that tired.” But she stood, hugged Ella and Liam and twined her fingers with her husband’s. As she was about to walk through the door, she turned back to look at Ella. “Text me! Your husband will forget.”

Liam and Ella laughed. “I will. Love you!”

“Love you!”

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brittababbles · 4 years

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Best Medicine

Agent Whiskey x female nurse!reader

Something deeply self-indulgent that I accidentally came up with chatting with @thick-dick-din-daddy-djarin

Warnings: Mentions of blood, physical trauma, medical situations, angst (is that a warning?), no edits to speak of, me projecting like crazy

“EMS Unit 437 calling Mercy General”

Hour nine of twelve has rather numbed you to the sound of the EMS line, but you glance up from your charting anyway to meet the eyes of your charge nurse over the desk. Lance sighs and shoves his blond-grey hair out of his eyes before reaching for the awkward walkie-talkie like unit.

“Mercy General calling EMS 437. What do you got?” Lance says into the walkie, his voice the practiced detachment of a veteran ER nurse.

“40-year-old male, apparent GSW to the right chest. BP 90 over 62, pulse 132, pulse ox 90 on f15 liters. He’s alert and oriented times 3. We got an 18 gauge in his left AC and he’s had 200 milliliters normal saline and 40 micrograms fentanyl IV push. Pretty shocky… ETA 7 minutes to your location.”

Lance pauses for a second to absorb this information, then gives a single nod before responding

“Copy, EMS 437. See you soon”

You watch your leader-of-the-day impassively, the unspoken question lingering in your gaze. Lance consults his computer screen before answering.

“Trauma 3,” he says.

It’s not your assigned trauma room, but you’re at an impasse at the moment. You have three patients, and all of them are stable and waiting – one for social work to clear his discharge, one for CT to pick her up, and one for a room to open up on the floors above you.

With a sigh, you exit from your computer screen before heading to trauma room three to check that the room is prepped for a trauma. It’s relatively mindless work, and the last nurse had done a decent job cleaning the room up. You lay out leads for cardiac monitoring and grab a blood collection kit, then check the supplies are at least roughly in order. Seven minutes isn’t a long time to get ready, but you’ve given the room a once over by the time the ambulance bay doors burst open.

There’s a flurry of activities and voices as the paramedics roll in their stretcher. One is calling report over top of the patient to Danielle, the nurse who’s room you’ve just stocked. Two more are ministering to the patient himself. You watch them head toward you, bracing yourself for the adrenaline rush and mentally running through everything that will need to happen in the next few minutes. You stand on tiptoe, hoping to catch a glance at the patient’s chest, to see what you’re getting into.

Everything in your brain freezes. Every synapse stops. You swear you go deaf and wobble slightly from the impact of dizzying recognition.

Oh god.

Jack.

Evidently time does not stop, but you’re unaware of the intervening seconds before the gurney carrying your husband is in front of you. Doctor Thompson pushes past you to reach the patient, shouting orders to Danielle and Lance that you can’t understand. Instead of diving into your work, you take two shaky steps backward and find yourself leaning hard against the wall.

Lance is calling your name. His expression is obviously frustrated, but immediately switches to confusion at your stricken appearance. He glances at Danielle and jerks his head toward you. His hands are covered in crimson. You’re dimly aware that it’s blood. Jack’s blood. You squeeze your eyes shut at the exact instant Danielle’s hands impact your shoulders.

“[Y/N}? What’s wrong?” she asks.

She uses her nursing voice. Firm, matter of fact, slightly higher in pitch than her normal voice. You must look terrible.

“Th-that’s my husband,” you manage to gasp.

He’s still conscious. That’s the crazy thing. There’s so much blood everywhere; on his clothes, on the sheets, on the floor. You approach him cautiously, the way you would a wild deer, and carefully touch the IV Lance had shoved into the back of Jack’s hand.

The paramedics had given him some very strong pain medication in the field, and Lance had doubled it up with IV dilaudid on Dr. Thompson’s orders. Those beautiful brown eyes are rather glassy, but wide open and so alive. He grins rather lopsidedly under the oxygen mask as you approach.

“I always knew angels were real,” he slurs.

His voice cracks as he speaks, and it’s so soft that it’s hard to hear around the sound of the monitors and the oxygen and the IV pumps. But you catch every word and manage a weak smile.

“Hi, baby,” you say. Your voice shakes, too.

He squeezes your hand in response. His grip is stronger than you expected. A good sign, you tell yourself.

Danielle hadn’t hesitated once you’d managed to choke out your confession. She shoved you straight out of the trauma room, directly into the waiting arms of the social worker, Nancy. She’d heard, or maybe just observed and put together, enough to understand your abrupt ejection from the room, and used her considerable talents to calm you down enough to speak with registration. To get Jack’s details down. His name, such that could be provided, address, date of birth. His blood type. The fact that he reacted badly to onions and bee stings. That you were his wife. You rattled off the information automatically, the majority of your mind back in the trauma room with your bleeding husband.

You’d staggered back to the door of the trauma room just as the doctor was leaving. She pulled you aside and explained what they’d found. You nodded along, grasping clinically what she was saying but utterly failing to feel any emotion at all. By the time she had finished explaining what the next few hours would look like, Danielle had hung a unit of platelets, attached to the IV in Jack’s arm. On his other side, Lance was adjusting the drip rate on a bag of fluids, the tubing on these leading to the IV in your husband’s hand. A full set of vital signs flashed from the monitor above his head, and you stared unfeelingly at these, before glancing down at your husband. He was awake, and he was staring straight at you.

Now, you stood at his bedside, brushing silky strands of dark hair from his sweat-sticky forehead.

“You have what’s called a traumatic hemothorax, Jack,” you coo.

The expression in his eyes suggests vague confusion, and you mentally steady yourself before continuing.

“It means there’s blood in the space around your lungs. It’s gonna get hard to breathe if they don’t go in and fix it, baby,” your voice shakes, and you admonish yourself.

Some nurse you are.

Jack glances around the room, seemingly asking why he was still here if he needed fixed. You twist your face into a watery smile, trying very hard not to cry.

“You lost a lot of blood,” you tell him softly, winding your fingers into his, “It’s not safe to put you under anesthesia yet. We need you to finish getting these fluids and platelets, so it’s safe to operate.”

He absorbs all of this with the unshakable calmness that only a Stateman agent could muster at a time like this. You find yourself wishing for half of his poise to get your through the next several hours.

“What about you?” he croaks unexpectedly.

You carefully lift his hand and pressed a feather-light kiss to his fingers, which feel unusually cold against your lips.

“I’m staying right here until they take you to surgery.”

He has the audacity to look surprised.

“Danielle’s taking my patients. I’ll have to get her a gift basket,” you say.

This earns you a smirk, which fades quickly when he notices the tears you’ve failed to stop from spilling down your cheeks. He lifts your entwined hands and brushes his index finger against your face, wiping the track your tears have left, and fixes you with an intense stare.

“[Y/N],” he whispers, “I’m not leaving you today, darlin’.”

Your only response is to kiss the back of his hand more firmly than more before pressing your face into his skin, squeezing your eyes shut. You stay like this for a long time, listening hard to the too-fast beep of the heart monitor overhead.

At some point in the last two hours, you’d realized hospitals are cold.

You’d managed to trot behind the transport team as the whisked your husband toward the surgery suites. He tries to look up at you, but the angle was too extreme for his neck to manage under the circumstances. Jack raised a hand rather weakly to wave as you reached the edge of your access to the department, and you watched him disappear from your sight.

There were three people in the surgical waiting area, a middle-aged couple and an older lady, and all of them stood up when you walked in. It took you a moment to realize that they were reacting to your scrubs, not realizing you didn’t work on this floor.

“I’m sorry,” you managed to say, “I’m not a surgical nurse.”

You’d sat down, abruptly exhausted, in one of the thinly padded chairs, working hard to ignore the sound of the national news from the TV in the corner. The middle aged woman broke away from her partner and sidled over to you.

“Are you a nurse?” she asks

“Yes,” you said dully, “but I don’t work on this floor.”

That didn’t seem to mean much to the woman. She leaned toward you slightly, her eyes wide and somewhat bloodshot.

“My daughter’s in surgery. The doctor said something about a brain hemorrhage. Do you know about that?”

Sure, you know about brain hemorrhages; if only you could access the parts of your brain that knows things. Normally you would recognize the obvious pain in this woman’s voice, but right now the only emotion you feel capable of producing is exhaustion. You turned to the woman, blinking slowly. She watched, her expression expectant and a little bit desperate.

“I’m sorry,” your words came out sounding like a question, “I don’t know anything about that.”

She stared at you, her face utterly blank, for a moment, before getting up and returning to her husband’s side. You return your own stare to the carpet and utterly lose track of time.

At some point, the room becomes to small and you get to your feet and walk out into the hallway. Nobody tries to stop you. You round a corner and lean against the wall, feeling your knees starting to slowly give out. You slide gracelessly down the wall and curl yourself into a ball. The wall opposite you is very white. You stare at it endlessly.

“Mrs. Daniels?”

You have no idea how much time has passed while you sat on the floor. A sturdy looking middle aged man in green scrubs is standing over you. He offers you a hand and pulls you upright, before introducing himself as Jack’s surgeon.

“You’re a nurse downstairs, right?” he asks.

You nod, trying to remember what that even means.

He explains to you that Jack’s surgery went well. The damage was repairable. He’s in recovery now and will probably spend a couple days in the ICU before transferring to a nursing unit. He’s not out of the woods quite yet, but the surgeon seems optimistic.

“Your husband’s a strong man,” he tells you.

If he only knew the half of it.

Jack’s awake, if mostly incoherent, when you reach his bedside in the ICU.

“S’my angel girl,” he tells the nurse as she hooks him up to the monitor.

She glances at you and smiles.

To say your husband is an affectionate drunk is an understatement. He repeatedly tells you how pretty you are, how lucky he is. He even makes a couple lewd comments that normally would have you blushing, but at this point you’re too happy that he’s alive to feel anything but gratitude at the sound of his voice. He coos at you, reaching out to stroke your messy hair clumsily. You lean lightly into his touch.

You spend the next two days holding vigil at his bedside, watching the vitals monitor and gently questioning the nurses. Once Jack’s out from the influence of the anesthesia, he begins to get restless.

“I’m not in pain if you’re here, beautiful,” he insists, the afternoon following his surgery.

The nurse is standing by, vial of pain medication in hand, and she glances at you for confirmation. You, in turn, look to the monitor.

Blood pressure: 155 over 97. Pulse: 102.

You look at your husband, eyes widening.

“Yes, you are, Jack,” you say softly, “They cut your chest open. You almost died. You’re allowed to be in pain.”

He stares back stubbornly.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, brushing your fingers across his cheek, “Don’t be brave for me.”

He remains unreadable for a beat, then glances at the nurse and gives a curt nod.

The floor nurses adore Jack.

Of course they do. He’s charming, sweet, considerate, and insists on doing virtually everything for himself. He doesn’t beg for medications during busy times, and rapidly memorizes the nursing rotation to avoid being what he terms “a pest” at shift change. His only complaint is that the bed isn’t big enough to share with you, that his IV lines prevent him from holding you close. He smiles brightly at everyone who walks into the room and introduces you to every new face as “my lovely wife, best nurse in this here hospital”. The head of pulmonology visits early on Jack’s fourth day in the hospital and seems surprised by your credentials.

“You work here?” he asks

“ER,” you respond sleepily.

“Well, at least he’ll be in good hands when he goes home,” he doctor says.

Jack visibly brightens at the word “home”.

“Am I going home today, doc?” he asks eagerly.

“Not today, son,” the old doctor says with a sigh, “maybe tomorrow.”

Jack’s shoulders slump slightly, and he tries not to pout too obviously.

When the day finally arrives, you wait patiently in your chair as Jack paces the room. He’s doing remarkably well for a man who’d nearly died less than a week ago. Well enough for his team of doctors and therapists to sign off on his discharge. Unfortunately, Jack is less realistic about the speed of the discharge process than you are, and vents some of his frustrations by energetically pacing the floor.

“Don’t tire yourself out, baby,” you murmur.

You insist on removing his IVs yourself. Jack watches with fascination bordering on morbidity as you carefully slip the slender catheter from his arm and press a square of gauze to the bubble of blood that blossoms from the site. His eyes gleam with something like pride as he looks up and watches you cross the room to dispose of the used IV in the sharps container.

“You’re amazing,” he says, cupping the back of your head with his now-free hand and pulling you in to kiss you.

His nurse tries to usher him into a wheelchair, and as expected, Jack refuses wholeheartedly. He walks the length of the hall and reaches the main nursing station before his knees wobble and he leans against the counter. Panicked, you grasp at his side. He gives you a small smile.

“Maybe I will take the chariot,” he says.

Once the nurse has Jack loaded into the car, she turns to you with a smile.

“I’m glad he’s in good hands,” she says.

You can only nod, hoping she’s right.

Jack watches the trees pass as you drive home. He’s unusually quiet, seemingly lost in thought. You focus on the road and try to squash any lingering self-doubts. Abruptly your feel his hand rest on yours over the gearshift. His skin is warm again. You glance his way to see him watching you, his expression thoughtful.

“I’m not worried, baby girl,” he says.

“Hmm?” you feign innocence.

Jack always knows when you’re worried. It’s almost a sixth sense. He can pick up the tension in your shoulders and the concern in your brow at half a glance and ten paces. You wish you were half as perceptive, but you’d settle for half as brave.

The car eases to a stop at a red light and you turn to look at him fully. He’s smiling warmly, his eyes bright with life and love and you feel like your heart might explode just looking at him.

“You’ll take care of me,” he says softly.

You smile, lean in, and press your lips softly to his.

“Always,” you promise.

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #jack daniels #pedro pascal #Britta writes #Britta may be using Jack to work out her work trauma?#best medicine

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whumpywhumper · 3 years

Text

Worse and Worse

Masterpost

Previous: Trouble

TW: Sick character, face mask, delirium, implied reference to past non-con; non-consensual touch (not sexual); forced stripping (not sexual).

This is a special addition as I wrote this as a Secret Santa gift to the one and only @walkingchemicalfire who is an amazing person and has been such a tremendous encouragement almost the entire time I’ve been writing the Markus/Lucien series. Chem is awesome; and, that’s a fact. All hail the president of the Markus Protection Squad!

Tagging list: @misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia @fanastywhump @elisabethrosewrites @unsure-but-alive-752 @jeverest00 @texdoeshalo @fanmanga1357-blog @0idril0 @rosesareviolentlyread @quirkykayleetam

Edit: apparently the tags weren’t working, hopefully that fixed it, idk

V***V

Markus woke up uncomfortable, bones aching, his joints tight and stiff. His head throbbed with every dull thump of his heart as it hung heavy in his chest, his mouth dry, tongue thick and cottoned with his shallow breaths through his chapped lips. The tension through his jaw traveled through the pained creases in his face, down his neck and to his back, his spine curled loosely, his arms crossed over his chest and tight in the blankets.

Turning deeper into his pillow, he searched for any kind of comfort in the soft surface, but it didn’t give it. The fabric rubbed against the delicate skin of his face, and the simple movement felt agonizing, the pain of it traveling through his body, the sensitivity present in every millimeter of skin under the blankets. God, and he was so cold, but his limbs were coated in sweat, and when he shifted, the blanket moved, and he shivered as the chilled air of the room kissed the back of his neck.

His body felt like it wanted to shiver, and just keep shivering, but his muscles didn’t have anything to give, the hollow, trembling ache of them almost scary in the weakness that encompassed him. Swallowing past the cottoned dry feeling of his mouth, he tried to take a deeper breath, feeling the drive for more oxygen, but his lungs objected, a rough, barking cough ripping against the back of his throat. Ribs cracking with pain, he gasped raggedly, and moaned, the sound cracking wet and bubbling through his vocal cords.

“Easy, sweetheart, shhhhhh,” a deep, rumbling voice murmured, gentle fingers brushing over his temple and through his hair. The other person’s skin on his was cool, but soothing, and he whined at the touch, the sound cracking in his raw throat as he turned into it. “I know, sweet guy, I know, buddy, shhhhh.”

His next breath felt like sediment in his chest, and he coughed again, the air catching in his throat, expanding in his esophagus as dense clots that he had to struggle to breathe around. When the fit was over, it was like all of the ribbing holding his body inflated just disappeared, and he sank into the softness underneath him, wishing that would feel better against his bruised muscles.

“Is he awake?” someone asked, their voice soft but pitched to carry, the sound of bare feet on tile announcing their location.

“Not really,” the deep voice answered with another careful stroke through Markus’s hair, “what did the doctor say?”

“Do a breathing treatment, keep an eye on his O2, and see if we can get the fever down. Bring him in if he gets any worse.”

“His fever is already over 103, how much worse do they want him to get?” Was the indignant response, and he heard a sigh, the sound of scruff being rubbed in exasperation.

“We’re going to take him if his fever gets any worse, Kin, but I’m going to go and get that oxygen set up, why don’t you get the pulse ox from my bag, okay?”

There was a frustrated hiss, but apparently they agreed, because the sound of feet on tile came back. Markus whimpered when whatever he was laying on moved, his entire body shifting as the weight distribution changed. His head was picked up, a hand sliding under his nape until he was resettled on something softer than before. “Shhh, Markus, I know baby, it’s okay.”

His eyelids fluttered, and he blearily looked up at whoever was talking to him. The room was dim, a distant yellow light casting shadows in the otherwise dark room, and it took him second to make out Kincaid’s frame leaning over him, face barely visible. “Kin’?” he croaked, the word barely a mumble.

The other man smiled, a splash of white teeth, but the expression was worried, and he brushed his hand over Markus’s hair again, his thumb moving gently back and forth over his temple as he knelt by what Markus realized was the couch. “Yeah, buddy, it’s me.”

His eyebrows pressed together as he blinked slowly, and he swallowed hard, wincing at the pain in his throat. “Don’. . . feel good,” he whispered between rasping gasps.

Kincaid’s lips pressed together, but he nodded. “I know you don’t, sweet guy, we’re gonna try and get you feeling better, okay? Do you want some water?”

Markus nodded, licking his dry lips, and closed his eyes when Kincaid moved away. Water sounded fantastic, something to take the pain away from his dry throat. Ridding him of the awful cottoned taste in his mouth.

Without Kincaid to keep him present though, the exhaustion started pulling him down. He was so tired, eyelids gumming together, burning with the need to stay closed. Sleep prickled at his consciousness and he settled deeper, fingers tingling, body relaxing. Something landed softly on his shoulder, and he jumped, a dry, pained noise forming in his throat, eyelids flickering back open.

“Sorry, sweet guy,” Kincaid whispered, “here’s a straw, just small sips, okay?”

Kincaid held up a cup of water, the coolness of a metal straw pressing against Markus’s lips. He sucked on it gratefully, swallowing down the cool water, feeling the cracked tissue of his throat soak up the fluid. When he was finished, he made a small appreciative sound, and released it, breathing shallowly, fighting the urge to cough and clear his throat again. His ribs hurt already, and he didn’t want to cough again.

“Okay, Markus,” Kincaid rumbled, his voice passing through Markus’s chest and soothing him, “I got a pulse ox here that I need to clip to your finger, so I’m gonna need your hand, alright?”

He blinked, nodding slightly in acknowledgement, and clumsily tried to extricate him hand from the knit that he’d managed to tangle his fingers in.

At his grumpy noise, Kincaid chuckled, and peeled back the layers, worming his way into the blanket to free him. “I’m just gonna invade your space a little, sweet guy,” he said, clipping the familiar weight of the pulse ox around his forefinger, wincing in sympathy when Markus started shivering harder as cooler air plundered his warmth. “I know you’re cold, buddy, I’m sorry, but it’s just the fever, alright?”

“Yeah. . . “ he breathed, the word small as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. His next breath shuddered into his chest, and he turned his face into the pillow as a cough erupted, ravaging his throat, crunching his ribs together with an all too familiar ache. “Nnn. . . “

“Fuck, baby,” Kincaid whispered, his big hand settling on Markus’s nape, his thumb rubbing gently against his sensitive skin. “Yeah, we need that breathing treatment. Ben!” he called, voice not particularly loud but definitely worried.

The sick witch didn’t really even hear him, his lungs struggling for air as he hid his eyes in the pillow, shaking. He could hear movement and voices, but he didn’t try to focus on the words anymore, exhausted, just wanting to sleep, more coughs wracking his frame, making him hurt even worse. “. . . really low. . . “

“. . . getting higher?”

“…breathing treat—. . . bath. . .”

“Yeah. . . —up”

Markus was rolled onto his back, and he moaned as the ache in his joints protested, his head bobbling when an arm slid under his shoulders and knees, lifting him into a bridal carry against a broad chest. He wheezed a little, eyelashes fluttering as he shifted, anxiety thrumming through him when he realized he couldn’t move, his arms trapped against his chest.

“Shhhh, I gotcha, baby,” lips pressed against his forehead, and that glimmer of magic spread through him, making him settle slightly as those frantic memories of helplessness receded.

The surface he was placed on was soft, or it should have been, if his miserable body didn’t turn every experience into anguish. His whine as he was settled was met with a matched pair of shushing noises. Another pair of cool hands brushing across his overly hot cheeks. There was an overwhelming kindness there, in those hands, and something deeper, blossoming, something that felt familiar but not

at the same time.

But then there was something cold and wet laid over his throat.

Panic made him thrash, losing the thread of that emotion, with memories of cold tongues laving over his pulse bubbling up and forming into a weak and pitiful struggle that he wouldn’t give up no matter how fruitless. “. . no—“ he managed to croak before coughing again, no, I’m not going back, no you can’t make me, no please, god, no.

He sobbed when he was restrained, the sound broken and cracked from the film it was forced through, more shushing sounds that did nothing to soothe the new panic that was building, re-surging, in his chest. He coughed again and again, searching for air, fear searing through him with dizziness and pain.

“God, fuck—“

“—delirious. . . . temp down—“

“—ere are the dampeners?”

Hands that felt bruising and rough to his overly sensitive body held him down, easily trapping his arms back in a material he couldn’t fight through, and he couldn’t feel anything anymore other than the cold weight over his throat. His sobbing drew tight into wire thin sounds that barely made it to his mouth, his eyes closed so tightly that the tears were only able to seep free to make their way down the sides of his face as his head tipped back in search of a way to worm his way free.

The assault didn’t stop. Strong, calloused hands pulling his arms free and wrapping something around first one wrist then the other, dousing him in cold as he was manhandled and the blanket was stripped from him, stealing whatever warmth he’d managed to capture.

His crying stole the breath from his lungs, and his struggles weakened into panicked wheezes when something was fitted over his nose and mouth, a sweet medicinal taste coating his tongue as hands returned to his skin, lifting his head and tightening a strap around the back of his head. Markus shook his head in weak denial, pleading with small, wet gasps that barely formed syllables let alone words. No, please, I don’t wanna be sick anymore, I wanna go home, please, lemme go home. He lifted his shaking hands, reaching for the mask, but he was intercepted, and, instead, weak fingers clutched a thick wrists, grabbing at clothing as his heels dug into the bed, and he tried to propel himself away.

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” a voice slid through the desperate confusion when his grabbing hands were untangled, pushed back so that they were out of the way, and he shook his head again as thumbs brushed over the apples of his cheeks, around the mask.

“Markus, Markus, look at me.”

He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to see Lucien or faceless people hovering over him, hurting him, sticking and draining and tearing into him piece by piece as he struggled to put one breath after the other. He coughed, almost retching with the force of it, struggling against the hands on his face.

“Fuck, Bambi,” the voice bit out, a command for attention, “open your eyes and look at me.”

His eyelids slid open reluctantly, a burning itching at his glassy gaze, but he focused sluggishly on the figure in his line of sight. Ben’s face formed from the shadows, and Markus sobbed, reaching for him, hiccuping thick breaths as Ben leaned in, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck and pulling him into his arms. A hand settled into his hair, brushing back the damp strands as Ben shushed him with quick little quelling noises. The wet thing around his throat fell, and Markus flinched with a whimper, clinging to the solid frame that was holding him.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay, shhhhhh,” Ben murmured, pressing his lips to Markus’s forehead, rocking him gently, “it’s okay, Bambi, we’ve gotcha, shhhhh, just breathe, okay? Just breathe, like me. In... Out....In...”

His fevered weeping trailed off into pitiful sniffles, his breaths settling the longer he was held, his unconscious struggles softening into minute trembling as he melted into Ben’s arms, against that strong chest as Markus was pulled against the other man.

“That’s it, baby,” Ben praised, murmuring into his hair, continuing to rock him slowly, “that’s it, there ya go, just breathe, let the medicine do its work, okay?” The plastic on his face was adjusted as Markus’s eyelids became too heavy to keep up, but now he could hear the gentle thathump of Ben’s heartbeat as it lulled him into a sense of safety rather than frantic panic, and he didn’t try to shake the thing on his face off again, a lingering tear tickling his clumped eyelashes. “Kincaid’s running a bath for you,” Ben continued, his voice a comforting thunder against Markus’s ear, “and we’re gonna get your temperature down, okay? You don’t have any reason to be scared, we’re taking care of you, Bambi, shhhhh.”

Ben kept up the steady cadence of reassurance that mixed with the soft hiss that filled the room, and Markus slipped down into a limp lethargy that let him skim against the surface. His coughs spaced out slowly, the tight bands around his lungs starting to loosen.

He could hear the deep murmur of another voice join in with Ben’s, that rumble against his eardrum switching rhythm to conversation, but he couldn’t help his hitched breathing, the flutter of eyelashes when he felt the buttons of his flannel being undone, more cold meeting his skin with an icy touch. Nonono, please. . .

The rumbling voices rose with a dangerous edge, but the hands on him didn’t stop.

“—he’s scared, damnit!”

“. . .gotta happen—“

A sob fell from his mouth, wet and desperately confused as he was undressed, but his limbs continued to be maneuvered and his clothes were pulled from him despite his weak struggles. Ben’s voice came back, gentle, pleading to be understood, but Markus couldn’t understand, and he didn’t want this to happen again. Please, Lucien, no, stop, stopstopstop, nooo. . .

“—sorry, ba— “

“—in the water. . .“

Markus almost lost being picked up to his fear, the swooping of his stomach causing a tight swallow behind the mask as his head lolled against a broad shoulder, body limp.

The second his skin touched cold water, however, he became a live wire, arching away with a hoarse cry and a splash as one of his flailing limbs caught the liquid. No matter how hard he struggled, however, his fever weakened frame didn’t have the strength to fight back properly, and he was inexorably lowered into the freezing water.

His hoarse cries turned into weak whimpers as he started shivering so hard that his teeth chattered, but there was no mercy to be found as a second pair of hands joined the first, holding his legs under the water as a big hand was placed over his chest, keeping him from sitting up. Markus tried to weakly pry it off, but ended up just holding on to that thick wrist, his fingers pulling at it with pleading that turned into raspy coughs.

“. . .keep him still, Kin—“

“—not cold—“

“You’re okay—“

“—ght here, ba—“

The hand on the nape of his neck, keeping him from sliding completely into the water, was inconsequential compared to the misery he was suffering, but it was gentle, a thumb brushing back and forth just under his ear in a soothing caress.

He didn’t know how long it took, but, eventually, the teeth chattering shivers settled into weak, body aching trembling, his breaths transforming from tight, hitching gasps into shuddering sighs. The fight to get free, to get out of the water, quieted, and he was peripherally aware of the fact that the hands on his legs went away, that his lungs had opened, and he was able to get more air that didn’t escape into painful coughing.

The low roar of his pulse in his ears separated from the quiet, soothing reverberation of a deep voice in his ear, starting to make sense again as his brain was removed from the broiling pan. “—’s okay, sweet guy, not much longer,” the voice, that Markus was dimly realizing belonged to Kincaid, murmured, “your temperature’s going down, you’re gonna feel so much better soon, I promise.” Sluggishly, Markus forced his eyelids up to half-mast, glassy eyes looking up at Kincaid as he tried to pull himself from the soupy mire of his feverish mind. He could feel the oxygen mask still over his face, taste albuterol and whatever else Ben had mixed together for him, and he wanted out of the water.

Kincaid’s red rimmed, honeyed eyes met his, and the bigger man gave an anemic smile, leaning down so Markus didn’t have to struggle to see him against the bright backdrop of the bathroom light. “Hey, sweet guy, there you are.” The hand over his chest lifted from the water with an unsteady pitter patter of droplets, and Markus slightly leaned into the other man’s touch as those wet knuckles brushed over his cheek.

“Nnn. . .’s cold. . . “ he groaned, swallowing with a dry click, eyes closing again with fatigue.

“I know, but your temp was way too high,” Kincaid murmured, dragging his knuckles down Markus’s cheek again, “just a little longer, and we’ll get you out of the tub and into something comfortable, okay?”

Markus nodded, just barely an incline of his head, realizing that at some point he must have let go of Kincaid because he was fully submerged in the water, his hands floating at his sides, and he was completely dependent on the other witch to keep from drowning in the tub. He didn’t think he would have the energy to pull himself from the water, and that should have scared him, but instead he felt safe with Kincaid holding him out of the water. With the gentle touch to his face.

His brow furrowed when he couldn’t feel Kincaid though, foggy eyes opening back up to look around with confusion.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Kincaid asked, still hovering over him, worry lines prominent over his face.

He took a deep, wheezing breath, trying to get enough oxygen to be heard through the mask, trying to look around more, gaze unfocused, anxiety spiking as he realized he could feel his magic but nothing else. “. . . can’t. . . can’t feel. . . “

“Shhhh,” Kincaid soothed, cupping Markus’s cheek and guiding his gaze back, “we had to put the dampeners on, okay? You were fighting us pretty hard.” His face crumpled a little bit, before firming, his thumb brushing under Markus’s eye. “We didn’t want something to happen on accident, we’ll take ‘em off later, okay?”

The dampeners made sense. Deanna had made them when he was in the hospital, too weak to have free rein of using his magic without hurting himself or other people if he happened to lash out in fear. Too exhausted to protest, Markus breathed out a hum of acknowledgement and closed his eyes as the door to the bathroom opened.

“How’s it going?” Ben whispered as he padded closer.

“Woke up a second ago, seemed a lot clearer. Think it’s about time he got out of the tub?”

“Lemme check his temp first,” Ben answered. A few seconds later something rolled over his forehead to his temple with a small beep, but Markus didn’t care what it was, still shivering in the cool water, hot tears starting to slip down his cheeks again. I want out. . . ’s so cold. . . please, Ben. . .

“Okay, 101.5, that’s a lot better. Thank god, let’s get him out of the tub. Markus, are you awake, baby?”

He opened his eyes again, looking blearily up at Ben, nodding lethargically. “Mmn. . .”

Ben smiled softly at him, leaning over him with his hand splayed over the wall, his t-shirt dark in places with water splashes and hair sticking up in a wild array. “Hey there, Bambi,” he said, “you look a lot better than you did earlier, that’s for sure. We’re gonna get you settled, okay?”

Markus nodded again, trying to gather his limbs to get himself out of the tub. He was shaky now, kitten weak, but he could move. His hands, however, were slippery on the tile, and god, he was sore all over.

“I gotcha,” Kincaid murmured, gathering him up under the shoulders and knees despite the fact that he was going to get sopping wet, “you don’t gotta worry about doing anything, okay?”

Markus whined as he was picked up, the pathetic noise making him feel ashamed no matter how exhausted he was, but the air was like icy sleet against his skin, and he turned his face into the other man’s shoulder. He was sat on the counter, refusing to move his face from the refuge he’d found in Kincaid’s warmth. The oxygen mask was digging into his nose, but he didn’t care. He’d gotten used to the damn things when he was in the hospital, and no matter that the albuterol taste had largely dissipated from the oxygen he was breathing, it still evoked enough memories for him to both be comforted with the fact that he could breathe and freaked out by the fact that he was having to wear one again. The memories of being helpless, unable to take care of himself, yo-yoing with getting sick and getting better, again and again.

He hated this.

Gently, Ben dried him while Kincaid served as a leaning post, keeping him secure with a hand on the back of his neck and back. The towel was soft on his skin, and he would normally be self conscious of the still vivid scars over his torso, over the fact that he was naked and hadn’t removed his own clothes.

But he was too tired to even pretend to give a shit.

Now that the fever had lessened, he was comfortable with these two men helping him, taking care of him. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen all of him before, helping him with hygiene in the hospital, with physical therapy. It wasn’t like he could really do it himself right then, either.

Markus wrapped his arms around Kincaid’s neck at his gentle prompting, and Kincaid picked him up to his feet, one arm wrapped around his back and the other firmly on his hip. “Lift your foot, bud,” he murmured. They both helped him dress. Ben knelt by his feet and pulled the sweats up his trembling legs until Markus was encased in the warm, soft material, the waistline loose around his hips. When they pulled one of his warm flannels over his arms, Markus realized he was wearing a pair of Ben’s sweats, a pair that he’d commented looked like they were made of clouds.

“Hmm. . . “ he smiled weakly, half-lidded eyes looking at Ben, “y’rem’bered.”

Ben grinned, pushing Markus’s towel dried hair out of his face as Kincaid breathed out a laugh as he bent to scoop Markus off of the floor. “Figured being sick was a good opportunity to see if you thought they were as soft as you’d expected.” “. . .s’soft,” he hummed, turning his head back into the crook of Kincaid’s neck.

“Good, baby, I’m really glad.”

By the time Markus was laid down on something soft, he was mostly asleep in Kincaid’s arms. With the fever down, his body was crying out for rest, for sleep. But when Kincaid moved away, he whimpered, eyes still closed and reaching for him.

“Shhh, sweet guy,” the bigger man soothed, kissing him gently on the forehead, “we’re not going anywhere. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“‘kay. . .” he whispered, breath slowing as he fell closer to sleep, barely aware that a blanket was draped over him. He was safe; they wouldn’t leave him alone.

Markus wasn’t going to be alone again.

The low rumble of Ben and Kincaid’s voices in the apartment soothed him, made him settle, and, calm sleep stealing over him. He was pulled out of it a short time later when a large hand smoothed over his hair, soft lips on his forehead. He made a low sound of acknowledgement, but he didn’t open his eyes, until he heard Ben’s huffed chuckle.

The other man was in a fresh, dry set of lounge clothes, kneeling in front of what he realized was the couch. Kincaid sat on the coffee table, also in fresh, soft clothes, leaning forward with a complicated mix of concern and warm appreciation for the scene in front of him.

“D’you want us to stay with you, Bambi?” Ben asked, voice sotto, his long fingers softly brushing through Markus’s hair.

Blinking was a chore Markus wasn’t interested in, and he let his eyes slide closed, licking his lips and taking a deep breath of that damp, humid air before giving his answer. “....please...”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Ben responded, kissing him on the forehead. Carefully, he and Kincaid settled onto the couch next to him, his head in Ben’s lap and his legs in Kincaid’s. The flash of the tv soaked through his eyelids, the murmur of voices and the occasional smattering of a laugh track pressing into his doze, but Markus didn’t think he’d been this comfortable while sick since he was a child.

The last think he heard, before sleep fully claimed him, was, “Joey doesn’t share food!”

#Markus/Lucien Series #Sickfic #Facemask #delirious #implied reference to past non-con #forced stripping #non-con touching #really just a sweet sickfic #Markus Protection Squad

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thewildomega · 4 years

Text

Second Chance ch.8

Running towards the hidden entrance to the town behind the waterfall he held y/n tightly to his chest. Looking to the homes he saw all the lights off and knew most were probably sleeping. Refusing to stop he ran as fast as he could to where his home was. Coming up on the hill he saw another smaller home built not too far from it. Using his haki he felt a bit of relief come over him at the familiar presence. "MARCO!" Getting to the door he saw it was small, about half his height, he was back to his old size. "MARCO!" he called again. Seeing a light turn on from inside the window he breathed heavily. As soon as the door opened he looked down to see his son rubbing his eye.

"What the hell is..." Marco asked in a sleepy voice, dropping his hand and looking out his door. Seeing nothing but legs he craned his neck to gaze up at the tall man. Knitting his brows and blinking a few times he snapped his eyes around. Long blond hair, same warm yellow eyes, huge as hell but younger? Way younger. "H..how... I...I don't.... Pops?"

"I don't have time to explain now son. I need your help. I need you to help her." Seeing his son still frozen he grit his teeth. "Marco now!" he yelled and saw the man snap out of it.

"Right. Okay." he said firmly more to himself than the man who resembled his late father. "Go take her to your home and I'll grab my things."

"Marco honey? What is it?" a feminine voice said from behind him.

Glancing behind his son he saw a woman standing there, wearing nothing but a nightgown. While he was intrigued about who this young woman was he didn't have time right now. Hurrying over to his home he was happy to find his door unlocked, the large wooden door slamming back against the wall as he pushed his way inside. Turning on the lights he moved to his own bedroom and placed her down on the dusty bed. Standing back up to look down at her he took in her size compared to the large bed and knit his brows. Hearing feet running towards them he saw Marco come up beside him and start looking y/n over. When he pulled back the coat and her ripped shirt he saw the bleeding gunshot wound on the right side of her chest, just over her breast and swallowed hard.

"I need to get her shirt off so I can see if the bullet went the whole way through." Pulling out a knife he started cutting away the blood soaked shirt.

Helping sit her up and pull off her coat and shirt he tossed them to the side to be taken care of later. Seeing no wound on her back he knew the bullet was still in her. Laying her back down gently he watched as Marco checked her pulse and heartbeat.

"Her heartbeat is faint. She needs a blood transfusion or she'll be dead in minutes." the doctor said and saw as the large man moved to sit on the floor by the bed table, holding out his arm. "You don't know if ..."

"I do. I am."

Nodding he quickly grabbed the things he needed and stepped in front of his father. Finding a vein quickly he shoved the needle in. As soon as the red liquid of life started filling the bottle he stepped back over to the woman on the bed to get her hooked up as well.

Sitting back against the wall he watched quietly as Marco worked on saving his lass's life. The woman from before had come over soon after he hooked Y/n up to an IV and she gave him a look before moving beside Marco and speaking to him. He heard her weak whimpers and cries as the doctor started digging for the bullet still lodged in her chest and it sent a sharp pain through his chest. The woman who he had overheard Marco call Zella helped in holding y/n down for the painful procedure. Once it was out he saw the bright blue flames come from his hand that pressed over Y/n's wound.

Healing her as much as he could with his powers he grabbed his supplies to start stitching the wound close. Wrapping the wound in bandages he looked over her other injuries to start on them.

After a good two hours he heard Marco let out a sigh and step away from the bed to turn to him. "She should be just fine." he told the younger version of his pops. Looking behind him he rose his chin. "Zel, go get some stuff an clean her up will ya?"

Seeing the woman nod and make her way out of the room he looked back to see Marco looking at him with lowered brows.

"How? I don't understand how you are here. You died, Ace died, we buried you both..."

"It's complicated..."

"I don't care tell me. Tell me how you just show up here, alive and young after almost two damn years."

"Two years?" he repeated, his face falling and his eyes going a bit wide. Seeing Marco's face serious he took a deep breath and tried to take it all in. He had only been in Y/n's world for almost two months but it had been near two years here? Looking back up to Marco he saw the woman return with her arms full of different things. Noticing the bathing supplies and such he stood and walked over to his dresser. Taking out one of his few shirts he held it out for the woman to take. "It'll be big on her but it will work for now." he said and saw her nod, a kind smile on her face. Glancing back to y/n one last time he swallowed hard and walked out, hearing Marco follow behind him.

....................................

All the while Zella who he learned was his son's wife, cleaned y/n he had told Marco everything as Marco took care of the stab wound on his forearm that he had forgotten about. He told him how he had washed up on the shore of the lake and how y/n had found him. He told him how when he had woken up he was somehow young again. Telling him about y/n and her world Marco stayed quiet through it all, ever the clam and collected one. Refusing to hold anything back from him he also spoke to him about the strong connection the two had towards each other. Lastly he spoke to him about the events that had just occurred before the two of them had been sent back here.

"She is your soulmate then?"

Humming he grinned. "Yes."

"Does she know that?"

Taking a deep breath he let it out in a long sigh, "No. I don't believe they are a thing in her world."

Nodding Marco looked to where Whitebeard's bedroom was, thinking about the woman who had all in all saved her father's life. "So what is she like, Y/n?" he asked and couldn't help but grin when he saw the way his father smiled.

"Oh she is kind, so very kind and quiet. She's a hardworking woman but she never complains. She also has a temper as well though." he said with a chuckle at the end but then felt his smile fall away some. "But... she's been hurt before. I don't exactly know how, she hasn't opened up to me yet and I haven't pushed her on it." huffing a bit he looked to the blond and smiled, "You'll like her though, she's been making me take vitamins and eat more healthy."

"She's a keeper."

Laughing he smiled and leaned back into the chiar. "Now, tell me, what's happened since I died."

Rubbing the back of his neck he looked into the large yellow eyes and started relaying the events from the last 19 months. He told him about how the crew and some others, along with Shanks buried both him and Ace. Then he told him about the payback war they had had with Blackbeard and his crew. Admitting the defeat he grit his teeth. and bounced his knee. "We all disbanded after that. With Teach and his crew, then the World Government after us I thought it would be best if we went our own ways.... I didn't want to do it but..."

Sighing he crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. "It's alright son, I understand. You did the right thing."

"It get's worse." Seeing his father look back to him he blinked slowly, "Because of Teach beating us the World Government named him the new Emperor."

"What?"

Nodding Marco saw the man's massive muscles flex.

"What about Ace's brother, that strawhat runt?"

"Luffy. I don't know, no one has heard anything from him since a about a week after the war. He showed up at Marineford again with both Jinbe and Rayleigh..."

"Rayleigh?"

"Yep. Luffy didn't attack anyone or start any trouble. All he did was go up and ring the OX bell before taking off his hat. There were many pictures taken of him, it was put on the front page. After that he left and no one has seen him or any of his crew since."

Humming he lowered his brow in thought. He didn't think the boy was giving up, not from all the stories Ace had told him. Before anything else could be said he heard the door open and looked towards his bedroom to see Zella walking out with a y/n's clothes in her arms.

"I cleaned her up as best I could. There was a place on the back of her head that i don't think you saw but I cleaned it and bandaged it as well." Zella told her husband who nodded.

"I'm going to go take a look at it real quick."

Watching his son walk out of the room he looked to the young woman and saw her smile at him. "Well hello my dear. I hear you are my son's wife."

Nodding Zella looked to the large man. "Yes. It's so nice to be able to meet you, Marco has told me all about you. I don't understand exactly how you are here but I am happy nonetheless. Marco and the rest of your children missed you dearly."

Grinning he hummed. "I missed them as well. I do hope you are taking good care of my boy... not making it too easy for him though right?" he asked and heard her chuckle lightly.

"Not at all." she assured him. Remembering something she held out the items she had found in the woman's clothing. "Here you go, I found these in her clothes, I don't think they would do well in the wash."

Taking the items Zella handed over he saw y/n's phone, notebook and a few other items.

"Of course. I am going to wash her pants and other clothes but I am afraid her shirt is past the point of repair."

"Thank you dear." Seeing her nod as Marco walked back out he looked to him.

"Yea that's a nice sized bump on her head, it's got a small gash as well but not enough for stitches. She may have a slight concussion and her head will probably ach for a few days once she wakes. Nothing some herbal tea won't help though. Still once she wakes she will need to take it easy, she did lose a lot of blood."

Nodding he stood and saw Marco cover a yawn. "You both should get back to bed."

"Sounds good. If you need me you know where to find me. I'll be back over to check on her in the morning." he told him and saw him nod. Looking up to his father he smiled "Goodnight pops."

Grinning he kneeled down to hug his son, "Goodnight my son." Watching them both leave he set the items down on the table and moved towards his bedroom. The light was off but with the light from the living room he could still see fairly well. Walking over to the bed he looked down at her and saw wrapped up under the covers. She had bandages on her cheek and wrapped around her head, he could also make out the light bruise on her lip and jaw. Her skin was still flushed but not as much as it was. Dropping his eyes to her chest he could only see so much with the blankets pulled up to just under her shoulders but he knew she was wearing his shirt. The white fabric looked more like a sheet on her than anything with the first few buttons undone and some of the bandages peeking out. The slowly rise and fall of her chest told him she was sleeping soundly and he let out a sigh of relief. If Marco hadn't been here then there was no doubt in his mind that she wouldn't have made it, the very thought making his heart clench. Threading his fingers through her hair he heard a small groan and noticed her lashes fluttering a bit, her brows knitting together in discomfort. Crouching down beside the bed he continued stroking her hair and then her unmarked cheek with his thumb. "Yer alright lass, go back to sleep darling."

Hearing the deep, comforting voice you relaxed and did as it commanded.

Seeing her drift back off he grinned. Standing back up he tugged the covers up over her a bit more before going back out to the living room. Looking towards the couch he gave a sigh and rubbed the back of his head. While there was plenty of room for both of them on his bed he didn't want to risk making her uncomfortable or worse hurting her. So couch it was. Turning off the light he walked over to the old sofa and layed down on it, his feet hanging off the side.

.................................

Groaning giving a whimper when your whole body seemed to ache you slowly lifted your hand to your face to rub your eyes. Feeling a bandage and then another one you knit your brows and then started attempting to open your eyes. At first they instantly closed from the bright light but after a little bit you managed to get them open and take a glance around the room you were in. First thing you noticed was the ceiling, it was wooden with large beams running along it. Turning your head to the walls you saw them to be made of what looked like plaster, the trim and door made of the same wood as the beams along with the floor. The room itself was of nice size with a dresser, side table and the huge bed you were laying in. It had to be a California king with white sheets and deep blue bedding. Seeing a window on the far wall with white curtains you tilted your head a bit at the view outside. From where you laid you could see what looked like bright green grass and a large mountain in the far landscape, a clear blue sky above. Just where the hell were you?

Thinking back to the last thing you remembered you recalled the incident at the bar, those men, they had robbed the place and then you had taken off after the man. The two of you were fighting and then he... he tried to... he was going to rape you but he hadn't. Edward had shown up, he had saved you. Then him and the man had fought and the guy had pulled a gun. He was going to shoot Edward so you jumped in the way. Glancing down to your chest you pulled the large shirt... gown, whatever it was away some and saw bandages there. You had been shot. Your memory went a bit fuzzy after that. You could remember Edward yelling, the other man screaming and then the ground shook but then Ed was there. He was holding you and he was so warm, you could hear his heartbeat and then nothing.

Letting out a long breath you laid your head back on the pillow and thought. Had you been taken to some hospital? You had never heard of any hospitals that looked like this. Blinking you decide to go find out what was going on. Trying to sit up you bit your lip to muffle your cry as every injury on your body seemed the throb. Sitting up on the bed you were overcome with a coughing fit and covered your mouth with one elbow while the other hand moved to clutch your chest. Whimpering when your head felt like it was going to split into you closed your eyes tight, your face scrunching up in pain. Once you had gotten a bit used to the pain you opened your eyes and looked around the room again. Dropping your eyes to your own body you knit your brows and lifted the large shirt hanging on your body. It was way too big but it didn't look like a gown and... sniffing it you leaned back some, you knew that scent. Was he here, was he okay? Going to stand up from the bed you heard one of the two doors open and froze. Looking up you saw a man come walking into the room but there was something off about him. Why was he so small? He had blond hair on the top of his head and when he looked up to you, you saw he had glasses on as well. Was he a dwarf?

"Oh. We weren't expecting you to be up so soon." Marco said to the woman with a smile. Walking over to her he looked up to her, "Pops will be happy. I'm Marco by the way."

Marco, Edward's son? How was he here? Had he somehow been teleported to your world too? Licking your dry lips you looked down to the man. "Hello. I'm y...y/n." you told him, your voice cracking a bit.

"Yes I know, the big man has been talking about you nonstop all day." he chuckled.

"Edward is here?"

"Yea, well not here, he went to grab a few things from town but he should be back soon. In the meantime though I'd like to check over your injuries." Stepping forward some he saw her a tad bit uncomfortable and grinned softly. "It's okay, I'm a doctor."

Nodding you tried to relax some "I know Ed talks about you a lot as well."

"Hopefully good things." he smiled.

Sitting still as Marco did his exam you listened to him tell you the extent of all your injuries and that you would have to take it easy for the next week. Rubbing your face you sighed, "I have to call work and tell them..."

Rubbing the back of his neck he looked off to the side, "Ah yea well about that..." He didn't get to finish his sentence as he heard a door shut and then the footsteps coming towards the room.

Seeing him look towards the door you followed his eyes as it opened, standing in the frame was him, "Edward?"

Looking over to the bed his face split into a large smile when he saw his lass awake and sitting up. "Y/n darling you're awake."

"Yep, doing good too. She should be able to get up and move about a bit but nothing too exerting." Marco told them.

"I'll make sure of it." Grinning and giving a nod he saw Marco look to the flowers in his hand and raise his brows.

"Well I am going to head out. I'll get Zel to bring over your clothes."

"Thank you." you told the small man and saw him nod as he turned to walk by Edward, only coming up to the man's knee. Hearing another door shut you looked back to Ed and saw him move towards you.

Holding out the bouquet of white flowers he smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Here ya go lass."

Looking down at the daffodils you felt a warmth in your chest that flowed up to your cheeks. Smiling softly you reached out to take them from him. "Thank you Ed." Observing the beautiful flowers you smiled, there was even a purple ribbon tied around them and already you could smell their pleasant scent. Raising your eyes back to him you saw him only looking down at you with a soft smile.

Moving to sit on the bed beside her he took a deep breath, "You know you had me scared there for a moment darling. I didn't know if you were going to make it." he said, looking down and feeling his lip twitch. Looking up to meet her eyes he glanced to the bruises and cuts on her face. "You took a bullet for me and while I am grateful I don't ever want you to do something like that again." seeing her brows knit he shook his head when he saw her go to speak. "No. You are never to put yourself in danger like that again. Promise me y/n."

Taking a deep breath you said nothing and saw his brows lower.

"Y/n." he grunted.

"I can't make a promise that I don't know I will be able to keep." you said softly and saw his hand move up to rub his face and pinch the bridge of his nose.

"You have to be the most stubborn women I have ever met." he grumbled.

Giggling a little you grinned and smelled at the flowers. "I'll take it as a compliment." seeing him give you a small glare, making you smile more he shook his head. Looking towards the window again you saw rolling green hills with a few other homes or buildings here and there. This didn't look like anywhere in Montant you had ever seen. Knitting your brows you took another look around the room that now you thought about it looked more like a bedroom. Seeing a white hat sitting on the dresser with yellow trim and what looked like a pirate symbol on the front you also noted the other personal items here and there throughout the room. Before you knew it you heart started beating a little faster. "Umm Ed.... where are we?"

#edward newgate #feedback would be appreciated #edward newgate x reader #Whitebeard #whitebeard one piece #one piece whitebeard #whitebeard x reader #marco the phoenix #soulmate au

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intrepidim · 4 years

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WHEN — ｡ ‘✧ 1845, day after the mutiny. WHERE — ｡ ‘✧ the former captain’s cabin, now the admiral’s. WHO — ｡ ‘✧ @seraphsaint.

Whatever armistice he thought he had found on this ship, whatever understanding of loss, of nights spent afraid of what would come rapping at the door or, on the contrary, longing for it to arrive, pulse droning into the bedframe all that is gone now.

He had expected it. He had made his terms with that, even as he saw Edward hobbling over the ice, battered, sunken, yet somehow alive. Alive against all odds. Christ, but he’d been ecstatic, for a second, hysterical with gratitude. He’d nearly barked out into laughter. No mistake, the biggest part of him, the lesser part, didn’t expect he’ll see them again. He had been so relieved. So relieved, and so utterly resentful.

When Malachy had pulled on the ropes of the ladderway, and the rescue party began to climb, Marc’s thought hadn’t been: what do I need next?. It hadn’t even been, God, I hope one of these idiots won’t get themselves shot point blank, though that certainly was thrown along with it.

No, when what was once another man’s crew climbed aboard, a crew he never found any affinity to until Pantea’s death, Marc’s thought was simply: here it goes. Here it ends. These two men understood me, Boyne and Dowling both. They may be the last ones who will. And here it goes.

He had looked down, signaled for Sohrab to take away his rifle. Best not have weapons on his body - talk of wrong messages, talk of self-fulfilling prophecies. He walked out to meet them. Said his speech. By the time it was all over, the part was played, the duty carried out. Malachy was waiting for another continent, under lock and key, under gun point and silence.

And Marcus went to drink with his niece. Worse, worse.

That was last night. Now is another morning, a fine bladepoint wedged between the ribs of today and the ribs of tomorrow. Now comes another note in the song. Oh, this is no fucking overture, he copped on that by now. And hopes of odes and anthems have long been hollowed out. But he won’t have it be a swan’s final bawling, either. He has to find the Passage. He has to give this another ending. He has to make sure there will be no ending to speak of.

Enough of knells. He means to dine the surgeon’s aide. Dine, dish out, dissect: they’re similar notions. The Frenchman will understand. Who else? He means to secure one more loyalty, one more name in the bag. Cat in the bag, too, and why not what’s all this but the greatest show that never went up on Drury Lane?

With a conscious gesture, Estrada pushes the napkin out of the way. It lets it fall by the side of the plate, rather than his lap, and makes sure the other guest notices. We won’t eat like they do. If it’s high society you’re keen on, pining after, you won’t find it here.

Though something tells him that’s not it. He can sense it, this brush with atrocity, this intimate affair with means and ends. He sees it, the courting of the inexcusable, the talking oneself hard, talking oneself righteous. For all that it’s rendered in more cautious strokes on Toussaint, it still rears its brutish head: they are killers.

It hardly matters what they had to kill. Hardly matters what they’ll have to, either.

The point of it is there, patent, portent: they know they can do it, not only unblinking, but more convinced. Marcus used to boast that he could convince himself of anything. It amused him, the possibility that there is no order at all, no guiding rule. No shears sharp enough to cut through the undergrowth of morality inside him. He didn’t really believe it, of course. He only lacked principle, never belief; the compass, but not the axis. Not the points that made it all worth it. There was God, of course; had been. There was his mother, his sister. The hard set to his father’s eyes, when he told him to be careful down there, down in Whitehall. Above all, there was life, there was life and his love for it; the thrilling parody, the way it always forced one to catch it on the chin. He thought life, well, nothing more sacred than it.

Now he thinks of different things.

The knife goes into the cutlet, musk-ox flesh, something or other. He gestures with the fork in the air, a blood-spitting arc, and lets his gaze bore into Casimir Toussaint.

❝ I feel like you and I have a lot to discuss, Mister Toussaint. But I also feel, and do allow me the liberty of claiming it, there’s nothing I can sell you that you haven’t already refused. In a past life, perhaps. Another world. God knows they’re abounding, these other worlds; people get sucked inside them before you can say knife. ❞

A shrug, a roll of one shoulder, small enough not to disturb the scene. The fork is still mid-point, mid-section. The juices drip from it, lick into the table cloth. He doesn’t spare it a single glance, but he’ll think on it later, later in the dead of night: who washes all these things? Who cleans the stains they leave behind, here inside this snow-globe of metal and wood? He’ll think on it long after Toussaint leaves. Those kind of questions, the pointless ones, the harmless ones, are really the only kind that remain.

Now, Marcus leans closer, elbows digging an inch further on each side of the plate. The wine is untouched; he notices that, files it away.

❝ Are you awfully fond of it, that past life? Bear with me a second. I am asking, see, because there’s no other point but this one. If you want to move forward with me, with us—harry this blasted journey to the end—it has to be for your own reasons. Because you don’t want to go back, or at least not without a deadly advantage in your pocket. The passage; the testimony of a different world. ❞ His head tilts, no trace of the raconteur inside it. His face is grave, stone-hewn, sawed down from the crags. His tone is serious: he wants Toussaint to know it. To never see England again suits him just fine. To see England in the shoes of a leviathan, the shoes of a man who brings proof of hell, suits him slightly better. With a click of his tongue, the admiral disengages. He moves his chair back, drops the cutlery.

❝ But if you’re only here, hacking at your steak across from me, because you’re loathe a blade at your throat... Well, Doctor, I’ll let you in on a secret: it won’t happen. You can go your way, sleep easy. So long as you don’t openly plead for Dowling, no one will touch a hair on your head. I’ve no need for false accomplices. In fact, I like my pawns undeclared, if need be. They make for such a more honest chessboard. ❞

#took me 10 minutes to write and another 45 to find the right gif #anyway fuck u ur welcome ig #here's 2k words #OSCAR WHY DO U LOOK SO NICE

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1heartsickfics · 4 years

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Nathan sick af pt. 3 (final part)

Check out the first part here the second part here and @bellysoupset ‘s drawing for it here

Also, just an fyi, I have done my research so most of this is medically accurate but obviously I’m not a doctor or anything so there might be a few inconsistencies.

“Okay Nath, you’re gonna be okay. Help is on the way alright? Just stay with me and keep breathing,” Hazel said, still sounding calm somehow.

Julius was frozen, unable to move. He was so scared. Was Nathan going to die? He was lying on his bed, heaving and coughing up blood, writhing and gasping for air. His hands clutched at Hazel’s dress, who was holding him steady, trying to keep him from passing out.

He just kept hearing Tayden’s voice in his head, playing over and over. ‘Delayed anaphylaxis. Jules he’s going into shock, you guys need to get him to a hospital now’

Julius had kept his cool long enough to call 911 and tell them what hotel and what room they were in. Then his brain shut down. He was watching his friend die.

“Jules, hey, I need you to snap out of it okay? The paramedics are going to be here soon and they’re gonna take care of Nath, he’s gonna be fine. I need you to take my key and go down to my room to grab my purse and some other clothes, whatever you can find it doesn’t matter, and then meet us at the hospital. Can you do that?” Hazel asked, addressing him.

“Y-yeah. I can d-do that,” Julius stammered. He took a deep breath, then willed himself to move, grabbing Hazel’s key card off of the bed and bolting out of the room.

“Nathan sweetie, eyes on me okay? Keep ‘em open,” Hazel said, although she knew it was futile. He forced his eyes open to look at her for a few moments, then gagged, flopping over Hazel to throw up his stomach contents, laced with blood. She wrapped an arm around him to keep him from falling in it as he continued to gasp for air, hands clutching at Hazel and the sheets, anything he could find. He was hurting so much it was all he could do to stay conscious.

“Hey come on Nath, gotta let me see those pretty eyes alright?” she said, pulling him back into her arms, his head resting in the crook of her elbow. His eyes fluttered open again, looking up at her as there was a knock at the door.

“We’re in here!” Hazel yelled.

The door opened, two paramedics rushing in with a stretcher, which they laid down on the floor in front of the bed.

“He’s having an allergic reaction. To sesame probably. It would’ve been a little over 2 hours ago,” Hazel said hurriedly as they moved over to the bed to examine him, just as Nathan’s eyes rolled back into his head and he went completely still.

“Nathan! Nath!!” Hazel shouted, shaking him in her arms. He had to wake up.

“Just hold on,” one of the paramedics said, placing a hand on her arm. The other pulled something out of his bag, a needle. He popped the cap off and jammed it into Nathan’s leg through his pants. An epi pen, of course.

In a matter of seconds they’d lifted him off of her lap and onto the stretcher. Hazel jumped off of the bed to follow them out the door, rushing to grab Nathan’s hand, walking beside the stretcher. He was still limp, unmoving.

“Hop in,” a hand was held out to Hazel once the stretcher was loaded. She let him help her into the ambulance, sitting down on the bench on one side of the stretcher, reaching out to grab Nathan’s hand again.

One of the paramedics stuck an IV in Nathan’s arm, pulling a bag of liquid out and connecting it before hanging it on a hook on the roof of the vehicle. The second paramedic pulled an oxygen mask down over Nathan’s mouth, then put a hand to the side of his neck.

“I’m Matt. What’s your name love?” the second paramedic said.

“Hazel,”

“This your boyfriend?” Matt asked. Hazel nodded.

“Can you give me his name and age?”

“Nathan Wedel. He’s 19,” Hazel answered. “Is he going to be okay?” she asked.

“He went into shock from an alaphylactic allergic reaction, which means that his organs started shutting down, that’s why there was blood,” Matt explained calmly.

Hazel nodded, heart pounding.

“We gave him a dose of epinephrine when we got there, which jump-starts the body into working again. He never stopped breathing, so no lasting damage has been done, and his pulse is a little weak right now, but it’s there. We’ve got him on an anti-histamine drip, which will counteract the allergic reaction,” he continued.

“So he’s going to be okay?”

“He’s going to be okay,” Matt nodded. “We got there just in time it looks like. Has he ever had a reaction before?”

“Not like this. Usually he just gets a rash or throws it up or something,” she answered. They were pulling into the hospital now.

“And you said that he ate the food a couple hours ago?” Matt asked.

“Yeah,” Hazel confirmed.

“Hmm. That’s really weird. But don’t worry, they’ll get him all fixed up and figure everything out inside,” he said, standing up once the vehicle stopped moving. He pushed the doors open the jumped out and together with the other paramedic, they pulled the stretcher, which was now on a gurney, out and lowered it to the ground.

“19 year old Male, Nathan Wedel. Severe delayed anaphylaxis. Received epinephrine and antihistamines en route,” Matt told the doctor that came out the ER entrance of the hospital and approached them.

“Thanks,” the doctor said. Then Nathan was whisked away into the hospital and taken into a curtained room in the ER. A few nurses bustled around hooking him up to another IV and putting a mask over his face, like they’d done in the ambulance. The doctor injected something into Nathan’s arm, making him wince, then go still again.

“He’s stable now, pulse ox is coming back up. Monitor him every 15 minutes until his vitals come back up and stay steady for an hour, then do a CT to double check,” the doctor explained to one of the nurses, then exited through the curtain.

“Alright, you heard him, he’s gonna be okay,” the nurse addressed Hazel.

“Thank you,” she nodded, unable to take her eyes off of her pale boyfriend, who looked so much smaller laying in that hospital bed.

“We’ve got him hooked up to some medications that’ll diffuse whatever he had a reaction to and help his body get back to normal. We’re also giving him some aersol medicine to help his breathing go back to normal. Once he’s a little more steady we’ll get a scan just to make sure nothing inside got damaged, but he should be out of here by morning,” the nurse explained.

“He was coughing up blood a lot, isn’t that really bad?” Hazel asked, looking up at the nurse.

“Well, yes, I mean it’s certainly not good. But it doesn’t mean that there’s lasting damage. Chances are it was from popped blood vessels in his lungs or his stomach. That can happen from a lot of coughing or vomiting just cause of the strain and the pressure. But we pop blood vessels every time we get a bruise, so it’s not a big deal. He’ll just have to take it easy for a little while, and stay far away from whatever he ate tonight,” she said, reaching over to pat Hazel’s hand, which was gripping Nathan’s.

“Right, thank you. Will he wake up anytime soon?” Hazel asked.

“Yeah, I’d give it about 20 minutes probably. And he’s not gonna feel great when he wakes up. We’ve given him something for the pain but he’ll most likely feel achy and his stomach will probably still hurt, so don’t be alarmed,” she explained.

“You got a visitor,” one of the desk clerks pulled the curtain open before Hazel could reply to reveal Julius, looking pretty wiped. Hazel figured she must look pretty wiped as well.

“Oh Juli! He’s gonna be okay, don’t worry. He’s stable now,” Hazel exclaimed, jumping up to give Julius a hug. He wrapped an arm around her, the one that wasn’t holding her stuff. Hazel could feel him trembling.

“I was so scared,” he said quietly, “I’m surprised I made it here safe.”

“You did great Juli, thank you. Now how about you go sit with him while I go change,” Hazel said, gesturing to her blood stained dress, dark dried splotches littering the cloth.

“O-okay,” he stammered, moving to sit with his friend while Hazel was gone.

When Hazel came back he jumped up, offering the chair to her. She shook her head and motioned for him to sit back down. “I’ll just sit here,” she said, hopping up onto the foot of Nathan’s bed.

“Haz,” a voice croaked. Both heads snapped towards Nathan, who was squinting at them with red rimmed eyes.

“Hi baby,” Hazel said, leaning over to give him a hug. He leaned his head against her chest, clutching weakly at the oversized hoodie she’d changed into.

“Wha happened,” he said slowly, words slurring together.

“You had an allergic reaction to something, like really bad. I don’t know what it was but all I can think is that the casserole we had for dinner had sesame in it,” she explained, smiling at him softly.

“Ughh,” he groaned, bringing a hand up to rest on his stomach.

“They told me that your stomach might hurt. And that you’d probably just feel rough. So don’t worry okay? It’s normal,” Hazel explained quickly, seeing the panic flare up in his eyes. God he must have been so scared earlier.

“Please don’t ever let this happen to me again,” he croaked, tears brimming his eyes.

“Okay sweetie, I won’t,” she leaned forward to kiss his cheek, wet with tears. She swore up and down that she’d do whatever she could to make sure this never happened again.

#sick nathan #part three #final part #caretaker hazel #and julius #nathan and hazel #julius #sickfic #allergic reaction #anaphylaxis #illness #ambulance #hospital #emergency #epi pen

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wordscorrupt · 5 years

Note

43??

43. “I feel like I can’t breathe.” Ft. biodad!Tony and kid Peter.

Tony had never been a heavy sleeper of any sorts. The slightest creak, squeak or even wind brushing against the windows, amongst others sounds, would drag him from his unconscious state and back to the land of the living.

Therefore, when Friday blared an alarm just before the asscrack of dawn, he was inevitably up in less than two seconds flat, sleep forgotten as he tried to get his bearings straight. He fumbled around for the light switch on the bedside lamp, letting out a groan as he flipped it on and the light assaulted his eyes.

He rubbed at his eyes, letting out a stiff yawn. “Fri, what’s goin’ on?”

“Peter is experiencing a severe asthma attack, sir. I have already informed Doctor Banner and the rest of the medical staff of your imminent arrival.”

If there was any sleep still lagging in Tony’s body, it was completely wiped out and replaced with pure adrenaline instead. Friday hadn’t even finished her sentence before he was running out of the room, racing towards Peter’s room at the end of the hallway.

“Peter!” Tony called out, nearly breaking the hinges off the door in his attempt to reach his son as quickly as possible. He stumbled into the room, flicking the light on and the scene in front of him had him frozen in place.

His eleven-year-old son was sprawled on the floor, grasping a tiny hand to his chest, trying desperately to get a breath in as his chest caved in and out. His other hand was wrapped loosely around his inhaler that had obviously done little to help this situation. His blanket was tangled up near his feet, hinting at the fact that Peter had fallen trying to get out bed, probably in his attempt to get to his dad. Peter’s terrified, tear stricken face turned towards him and Tony felt a piece of his heartbreak off and shatter in that exact moment.

It was that pang in his chest, along with the piercing sounds of his son’s wheezes that got the adrenaline coursing through his veins once more and without another moment of hesitation, Tony made a beeline to his son, falling onto his knees in front of him. Trembling hands reached out, smoothing his son’s hair back, as he cooed, “Hey, baby. Daddy’s here. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Peter dropped the inhaler, grabbing onto the front of Tony’s shirt with the same desperation that was plastered across his face.

Tony easily scooped his son into his arms, pressing him against his chest, feeling the boy’s small arms wrap around his neck while his legs wrapped around his waist. Once Peter was safely situated in his arms it was a mad dash to the MedBay.

He was so focused on getting to the elevator, he nearly crashed into Bruce who had run up to meet them. The two didn’t exchange any words, just a shared frantic look before heading towards the elevator.

“His inhaler?” Bruce questioned as the doors closed behind them. He pressed two fingers to Peter’s wrist.

“No help.”

“Feel li’e -”

Wheeze.

“C’nt -”

Wheeze.

“ - B’eathe, ‘ad.”

“Shh, I know, baby. Don’t talk. Save your breath. Try to take nice deep breaths for me, okay? Follow my breathing, honey.”

That was easier said than done. He started taking deep breaths in an effort to guide his son’s breathing. In the end, it made little difference but inadvertently helped Tony to focus on the situation at hand rather on the devastating scenarios his mind was trying to act out.

The elevator ride down to the medbay was probably the longest minute of Tony’s life. The elevator let out a monotone ding at every floor that was passed and each one might as well have signified another year being taken off his life.

Once they reached their destination, he didn’t even wait for the doors to fully open before he was darting out of the elevator. The medical staff had been standing around, waiting for them and he could only imagine the sight he was offering them. If there was ever a time his guards were completely down it was right now as he stood there barefoot in pajamas with a frantic expression marring his face, a death grip on his son.

Bruce immediately started barking out orders and the staff quickly begin to surround them and more than one pair of arms was reaching to take Peter away from. Tony momentarily tightened his hold on his kid before the rational part of his mind thankfully took over. Peter was plucked out from his arms and the boy was desperately reaching out for his father as he was settled down on the gurney, oxygen mask immediately covering his nose and mouth. The front of the bed was moved up and Peter was propped up against it as staff cut away his shirt with a pair of scissors, making way for heart monitors to be strapped to his chest.

Tony pushed his way to Peter’s side. “I’m right here, sweetheart,” He reassured, grabbing hold of Peter’s closest hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

The next hour for Tony was all too reminiscent of the previous asthma attacks Peter had suffered through. At first, Bruce ordered for a nebulizer treatment was set up through the mask and in the meanwhile, two nurses were tasked with starting an IV in order to give him a stronger medication.

“D’ddy!” Peter sobbed, writhing around on the gurney in a futile attempt to escape the needle the nurses were digging around in his arm. This was the third attempt.

Tony was beside himself as he peppered kisses onto Peter’s forehead, cooing, “Shh, daddy’s here, baby. Daddy’s here. It’s almost over, I promise.” He adjusted the mask on Peter’s face, pressing down on it gently. “Just breathe, honey. It’ll all be over soon.”

“This one blew too.” Tony heard the nurse state to their partner and he gritted his teeth in anger but he refused to lash out for Peter’s sake. He knew the medical staff always had a notoriously hard time trying to insert an IV in his son.

“Last time we set one up in his foot, didn’t we?” Bruce questioned and Tony nodded his head in agreement. Betrayal settled in his chest because he knew it was going to be even more painful for his son.

Ten agonizing minutes later, Tony lets out a breath of relief as the IV was finally set up in Peter’s right foot and medication was being pushed through. The effects are almost instant as Peter’s airways are forced open. Tony’s heart nearly bursts out of his chest as he watches his son take several untroubled deep breaths. Peter turns to look at him with wide eyes, as if not quite believing the fact he could once again conduct the simple act of breathing.

“That’s right, kiddo, you’re okay, now,” Tony encourages and at this point he’s lost count of how many times he’s told his son those exact words tonight. He buries his face into Peter’s curls, basks in the smell of the strawberry shampoo before standing back up. “You can rest now. Let the medicine do its job.”

His dad’s words are like magic as the tension evaporates from Peter’s body and he seems to almost melt into the bed. His eyes flutter to a close and Tony busies himself in brushing away the stray tears on Peter’s cheeks, willing to keep his own from falling. He smooths back the hair that was plastered to Peter’s forehead from sweat and presses his lips to the cold skin, letting them linger for a few seconds. He tucks Peter in, being mindful of the IV and wires monitoring his vitals, before finally taking a seat.

Bruce lingers for a few minutes, tracking Peter’s breathing before finally concluding that he was stable. He leaves, with the promise to be back soon.

Exhaustion starts to weigh heavily on him as he tries settles in a little more comfortably in the chair once Bruce leaves. He rests his chin in his hand, watching his son’s chest rise up and down. Eventually, he drifts off, starting to wake up an hour later by several familiar voices.

One of them realizes he’s stirring and settles a soft hand on his shoulder to steady him. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who it is. “Hey, Pep,” He calls out, voice groggy. The woman gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

She waits for Tony to open his eyes and tells him, “Friday told me what was going on as soon as I came into the office. I’m sorry, I should have been here with you.”

“It’s fine.” Tony maneuvers himself back up to a sitting position, having slid down in the chair sometime while sleeping. Pepper backs away and moves off to the side, giving Tony a view of Bruce and Steve who were surrounding Peter’s bed. Steve was dutifully running his fingers through Peter’s curls while Bruce was taking a thorough listen to Peter’s chest with his stethoscope. The second Steve realizes that Tony’s awake he pulls back, allowing him to come up to Peter’s side instead.

“How is he?” Tony asks as he took Steve’s place, laying a soothing hand on Peter’s forehead, thankful his son was still asleep.

Bruce moves the metal end from one side of Peter’s chest to the other, explaining, “His lungs are sounding much better. Vitals are stable. Pulse ox is back to normal as well.” He finishes up, tucking the blanket back around Peter. “I talked to his asthma specialist a few minutes ago. He’s going to be prescribing him some new medications to hopefully prevent anything like this happening again.”

Tony nods his head as he reaches out to smooth the blanket across Peter’s chest, leaving his hand settled on top.

“He’s gonna be okay, Tony. In fact, you can take him back upstairs right now. “ Bruce saw the hesitation on his friend’s face. “I’ll be with you guys all day, monitoring him. Heck, the whole team will probably be hovering around. Let the little guy rest in the comfort of his own bed.”

Tony finally agreed and Bruce moved to remove the IV and the monitoring equipment. Steve argued to Tony to let him carry Peter back upstairs and Tony watched with a careful eye as the super soldier gingerly picked his son up. He managed to get Peter settled in his arms without disturbing a single hair on the kid’s head. Steve gave him a proud grin which Tony fondly rolled his eyes at.

“That’s precious cargo in your arms, Cap.” Tony reminded him as they all started walking towards the elevator.

“I know.”

This elevator ride was a striking contrast to the one he had taken just a few hours before. Instead of painful wheezes emitting from his son, it was soft snores and Tony had never been more grateful.

Once they reached the penthouse, Tony led the way to his bedroom with Steve and Bruce the following suit while Pepper opted to go to the kitchen instead, most likely to start on breakfast. Once Peter was situated in bed, Bruce and Steve excused themselves, knowing that Tony was most likely going to curl up next to his son and sleep.

Tony shut the door behind them, moments later crawling into bed next to his son. He wrapped his arms around the kid, Peter immediately curling up against him. Tony smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Peter’s head before closing his eyes, letting the sound of Peter’s gentle breathing lull him to sleep.

#iron dad #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #bruce banner #steve rogers #pepper potts #prompts #Anonymous

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altruisticallydriven · 5 years

Text

To The Mothers I’ve Helped Deliver: What You Might Not Have Noticed

As I walked into your room for the first time, you might not have noticed but I was nervous, too. You asked a million questions, and I tried to sound confident answering every one, but the truth is that every time I left your room I went to the nurses' station and double-checked with all the other nurses that I was saying and doing everything right.

I didn’t want to miss anything.

It was my first day without a preceptor, and I was scared I wasn’t good enough to care for you yet. You might not have noticed, but your reassuring smile and continuous “thank you”’s that day instilled a confidence in me that gave me the perseverance I needed to get through those first few months at this job.

You might not have noticed, but I was relieved, too. When your babies heart rate kept dropping and we were running out of things to try, suddenly you dilated and you were ready to push. I had tried to keep a smile on my face and my voice calm as I asked you to roll over to your side and opened up your fluids to give you a bolus, but inside I was counting the seconds that your babies heart rate was in the 70′s, turning up the volume on the monitor as I kept switching you positions until I heard which one got the babies heart rate back up even before I saw it on the strip. You might not have noticed, but in those seconds my heart was racing faster than yours as I contemplated the next three interventions I would do and in what order if that heart rate didn't come up soon. And when you finally felt the relief of pushing out your baby, you might not have noticed, but the Doctor and I gave eachother a look of relief as well, and I felt myself breathe again. I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath with you.

You might not have noticed, but I was happy to. As I rested my hands on your shoulders to keep you relaxed during your epidural, and you squeezed my arms to keep yourself from moving through contractions while the needle was in your back, you kept apologizing. But I was grateful that there was finally someway I could really help distract and relieve your pain a bit after watching your labor for so long and feeling helpless. It’s a funny thing, as nurses we have an instinctive desire to take away pain, and when first learning how to labor with someone and coach them through the pain it seems unnatural- that pain, instead of being something to run away from, is something to press into. That pain can bring life instead of death. But I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t relieved when you chose to have an epirdural when your dilation stalled and your body could no longer relax enough to make room for your baby. I was more than glad to let you hold my hand, or squeeze my arm, or rest your hand on my shoulder- to feel and know that I’m actually doing something to help you cope through this, that relief was minutes away. You might not have noticed, but when you finally were able to relax after the medication settled, I relaxed, too.

You might not have noticed, but I didn’t know the words to say when suddenly everything went wrong. One minute we were smiling and laughing, and the next you were bleeding and we were calling the doctor and rolling you to the OR. You couldn’t see your baby come out because it happened so fast, and you had to be put under general anesthesia, but I knew before the NICU team gave me that look of grief and heartache that there was nothing they could do. You might not have noticed, but I held your baby as he took his last breath in that OR because you couldn’t- but I knew you’d want someone too. As the doctors finished your surgery and closed your empty womb, I felt the life leave his little body and cried under my mask as I tried to think of the words I’d tell you when you woke up in recovery. But there are no words for this.

You might not have noticed, but I prayed over your little one as I took footprints and dressed her in a yellow dress. She was so tiny, and though you weren't sure you’d want pictures I took them anyway just in case you came back and changed your mind. You might not have noticed, but my voice was shaking, too, as I coached you through pushing out a baby that came too early that day, both of us knowing that with every push you came closer to having to say goodbye. I had to turn away for a moment when you first held her, the heartbreak was so tangible in the room that I felt like it was suffocating me, too. But I wanted to be there, I wanted to be strong for you. I was grieving with you, too.

You might not have noticed, but I was thankful for you, too. After nights of hard deliveries and moms losing babies, I needed something to remind me why I loved this job, I needed something to uplift my dragging feet and a heavy heart. And there you were, walking into the room 8 centimeters dilated and smiling like this was the best day of your life. And it was, I suppose. I smiled with you as you told me you had been waiting for this baby for five years, and laughed in surprise when you threw your arms out and said praises to the Lord through your contractions. There you were, a first-time mother, laboring without any medication as though it was the greatest honor and joy of your life. I was in awe. And as we went from sitting to squatting, to standing, back to lying down, I encouraged and coached you through transition- but you didn’t really need my help. You were doing it all your own. I shook my head and bragged about you to the other nurses outside. When it was finally time to begin pushing, you grabbed your husbands hand and prayed for this babies health, and your strength, and gave thanks. I had never seen anything like it. I prayed along with you- I was thankful, too.

You may not have noticed, but they were tears of relief, not happiness. When I put a pulse ox on you I saw that your heart rate matched what we thought was babies, and we realized the baby monitor had been picking up your heart rate instead. And for those moments, I didn't how long we hadn't been picking up the babies heart rate. The doctor, another nurse, and I gave each other the same panicked look as we got you to push harder so that we could get this baby out. I had never felt fear like this before. My hands were shaking as I got you in position and helped you count to ten. When his head came out and the doctor said tight nuchal, meaning the babies cord was wrapped around its neck, my stomach dropped. My hand hovered over the NICU button, ready to call for help, as his body slid out and for a moment he laid there stunned. When he finally let out his first cry, I began crying too. I think you thought it was because I was overjoyed and touched at his birth (and I was), but they were tears of relief, not joy. What had almost ended in disaster turned out okay. And as you held your baby for the first time I wiped the silent tears from my eyes before I turned to you and said congratulations- he was perfect.

You may not have noticed, but there’s a lot we don't tell you. Like how much an IV is going to hurt before we put it, or why they call it the “ring of fire” when your babies crowning. We didn’t tell you how close you were to an emergency C-section when your baby had a prolonged decel and the resident, the charge nurse, and I were all calmy asking you to turn over again while simultaneously giving you oxygen and a fluid bolus and checking you to see if there was a cord. That it wasn’t normal, to have this many people in the room. We didn’t tell you how scared we were, too. Because in those moments you are already overwhelmed, and fearful, and feeling helpless. When it comes to decisions that need to be made, we make sure to tell you as far in advance as we can and as clearly as we can. But the rest of it, the scary reality of it, we keep to ourselves- because it's not helpful to you or baby to know everything. Instead, we figure out how to fix it. And how to give you the kind of labor and delivery you always wanted.

You may not have noticed, but this is the kind of job you take home with you. When people hear I am a labor and delivery nurse, they smile and automatically say “how wonderful! that must be such a happy job”, and I laugh because, for the most part, they are right- but this morning after shift I was crying drinking a glass of wine with a coworker because the night before I watched a mom who had traveled countries to save her baby watch her baby die anyway. And as she cried and rocked her silent baby, I cried with her too. I swear I’ve never seen grief like this before. You cannot not feel it, too. The good nights are really, really good. And the bad nights are almost unbearable. This job is scary and exciting and full of up and downs and an insurmountable amount of responsibility. No matter how many deliveries I help in, I still sometimes feel incompetent, unworthy, and unsure. But nothing can describe the feeling of handing a baby to his dad for the first time, still naked and crying, and watching love settle there in his eyes- and it does, every time. Or the honor of comforting a grieving mom and telling her its not her fault as she goes into preterm labor again, and delivers a baby 3 days before its viable. Nothing can describe the awe-inspiring strength I see day in and day out from these women who came in scared and unsure of what their bodies can handle, then proceed to press into that tension and fear with such bravery that it takes my breath away.

You may not have noticed, but it's worth it. I had no idea when I became a labor and delivery nurse all of the joy and heartache that awaited me, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Every day I get to come into work and walk into one of the most vulnerable and significant moments of someone’s life, and I get to walk with them through it. I get to help, coach, comfort, and celebrate with them. I experience your grief, and I experience your joy. It's more real than I could’ve ever imagined. So, to all the mothers I’ve helped deliver- thank you. Thank you for letting me be a part of this experience, these moments. Know that you are loved, you are prayed for, and cared about. You are remembered. And you are not alone in your grieving, or in your joy. You may not notice, but we carry it with us, too. You are what inspires and moves us to continue to put those scrubs on and stay awake during those harder nights. Your strength is contagious. Thank you for making it worth it.

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defiblover27 · 5 years

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Finishing the Job

Emma laid unconscious in her ICU room. She had just come out of her second surgery as they attempted to repair the internal injuries that were inflicted by the stabbing. Emma’s family lived across the country and were trying to get a flight as soon as they could. Emma was hooked up to a respirator and the room was filled with the beeping of monitors and the wheezing in and out of the respirator. Emma was covered by the blue polka dot hospital gown that covered up her bandages. A white blanket covered her legs and she had IVs in both of her arms giving her pain medication and fluids. Outside of Emma’s room was a police officer who sat and protected her. It had been two days since the attack and the police department had no leads on the attacker. As the police officer finished his lunch a young man came running up to him in a panic. “Please sir there’s a man with a gun, I think he’s gonna kill somebody.” the man pointed in the direction and the officer used his radio to call in back up as he ran down the hallway. The medical team began to split up as they heard what was going on. As the chaos began the young man slipped into Emma’s room. He closed the door behind him and slowly walked toward her bed. He looked Emma up and down and stroked her long hair. “Wish I could make you mine... But the world made different plans for us.” The man said. He took some oxygen tubing from the crash cart that was place next to her bed and wrapped it with his two hands. He then wrapped the tubing around Emma’s neck and began to tighten it. The more force he put on the tubing the tighter that it got. Emma’s wind pipe began to close up and she started breathing erratically. The choking made her wake with a startle. Her eyes flew open and shew stared into the eyes of her attacker. She became increasingly panicked and began thrashing around on the bed. The attacker just made it tighter and tighter. Emma tried to scream but the tube that she was intubated with made it impossible. Her heart was pounding as she gasped for air. She began grabbing at the attackers arms in any attempt to break free. After a few moments she began to lose her strength and her body began to slow down. Her heart had raced and the monitors beeped at a high rate. Slowly her heart rate slowed and her breathing became shallow. She gasped for air one last time as her eyes rolled backward and her arms fell to her side. Her entire body gave away and she laid limp on the bed. The attacker strangled her for a few more moments to ensure that he completed the job. The monitor alarmed as the green line went flat across the screen. As he let go the dark red and purplish mark from being strangled showed on her neck. He left the tubing around her neck and kissed her on the forehead “Goodbye my love” he said as he slowly left the room.

As the police officers moved through the hallways they realized that there was no threat at all and the man hade made it all up. Fearing for Emma’s safety they rushed back to her room. The found a nurse along the way and escorted her back to the room. When they swung open the door they were horrified by what they saw. Emma laid motionless with her hospital gown half ripped off revealing half of her torso. There was oxygen tubing wrapped around her throat. The nurse rushed over and pressed the code button above the bed. “Code Blue ICU Room 7 Code Blue” the speaker system relayed around the hospital. She ripped off the rest of the hospital gown exposing Emma’s now nude body with bloody bandages wrapped around the majority of her torso. The nurse centered her hands between Emma’s breasts and started pounding away. Just seconds later a team of nurses and doctors rushed into the room. The moved the bed away from the wall slightly and removed the head board. The nurse in charge of ventilations attempted to bag her after removing the tubing around her neck. Dr. Abby was running the code and tried to hear if the ventilations were working or not. “I don’t hear any breath sounds, let’s try to intubate instead.” Dr. Abby took the largynscope in one hand and the tube in the other and attempted to see her air way. “Her chords are completely crushed and unable to be intubated, I need an endotracheal intubation tray stat.” one of the nurses uncovered the tray and Dr. Abby made a small incision in Emma’s neck and proceeded to intubate her that way instead. She secured it with the straps and gave the nurse the bag. After doing a few tests breaths they were able to confirm that the air was inflating her lungs. Emma’s bright blue eyes stared blankly toward the ceiling and her face had a look of horror and fear on it. Each compression made Emma’s entire body shake on the table. A round of drugs were given and after being in asystole for the first two minutes of the code Emma converted into V-fib. “Let’s get the pads charged to 300 and prepare to shock.” Dr. Abby said as she placed the pads onto Emma’s bare chest. Everyone backed away from Emma and the shock was delivered. Emma shook on the table and came to a pause. The shock had no result and a large male nurse took over compressions. The force of the CPR made both of Emma’s arms to fall off the side of the bed and her bare legs to shake. The nurses large hands covered up most of Emma’s breasts. After a few moments the pads were charged to 360 and the second shock was delivered. This time Emma’s head lolled to the side as her torso came off of the bed slightly. The nurse at the head had to reposition Emma’s head in order to continue giving ventilations. The shock converted Emma into asystole as the nurse resumed CPR. “Let’s attach the autopulse please and given another round of epi” Dr. Abby asked her team. They stopped CPR momentarily as they lifted Emma up slightly and slid a board under her torso. They attached the white strap on one side and draped it over her breasts. The device automatically tightened and with the push of a button began squeezing Emma’s chest delivering artificial CPR. “How long has she been down?” Dr. Abby asked the recording nurse. “We’ve been coding her for 8 minutes with unknown downtime before she was discovered.” the nurse responded. Abby became considered that they discovered her too late and that she was already gone when they found her. “V-fib on the monitor doctor.” one of the nurses announced. “Charge to 360 again please.” Dr. Abby responded. After the unit charged they paused the Zoll Autopulse and delivered the shock. Emma’s arms twitched inward as the shock coursed through her body. The shock left her in V-fib and it was charged to 360 once again. The next shock was delivered moments later, this time Emma’s wrinkled feet jumped off of the table slightly and her legs shook along with the rest of her body. The shock still had no effect so the autopulse was restarted. Each compression caused Emma’s bandage ridden abdomen to extend slightly even though she was so skinny. The defibrillator was charged to 360 again and as the shock was given Emma’s ribs showed predominantly as her best came off the table but was restricted by the autopulse. This shock was met with a flat green line on the monitor. The autopulse began compressing her chest again as Dr. Abby took out her penlight and shined it into Emma’s bright blue eyes. Her blank eyes stared back at her as they were fixed and dilated. The autopulse was paused as Dr. Abby removed the stethoscope from around her neck and began placing it on different parts of Emma’s bare chest listening for a heartbeat. The nurse in charge of ventilations also checked for a pulse as another nurse squeezed Emma’s wrist and felt for her femoral artery. They all looked at each other and almost at the same time said the same words. “No pulse” they said with a disappointed tone. Dr. Abby looked up at the wall and read the clock “Time of death 11:17 pm. Thank you all for your help.” All of the nurses began to clean up the code. Dr. Emma took off her gloves and threw them away as she walked out. The nurses removed the autopulse and defib pads once again making Emma’s still chest completely bare other than the electrodes that were stuck to her. A nurse carefully shut Emma’s eyes. They turned off the monitors and removed the pulse ox from her left pointer finger. One nurse placed Emma’s hands on her body as the other wrote out the name tag. They draped the tag off of her toe and then covered her body with a white sheet.

Emma’s parents arrived a few hours later to receive the terrible news and the killer slipped through the police departments fingers once again. The killer got away and started stalking his next victim

#icu #resus #resuscitation #cpr #defib #doctor

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kk095 · 5 years

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Officer Down!

Here's my latest story. I hope everyone likes it!

****

Most people recognize the potential dangers police officers face on a day to day basis. Time and time again, we see reports of a cop being hurt or killed in the line of duty somewhere in the country. I never thought one of these casualties would be brought to my ER, but that changed recently.

The officer brought to us was 29 year old Tracy Scott. Tracy had blonde hair which was usually in a ponytail, big blue eyes, was of average height and slim build, didn't wear makeup, and had an attractive tomboy appearance.

The young officer was brought to our emergency department after a routine traffic stop went horribly awry. During the traffic stop, Tracy was shot twice in the chest by the suspect, with the suspect speeding off immediately afterwards. Tracy was wearing a bullet proof vest, but the suspect used teflon coated bullets, which are armor piercing rounds. The bullets are very lightweight, which increases their velocity substantially, thus allowing them to penetrate even the most up to date body armor. Even though teflon coated bullets are illegal almost everywhere, criminals still manage to get their hands on them from time to time.

After the shooting, Tracy's partner Kyle radioed into dispatch to give a description of the vehicle for other units to respond to. Kyle then picked up his critically wounded partner and placed her in the back seat of the squad car. Kyle was visibly overwhelmed by the tragic turn of events, just as anyone would be.

Kyle was a tall, athletic man with short brown hair. He was a first year officer and was recently assigned to be Tracy's partner. The 23 year old officer was now facing a situation that very few people understand on a personal level. His partner laid in the backseat of the squad car moaning in pain and bleeding profusely. “hang in there Tracy!” said Kyle in a panicked tone while speeding down the highway, sirens blaring.

Tracy was in the backseat awake, in pain, and very aware of what was happening to her. She took off her bullet proof vest and began putting pressure on her own wounds with her hands. The pressure she was applying did very little to help her situation. Blood continued to quickly ooze out of the 2 wounds. Tracy was having difficulty breathing at that point, and tried her best to fight through the unbearable pain. “once we get to the hospital, I'll be ok.” She kept thinking to herself. Time seemed to drag on for the remainder of the car ride to the ER, and both Kyle and Tracy had a feeling time wasn't on her side.

Finally, Kyle was able to get Tracy to the ER. He drove through the hospital parking lot like a madman before slamming the brakes, and putting the car in park right near the ambulatory entrance. Kyle jumped up out of the driver's seat and rushed to the backseat and picked up his wounded partner. Kyle noticed the backseat of the squad car was saturated in Tracy's blood before rushing the pretty blonde into the hospital.

The young officer rushed through the doors, carrying his partner. Before he could even get 1 word out, a few nurses at the main nurse's station realized the severity of the situation. “prep trauma room 1! Lets get ahold of the doctors STAT.” ordered the lead nurse.

Two nurses appeared with a gurney and asked Kyle to place Tracy onto it. Tracy was placed onto the gurney and rushed off to trauma room 1. The 29 year old blonde laid on the trauma room table still in her uniform, minus the bullet proof vest. She looked around the room, which became more and more crowded by the second. The attending physician ordered the nurses to remove Tracy's top to examine the trajectory of the bullet wounds, get her on the heart monitors, get IV access, and get a chest x ray.

One of the nurses started snipping away at Tracy's black police uniform and undershirt. A large collection of blood was noticed on Tracy's chest once her uniform top was removed. Her sports bra was snipped, exposing the rest of her chest. “ok, 2 entry wounds in the left chest.” Said the attending physician. The nurses log rolled Tracy onto her side to examine for exit wounds. “I've got 2 exit wounds. 1 near the left shoulderblade and 1 that just missed her spine.” Said a resident. The nurses stuck EKG electrodes onto the officer's chest and got her hooked up to the heart monitor. Her BP was 80/45, heart rate was in the 140s, and her pulse ox was down to 93%. The nurses finished removing all of her clothes and shoes, leaving the officer completely nude. Tracy felt completely violated being naked in a room full of strangers.

The trauma team set up IVs and started Tracy on the massive transfusion protocol, along with a dose of morphine for pain management. A chest x ray and echocardiogram were ordered: the chest x ray showed a massive hemothorax on the left side. The EKG showed an alternating tall-short QRS complex, with the echocardiogram confirming cardiac tamponade. The massive left sided hemothorax prompted chest tube placement.

A 1 inch incision was made in between her ribs. Even though Tracy was tough as nails, she was no match for the scalpel that sliced through her skin while she was wide awake, fighting back tears. The officer whimpered and cried during the placement of the large, flexible tube into such a small space. The tube instantly shot out a large quantity of blood onto the floor below once it was in the correct place.

A mild sedative was pushed into Tracy's IV to calm her down a bit so a pericardiocentesis could be performed. The trauma team didn't want to fully sedate her because her blood pressure was already dangerously low, but didn't feel the need to intubate since the chest tube seemed to alleviate respiratory symptoms.

However, Tracy's situation began to deteriorate rapidly while the equipment for the procedure was being prepped. Tracy coughed up large amounts of blood. Tears rolled down her face while she tried her best to get a few words out. “am I gonna die?” asked a terrified Tracy while her mouth was filled with blood. “just stay calm for me, ok?” replied one of the nurses, which didn't exactly reassure the attractive police officer.

Tracy began struggling to remain conscious. The young blonde kept fighting with all she could to stay awake, because she knew she was on the verge of death. That battle was short-lived. Tracy's eyes opened up wide, and she let out a calm exhale before drifting off into unconsciousness. Her eyes glazed over and stared up above, with the heart monitors chirping loudly in the background. In a split second, she became pulseless.

The monitors showed pulseless electrical activity, initiating a code blue. One nurse began deep, rapid chest compressions on Tracy. Rapid sequence intubation was being performed by the residents. Blood had to be suctioned out of her airway and mouth so the ET tube could be placed without being clogged with blood. The suction slurped out the excess blood, allowing the 7.5 ET tube to be placed into her trachea with relative ease, being secured with a blue tube holder.

A round of epinephrine and atropine were pushed intravenously in an attempt to obtain a shockable rhythm. In the meantime, CPR was performed. Tracy's chest caved in and her belly bumped outwards. A popping sound was heard from some of her ribs becoming dislocated from the harsh nature of the chest compressions. A pericardiocentesis was performed in the following seconds, aspirating dark, clotted blood from the pericardium of the dying officer. The procedure didn't convert Tracy to a shockable rhythm, so resuscitation efforts continued.

The first few cycles of CPR proved to be ineffective, but the fight for Tracy's life was still active. Her body swayed and recoiled from the vigorous energy of the compressions. Her big, blue eyes stared blankly at the trauma team while they pumped her blood drenched chest, desperately trying to reverse the outcome of the code.

The first round of drugs and initial resuscitation attempts didn't convert her out of PEA. A 2nd dose of epinephrine, and the first round of bicarb were given. Tracy's ET tube began to fill up with blood, obstructing her airway. With compressions still ongoing, the ambu bag was detached to allow suction. A few seconds worth of suction was able to clear her airway, so the ambu bag was reattached.

Tracy remained in pulseless electrical activity despite the efforts of the trauma team. The attending physician noticed no improvement of the situation so they decided to open her chest via a left anterolateral thoracotomy in a last ditch effort to revive the beautiful cop.

Betadine was squirted onto the left side of her chest. While CPR continued, a large incision was made in the 5th intercostal space starting at her sternum, continuing across the chest just under her left nipple, and concluding just shy of her left armpit. Over the course of the next minute or so, Tracy's chest was cracked open. There was an immediate rush of blood from her chest cavity once it was opened. A 2nd chest tube was placed and suction was called for to help create a good line of sight for the trauma team.

The suction and 2nd chest tube eliminated blood from the line of sight, revealing Tracy's boggy, fluttering heart. A cross clamp was placed on the aorta near her diaphragm to preferentially redirect bloodflow and a pericardiotomy was done. Clotted blood oozed out of her pericardium, suggesting it's been there for awhile. A small drain was placed in the opening in the pericardium to remove additional blood.

A minor laceration in the left ventricle was located by the trauma team, and subsequently plugged up. It appeared the bulled grazed the left side of the heart and exited near the shoulderblade. The major injury was discovered shortly after. A right atrial blowout with a 3cm tear in the pericardium was recognized. This type of injury is associated with mortality rates well into the 80% range.

The large gash in her right atrium was temporarily plugged up since Tracy finally converted to V-Fib. The internal paddles were charged to 20j and placed around her fidgeting heart. A wet thump was heard once the shock was delivered. Her body twitched slightly, with her big bug eyes still wide open. Her heart continued twitching erratically, so internal compressions were resumed. The internal paddles were recharged to 30j and placed back into her bloody mess of a chest.

The 2nd shock was a little more powerful, causing her torso to flop sharply. Her feet jarred slightly on the other side of the table, showing off the prominent wrinkles in the soles of her feet. Blood refilled her ET tube after shock #2. Her breathing tube was suctioned out yet again with internal massage taking place just a foot or two away. The 2nd shock sent her back into PEA, so the next round of drugs were given.

While internal compressions were taking place, the trauma team worked more diligently to repair the laceration in Tracy's right atrium. The wound was stapled shut, but the staples came undone, exacerbating an already bad injury. The wound was rapidly sutured shut by the trauma surgeon who was standing by in the trauma bay. However, the right side of Tracy's heart was flaccid and mostly empty. The wound in the right atrium allowed blood from the SVC to flow into the pericardium and thoracic cavity, rather than down into the right ventricle, explaining the tamponade and hemothorax. The transfusions and internal compressions helped the situation a bit, converting her back to fine V-Fib.

The internal paddles were charged to 30j and the 3rd shock of the code was delivered in a timely manner. A dull, wet thunk filled the room. The electricity from the shock coursed through the cop's dying body, making it twitch sharply. The monitors chirped and beeped loudly, still showing V-Fib.

The trauma team shocked Tracy 3 more times with the internal paddles and maxed her out on drugs, but became asystolic after the final shock. The trauma team abruptly terminated the code at that point, calling time of death at 12:22am.

The ambu bag was detached from the ET tube and the flatlined monitors were turned off. A nurse shut Tracy's eyes for the final time while another nurse began plucking off EKG electrodes. The officer laid on the table completely lifeless, with an abnormally pale complexion. Tracy's heart sat completely motionless inside her exposed chest cavity with clamps and drains still in place. The ER nurses cleaned up all the blood and garbage off of the trauma room floor. Her body was then covered and a toe tag was placed shortly afterwards.

The doctors left the trauma room and went off to the private waiting area where Kyle and Tracy's family were waiting. The doctors had to break the bad news to all of them, and allowed them to view the body for a short while before sending her off to the hospital morgue.

A few hours after Tracy's death, her assailant was apprehended by officers in a neighboring county. It turns out the suspect shot Tracy and evaded the cops because he had an arrest warrant for a series of armed robberies in another state. The suspect was charged and convicted of: armed robbery (multiple counts), evading police (2 counts), possession of armor piercing bullets, and 1st degree murder, all of which resulted in a life sentence in prison.

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swhurtcomfort · 5 years

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Chapter 4

Previous Chapter - A03

Note: the referenced conversation between Padmé and Obi-Wan comes from Karen Miller’s Wild Space

.....................

“But the little Tooka was much too fast. She ran through the garden, and back under the Tuanulberry bush. Under the—”

“The Tiny Little Tooka, hmm?”

Padmé looks up to see Obi-Wan’s shadow falling across the floor. She closes the picture book and holds Leia a little tighter.

“Is Anakin here?” he asks.

“I don’t know where he is,” says Padmé truthfully. Anakin had slipped off after their conversation with the doctor that morning, holding a piece of paper in his fist.

“He hasn’t answered my comms for two weeks. But I assume this is where he’s been most of that time.”

Padmé nods.

Obi-Wan stands up a little straighter. “Are you well, Senator?”

“Yes,” says Padmé. It’s true enough. She had been discharged from the medcenter that morning, although fatigue from the anemia is still a constant companion.

It’s awkward, being alone with him. The last they spoke in confidence like this, it was the week after Geonosis and Obi-Wan was urging her not to emotionally entangle Anakin any further. No good can come of this, for either of you. Well, he’d been wrong. Luke and Leia were proof of that.

“Please tell Anakin I need to speak with him immediately.”

“Is this the best time?”

“It is the only time, Senator. This is on the Council agenda for tomorrow afternoon. I’m doing what I can, but it won’t be any use if he doesn’t show up to the meeting.”

Padmé flinches with barely concealed anger. “They want him to appear before the Council so they can expel him to his face?”

“He isn’t being expelled,” says Obi-Wan quickly. “I have been researching the precedents for this type of situation, and if he is able to keep a cool head and demonstrate that he understands why the relationship was improper, I don’t believe we will have a problem.”

He assumes too much, Padmé thinks. He assumes that Anakin will go along with whatever terms the Council offers.

Padmé sets Leia back down, mindful of her wires and monitors. She wants to hold the babies constantly, but they can’t regulate their body temperature outside the incubators for long periods of time yet.

Obi-Wan approaches the other incubator and stoops a little bit to peer inside. “Hello, little one,” he whispers. Luke gives him a wide-eyed look.

A shadow crosses Obi-Wan’s face as the baby starts to fuss. “Padmé,” he says, suddenly abandoning his stiff formality. “Where is Anakin?”

“I’ve told you,” says Padmé, not unkindly. “He left in a hurry, he didn’t say where to.”

“Did he seem alright? He hasn’t been acting…unstable at all?”

“Attached?” Padmé suggests derisively.

“This isn’t about the Code anymore,” says Obi-Wan, betraying a note of frustration. “There is darkness here,” he finally says. “Your children are as strong in the Force as he is, Padmé, their light is blinding. But it is also tainted – it has been touched by the Dark Side.”

The Dark Side. Padmé would never claim to know a lot about it, but she is more aware than most civilians. She knows about Maul and the Battle of Theed, and she has since gleaned more information from Bail’s clipped comments about Zigoola. She knows about the Sith. But how could that possibly have anything to do with her family?

Luke and Leia exist on an entirely different plane from those kinds of existential worries. They cry and spit up and curl their tiny toes. Padmé had been able to feed Leia from her breast for the first time a few days prior, while Luke was taking the transition harder and still needed to be fed in tiny increments through a nasogastric tube. Those were the kind of challenges that made up the babies’ day-to-day lives, not anything as arcane and serious as Jedi Theology.

Padmé bites her lip. “Anakin’s not been sleeping. I think he believes something terrible is going to happen to them.”

Obi-Wan considers that. They both know that Anakin’s dreams of his mother were true, while his dreams of Padmé never came to be. But to a scared and volatile Anakin, alone somewhere in this city, the logic of it wouldn’t matter. If there was any threat to his family, Anakin would make himself a bigger threat to whatever was causing it.

“I must find him,” says Obi-Wan, more resolutely than before.

“Obi-Wan,” Padmé demands. “You’re wrong if you think he’s…he’s…”

“No,” Obi-Wan snaps. “On that we are in complete agreement. He will not turn. Never that.”

...........

Anakin stares directly into his cup of fancy honeyed wine and lets everything flow off of his chest.

He talks about Leia’s new talent for kicking the pulse-ox monitor off of her foot and then crying when it is strapped back in place. He talks about how Luke still isn’t gaining weight, and about the persistent vomiting that keeps him reliant on a feeding tube and barely able to keep down enough nutrients. How even now, Anakin’s own thoughts are consumed every second with the knowledge that any little thing could make the babies sick. How he hasn’t been able to get rid of the sensation of being on the edge of a knife, not for a single night in two weeks.

The Chancellor says little during his outpouring of pent-up stress. He just listens, as he always does. But when Anakin breaks down in tears, he murmurs, “Oh, Anakin.”

“This isn’t how it was supposed to be,” he snarls. “We should be…I don’t know, snuggled up in bed together, all four of us, and I’d make Padmé breakfast and we’d just be a family, all together. I can’t take any more of this pacing around the medcenter, paranoid that everything’s going to go to hell. It’s not fair.”

Palpatine’s hand on his shoulder squeezes just a little too tightly for comfort. “It most certainly is not, dear boy. I am so sorry that you are going through this.”

Palpatine waits until Anakin has wiped the tears away before he makes his next move.

“And I hope you don’t mind my saying so, I know you are protective of the Jedi Order, but I find their stance on the matter simply inhumane.”

Anakin’s head snaps up, thinking of the dozens of unwatched messages from Obi-Wan on his commlink. “What? Have they said anything? About me?”

Palpatine nods sadly. “They have not released anything to the press yet, but I have it on good authority that the Council has decided that your association with Padmé makes you a liability to the war effort,” he lies. “They have voted to strip you of your rank and your command, and your standing within the Order is in question. It was unanimous, I heard.”

Anakin nearly chokes. Unanimous—that meant—

“And I’m afraid,” Palpatine continues, “That they are concerned for the children as well. They feel that such bright beacons of the Force could easily fall prey to darker powers, and the sooner they are safe in the Jedi’s crèche, the better.”

No. Anakin’s daydreams of the little nursery on Naboo, of a quiet life, safe from politics and Codes, starts to vanish. Luke and Leia, in the Order’s custody? “No, no, they can’t do that, they have no right!”

“Of course not,” says Palpatine, now placating instead of provoking. “The final decision will rest with you and Padmé, I’m sure. The ‘baby-snatching’ scandals of some 15 years ago were all shown to have been fabricated, if memory serves.”

Anakin swallows hard. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course, of course, I wouldn’t have wanted you to find out through rumors. I’m sure you must be angry.”

But anger was one thing that Anakin was having a hard time separating from the waves of terror pulsing through his veins.

“Truthfully, I expected you might already know. I thought perhaps Obi-Wan might have had the courtesy to warn you.”

It was unanimous, I heard. Obi-Wan had been in support of this. Had betrayed him like this, without even hearing his side. He thinks of Ahsoka.

“But let us not speak of the Order anymore. You are suffering as no parent should ever be made to suffer, Anakin and they would be cruel to try to distract you with the politics of it at a time like this.”

Luke. Leia. So tiny and fragile, and facing threats from all sides.

Anakin opens his mouth wordlessly, shaking his head. No tears come, he has already cried them all, and his second glass of wine is half empty and making him feel heavy. “I can’t protect them,” he says thinly, a million possible scenarios playing out in his mind, none of them good. “I can’t protect them.”

“Not as a Jedi,” the Chancellor says, in a voice as sleek as a lothcat.

.....................

On to Chapter 5

#Padme Amidala #Anakin Skywalker #anidala #Padme #Obi-Wan Kenobi #hurt/comfort #fix-it fic #ft Luke and Leia #palpatine sux #mpost

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katurrade · 6 years

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Come Back to Me - The What Ifs (19/?)

The What Ifs is part 19 of “Come Back to Me” an AU series. This takes place right at the end of Book 3 Chapter 10, following the bombing of the palace. In this story Chapters 11+ never happen. This is going to be a slightly angsty, slightly fluffy story and is following the story line that is Riley and Liam are engaged and are supposed to be getting married. This was written on my iphone and fyi each chapter will be pretty long! Tagged long post! Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters, PB does. I’m just borrowing them.

Pairing: Liam x MC

Rating: PG. Just to be safe!

Summary: Liam gets an evening visitor then retires early for the night. Riley wakes up in Valtoria for the first time......Pearls, views and chicken, oh my! Catch up HERE.

Word Count: 3,570 ish.

Tagged List: @blackcatkita @captain-kingliamsqueen @mrsdrakewalkerblog @umccall71 @hopefulmoonobject @speedyoperarascalparty @melodiouskeys @theroyalweisme @alicars @bobasheebaby @annekebbphotography @writtenbycandy @queencatherynerhys @ranishajay @blznbaby @jared2612 @bella-ca @mitalijoshi @lodberg @scarlettedragon @romanticatheart-posts @queenof1000days @lostinthe-pines @kennaxval @leelee10898 @jayjay879 @lizk77 @nazariobae @sstee1 @tornbetween2loves @elegantcowboyflappie @carabeth @ao719 @sarwin85 @cocomaxley

Side Notes: If you would like to be added to the tagged list for this, I can make that happen ;)

Guys and Gals, I’m so sorry for the delay of this chapter, I hit an inspirational wall and just needed some time to work through it. So thank you for being so patient with me, and thank you to those who reached out to see how I was. You all make me feel so special. This chapter is a filler chapter, of sorts. Not many big moves happen in this one, but it’s where my mind took the story and I’m just happy I was able to even get here. There is a flashback scene though, hopefully that makes up for the rest of the chapter! Now just to see if I can kick this mental wall down! Fingers crossed and enjoy!

Liams POV - Day 6 (Evening)

The door slowly opened and a small man, dressed in formal office attire entered with a bow. “Good Evening, Your Majesty. I’m sorry to interrupt, but Dr. Young is here and has requested to see you..” he shut the door behind him before continuing “If now is an appropriate time?”

This must be my assistant... “Of course,” he said as he took a second to open the folder on his desk, the one with the list of staff names. This was a name he should have memorized sooner. His eyes glanced over the page until he saw the name he was looking for “...Thank you, Markus. You can send him in” The small man bowed again, then exited the room. Liam stood and walked around his desk to greet the doctor as he entered the room. “Good Evening, Alex.”

He bowed “Good Evening, Liam. I apologize for the late hour, but you are a difficult man to track down,” he chuckled “Who knew finding a free moment for the King would be so hard.”

Liam laughed “You’re telling me.” He reached out and shook Alex’ hand “Please, sit” he gestured to a chair then walked back around his deck to sit.

Once Alex was seated, he placed his bag on the floor “How are you feeling, Liam? Any headaches? Or episodes of lightheadedness?”

“Not really. Though, I did have a slight headache last night, which was accompanied by a memory” he smiled at the thought.

“Oh? Are you starting to remember more?”

“Sort of. The last year is still mainly a blur, but there are moments I vividly remember as if they happened yesterday. It’s hard to explain, my memories are ....blotchy at best. If that makes sense?”

Alex nodded “It does. It’s like you have only half the pieces to a puzzle?”

“Yes, exactly”

“How is your balance? Any issues with walking?”

“Nope...” Liam scratched the back of his neck “..No issues with running either”

Alex’ eyes widened “Running?”

“Yes, I did a little running earlier but had no problems”

“Well then, I guess that is good to hear” Alex reached down into his bag to retrieve his stethoscope, pulse ox and blood pressure cuff “Mind if I just check your vitals quickly?”

“Of course not” Liam answered as he rolled up one sleeve of his dress shirt to his elbow. Alex stood and walked around the desk and took his vitals quickly. He then retrieved a pen light from his pocket to check Liam’s pupils. After a moment “It appears you are in good health, though, have you been nauseas or vomiting at all?”

“No, I have felt pretty normal actually”

“Perfect,” he put the equipment back in his bag “then I believe that is all I need for now” he picked his bag up off the floor and turned to Liam “I’d like to come back in a few days to see how you are doing, if that works?”

“Of course, just speak to Markus on the way out and he will give you some days and times”

Alex nodded, looking at the half glass of scotch in front of Liam “I ask that you take it easy, Liam. As you aren’t entirely out of the woods yet, and we want to make sure you continue to stay in good health for years to come”

Liam smiled, understanding what Alex was politely referring to “I will, in all areas” and with that Alex smiled and left.

Liam finished off the last few sips of his scotch, knowing that would be his only one tonight. Heeding Alex’ words he stood and headed towards his room. It might have been to early to sleep for most, but he was exhausted, to say the least. Both mentally and physically. And he knew his mind and body needed the rest.

Plus, if he was being honest with himself, a part of him just wanted to get through these next 2 days as fast as possible. Not only because of the emotions around the funeral but also because of his anxiety around getting Riley back. He needed to make things right. He had to.

Upon entering his room, he crossed the floor to the back wall to change. Retrieving the ring, bracelet and phone from his pocket and depositing them on top of his dresser, once again. He then removed his clothes and pulled on a set of pyjamas. He went to turn around to head to bed, when the bracelet caught his eye. He glanced over the now 3 objects that didn’t belong to him, yet were all still in his possession. He picked up the bracelet to look more closely at it, wishing he could remember the story behind it.

Objects seemed to be his memory triggers, he was starting to notice this trend. He held it in his hand and shut his eyes tightly, hoping it would trigger something. Anything. But after a few moments, nothing had happened. No memory. No headache. No nothing. He sighed heavily then returned the bracelet to the top of the dresser, before turning around and climbing into bed. He laid there for a short while, his mind racing with the what ifs.

What if, she doesn’t want me back. What if, I am too late. What if, I have ruined things for good. He could feel himself heading down the rabbit hole, but luck was on his side this time. Before he could go any deeper into the abyss, everything went dark. His mind finally shutting off, entirely. Exhaustion taking him over and allowing him to sleep.

—————————-

Rileys POV - Day 7 (Morning)

She awoke in the pitch black to a loud knocking on her door, then it opened slightly, letting in a sliver of light “Your Grace..?” She heard coming from the now ajar door. “Gladys?” She asked groggily as she sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, followed with a yawn and a stretch. “Yes, Your Grace, may I enter?”

“Of course” she responded as she blindly reached out to try to find the nightstand, in the hopes there would be a lamp on it.

“Here, let me turn on some lights for you” Gladys offered as she crossed the room, flicking on a few lights as she went.

Upon the light beginning to fill the room, Riley kicked her legs off the edge of her bed and took in her surroundings. Her room was bigger then the whole of her old apartment back in New York. She hadn’t realized how massive the room was in her tired state the night before. Her eyes widened as she peered around, first at the massive canopy above her, then at the huge floor to ceiling drapes beside her. Ones she was sure were most likely covering giant windows.

“Would you like to see the best part of this room?” She asked. Riley nodded and stood up “I’d love to”

Gladys then walked over and drew back the massive curtains, relieving the most spectacular view Riley had ever seen. She made her way over to the beautiful, glass french doors just as Gladys opened them.

Riley stepped out onto the balcony and was speechless. The rolling mountains with a river travelling between them were like nothing she had ever seen before. She could have never fathomed, in her wildest dreams, that a view from her bedroom window would be this breathtaking. She began to wonder if this view had played a hand in his decision. If it was part of why Liam had chosen this exact dutchy for her. Had he ever seen this view before? Was there some meaning behind why he picked Valtoria for me? If not, what would he have thought of it, if he were standing beside me, right now— She shook her head. She couldn’t think like that, those thoughts only made her heart ache more.

All the what ifs and lost moments would threaten to drown her if she gave into them. If she focused on them or thought about them. Even for a moment. He was gone and she needed to come to terms with that lose. But how? How could she just let go of him, of what they shared. Would she always wonder what Liam would think, how he would react to a certain incident or view. Was this her life now? Something amazing happens, or she stumbles upon something beautiful beyond compare, and her first thoughts are of him, of what he would think. How depressing. How utterly exhausting—

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Gladys asked.

The words pulling her back out if her mind “Yes.... it’s breathtaking..” she responded, not turning her eyes away from the view in front of her, as tears began to pool in them. The realization that she only had herself to share these moments with now. “I can’t believe this is my bedrooms view..” she whispered, more to herself. Trying to focus on the positives, instead of all the negatives.

“If you would like, I prepared you some breakfast. Along with coffee, tea and fresh squeezed orange juice. Would you like to take your breakfast on the balcony?” she asked. Riley nodded “Yes, please Gladys”

She walked away and Riley took the opportunity to quickly wipe the tears from her eyes. Gladys returned shortly, with a cart covered in an assortment of different foods and drinks “I wasn’t sure what your morning preferences were, so I figured I’d give you some options.”

Riley turned to her “That was very sweet of you, thank you. By the way, I am a coffee drinker and love a good American style breakfast. Bacon, eggs, hash browns, toast. The works.” she moved over to the patio set and took a seat as Gladys poured her a cup of coffee “What do you take in your coffee?”

“Just 2 and 2” she responded. Gladys nodded, quickly adding the cream and sugar then placing the cup down in front of Riley. She then transferred all the food and drinks to the table.

Riley looked at the massive spread now sitting in front of her and one dish stood out... “Gladys...What is this dish called..?” She pointed to some weird variation of what looked to be ...chicken..?

“Oh, that is Pollo a La Brasa, or Peruvian grilled chicken, Your Grace. It is normally a dinner food, but here in Cordonia it is somewhat of a breakfast delicacy..”

Riley furrowed her brows at the dish “Is it any good...?” She asked hesitantly as she poked at it with her fork.

“I believe so, but everyones palates are different. I’d recommend giving it a try”

She nodded as she pulled a small piece onto her plate. She cut a little slice off and touched it to her tongue, gingerly. A surge of flavour danced on her tongue “Mmm. Gladys, this is amazing!!” She said just before she put the while piece in her mouth.

“I’m glad you like it, enjoy your breakfast, Your Grace. I will return shortly so we can begin our tour” she said as she bowed.

“Sounds wonderful, Gladys. Also, please just call me Riley. Your Grace is just so ...formal”

“Of course, Riley” she agreed then headed back into the bedroom and left.

Riley picked up her mug and turned back to the view “I don’t think I could ever get used to this” she sighed and took a sip of her coffee.

“Knock, Knock!” she heard from her room as Maxwell and Hana emerged through the french doors. Both stopping dead in their tracks. “Oh my...” they said in unison. “This view is spectacular, Riley!” Hana added.

“That it is..” Maxwell said with a smirk, though he wasn’t looking passed the balcony railing, he was starring directly at the food covered table.

Riley chuckled at Maxwell’s obvious meaning “Would you like some breakfast, Maxwell?”

“I thought you’d never ask” he eagerly said as he quickly sat down and started to load up a plate. Hana reluctantly pulled herself away from the view and joined them at the table. Riley smiled at her friends then turned her eyes back to the view. At least I have these two to share these small moments with now...

—————————-

Liams POV - Day 7 (Morning)

His head silently emerged from the scintillating waters if the Blue Grotto, taking in how the light shinned of Riley’s fair skin. Her back was to him, and he took the opportunity to watch her, for a moment, without her knowledge. Wanting to commit this wonderful moment to memory. “Okay, Liam, you’re starting to scare me...”

The fear in her voice making him decide it was time to give up his perfect viewing position. As her peace of mind was more important to him now. “Over here!” He called out. She whirled around and a relieved smile took over her face. Causing Liams heart to flutter at the sight. “Oh, there you are!” She said.

He held on tightly to the oyster in his hand, hidden behind his back. Ever since the moment they had arrived in Italy, all he could think about was this pearl. In the year since he had originally stumbled across it, it had never been so much as a thought in his mind. Filled to the back with the other unimportant memories. That is, until the day he finally realized his true feelings for Riley. It had been at the Forgotten Falls, the blue waters must have kicked up the dormant memory of the pearl. “I’ve got something I want to show you.”

He swam a little closer to her then extended out his hand, palm up, presenting the glistening, perfectly round pearl. Which was still nestled protectively in between the oysters shells. Riley stared at it, then up at him briefly, before dropping her eyes back down to the pearl. “That’s lovely! How did you find it so quickly?”

“I was here last year with my brother, and I found it while we were diving. He told me it would win the heart of any woman I gave it to. But there wasn’t anyone in my life I wanted to win over. So I left it here, hiding it back in one of the crags. I thought that if it was meant to be, I’d find it again. Knowing that it was here... and that I finally had someone I wanted to give it to...” he could feel the heat rising in his face, despite the cold air, making him undeniably sure of the blush now on his cheeks “Well, I couldn’t wait to see if I could locate it once more.” He paused upon seeing the smirk on Riley’s face. They locked eyes for a moment before he looked away, feeling rather bashful of his admission “It sounds rather silly now that I’m saying all of this out loud to you... but...” he looked back to her “Would it please you to have this?”

She swam a little closer to him, erasing the small distance that was between them. She cupped one of her hands under his “This pearl? Oh, Liam...” she looked up at him, with so much sincerity in her eyes, as she put her other hand on top of his. Now holding his in both of hers “Wait to give me this until my name is cleared. When I can tell people that you gave it to me.”

He smiled at that thought, that one day, maybe soon, they could be together, openly. No more hiding, no more secret rendezvous, no more stolen moments. Just them, together, engaged and in love. “Okay, then I will keep it. For now.”

His smile quickly faded as he saw the shudder that rushed through her, causing the water around her to ripple. “Are you cold? You’re shivering.”

She smiled meekly at him “It is getting chilly in here.”

“Let’s get out of the water for a bit. Shall I take you back?” He asked honestly, though he dreaded her responce. He wasn’t ready to end the night this early.

“Not just yet. I can manage.”

“Good.” He happily let out the breath he was holding “Honestly, I’m not ready to give you up just yet.”

He reached out and took her hand, leading her over to an outcropping of rock, just at the waters level. He climbed up first, turning to offer his hand to help her up. “Come here, I’ll help get you warm.”

Once she was out if the water, he sat down on the rock. He was just about to pulled her close but before he could, she settled in next to him. Pulling his arm around her shoulders as she tucked herself under it. Her head coming to rest on his chest. He smiled as he placed a soft kiss to her hair before resting his chin on top of her head.

After a moment of just enjoying the peace and quiet of being alone, in each others arms, he feels Riley take a deep breath “Wasn’t there something you wanted to talk about?” She asked quietly, as if unsure she even wanted to ask.

Her question reminded him of the second reason for their visit to this grotto, his brows furrowed “Yes, I’ve...” he lets out a deep sigh “perhaps been avoiding it.”

She braces a hand on his chest and sits up to face him. Worry written on her face, though she smiles encouragingly at him, as if trying to ease the topic out of him, gently.

He studies her face, taking in every beautiful inch of it. He raises his hand up to move a wet lock of hair off her forehead to behind her ear, his finger tips trailing down her jawline to her chin. His eyes following the path as they go. Once he reaches her chin, he slides his thumb gently across her lower lip then flicks his eyes up to meet hers. Hoping it will help ease her mind, even just a little. Or maybe it was more to ease his own.

“These past few weeks have been so hard on both of us. I have been putting one foot in front of the other to get through it, but...” he removes his hand from her chin and takes ahold of hers “Living like this... it isn’t fair to you. I’ve never felt so powerless. There’s only one action that I can take to change this.” He frowns.

“And what’s that?” She asks quietly.

Here it comes. “Abdicating the throne.” The words finally being spoken aloud is like an instant weight lifted from his shoulder. He had thought it many times over, over the course of the engagement tour. But it had always just been that, a thought. Now, now it was spoken, it was out there, it could be reality. It could be within his grasp. She could be.

Her eyes widen instantly upon hearing the words “What?”

“Ever since my brother abdicated, I’ve known I would marry for the benefit of Cordonia. I had made peace with that.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles “But then I met you, and I allowed myself to hope that I could marry for Cordonia and for love. Now ...” he frowned at the next words he was about to speak “I don’t want a loveless marriage, and I’ll never have anything more than that with Madeleine. There’s this thought I can’t shake off... what our life could look like together. You and I. Without the court and the Crown.” His mind filled with images of their elopement, a small, private wedding ceremony with just their friends as witnesses. Riley in a beautiful, simple white dress. Saying there vows just as the sun sets, the fading light catching in her hair. He couldn’t contain the smile forming on his lips. How happy those images made him feel in that moment. How he wished more then anything for them to come to fruition—

He awake to his alarm with a smile on his face. The bracelet had, in fact, jarred a memory loose. It may not have been his memory of the pearl bracelet itself, but clearly pearls meant something more to him. Something more to them. He wondered if he had ever given her the pearl, or if he still had it. He looked around his room for a few moments, wondering if it was stashed somewhere inside these exact 4 walls, or if she had the pearl and had chosen to keep it.

The smile on his face grew wider at that thought. Leaving him feeling even more resolved to the fact that he needed to fix things with her. He knew in this moment, that she had changed him forever. He would have easily, and gladly, given up the throne for her, before... How he could have let things get to this point was beyond him...

He kept telling himself that there was no way he could have known. He had no memories of her, how could he have known? But if he was being honest with himself, he knew she was different, or rather special, from the moment he had laid his eyes on her in the hospital. A tiny voice in him kept pushing his thoughts back to her. As if trying to help him realize how important she was. That she was his only thought, his world, regardless of what he could actually remember. Ending things with her had clearly felt wrong for a reason, he should have listened.

He sat up and pulled himself out of bed, stretching up high the second his feet hit the floor. He just needed to get through today, and the funeral tomorrow, then he could go to her. He could fix this whole mess.

He entered his closet and quickly put on his regular royal attire; a black suit. Switching out the white button up for a black one instead, being that they were all still in mourning. Then he made his way towards his office, knowing what would greet him once he got there. The list of preparations that still needed to be addressed for the funeral. For his press release. In this moment, he was thankful that he had gone to bed early the night before. For the first time in days, he had managed to finally catch up on some, very much needed sleep. Now he was ready to get this all over with and get his engagement back on track.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter 20 - Coming *hopefully* soon ...

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veneataur · 5 years

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Whumpmas day 21

Fandom: original fiction

Prompt: Hypothermia

Title: Is it a Rescue?

A/N: No warnings this time. The medical stuff isn’t accurate, probably, though. And there might be more of this one to come. I haven’t decided. It’s a bit short on the whump, physically at least. This one’s more emotional whump, I think.

When they find her, she’s dead or at least they think so. The police want to give up on her, even the paramedics, but Marla pleads with them, growing unapologetically hysterical until they try harder and find, through the skin so cold it shocks them, a slow pulse. Marla’s not even supposed to be there. The first detective never wanted her along but he also gave up before looking into every lead, calling Evie a runaway. The second detective wouldn’t even answer her calls and the chief just about threw Marla in jail for harassment. The third detective, Amber, believed her. The chief wasn’t thrilled about giving the case to the young detective, but she proved more than capable, and Marla likes working with her. It was a call from Amber during the early evening, after the sun had set, that led them out here.

She’d gotten a tip about a possible location, a warehouse that had long been ruled out but a civilian drone had seen suspicious activity recently at the site. Every room had been thoroughly searched and cleared by Amber’s small team and Marla was beginning to lose hope. It’d been the better part of a year with no sign of Evie with nearly everyone telling her that it was time to start moving on. Everyone except Nate, who was possibly more worried and anxious than her, having gotten himself admitted to the hospital recently for a severe ulcer.

Then someone called out for Amber and Marla took off just a step behind her. In an empty room, they found a large safe with a series of heavy padlocks.

“Looks too strange not to break open,” the person had commented as they dug out the heavy-duty bolt cutters.

Marla didn’t think they’d actually find her inside. She hadn’t really thought about it much. Exhausted and stressed, she hadn’t really thought anything. Instead, she’d stood there, staring as they cut. At first, she didn’t believe it. She didn’t even see Evie. There was just a body. Bruised, bloody, and thin, it wasn’t Evie who was pulled out. It couldn’t be. Evie was lively and healthy.

When the paramedics declare her dead after a quick check of her limp wrist, Marla snaps. Once they find a pulse, at Marla’s insistence that they keep trying, it throws everything into action. Paramedics quickly move Evie off the cold floor, carrying her out to the ambulance to set on the gurney. They strip her of the dirty, soiled clothing and lay a couple blankets over top of her. Briefly, Marla catches sight Evie’s body, seeing the scars, bruising, and bones visible through her skin. It’s not the Evie she knows and not for the first time, she wonders if she’s lost that Evie forever.

Marla pushes herself beside Evie, determined to reassure her unconscious friend that she’s not alone and ensure that no one gives up on her. The paramedics aren’t thrilled with the maneuver, but they don’t argue her glare. Instead, they continue working, attaching EKG leads to Evie, putting an oxygen mask on her, and a pulse-ox monitor. They struggle with the IV due to dehydration but finally, find a good vein.

“We need to get her to the hospital. Her body temp is 88.6,” Rick, one of the paramedics says.

“Make sure to save her clothing,” Amber tells them as she starts stepping back. “I’ll be there later to take more evidence once we finish up here.”

“We’ll be sure to let them know.” Rick secures the gurney, directing Marla to sit to the side so he can continue to work.

“I’m not moving,” Marla says. She’s got a firm grip on Evie’s cold hand, hoping that she can return some warmth to it but it stays cold, impossibly cold.

“You’re going to have to leave, ma’am,” Jared, the other paramedic, says, voice short as he waits outside of the ambulance, hands on the doors to close them.

“Just leave it. She’s fine here,” Rick says. Jared glares at her once more but doesn’t argue anymore, slamming the doors shut. Marla feels the ambulance take off and hears the sirens as they rush to the nearest hospital.

“How’s she doing,” Marla asks, nerves making her voice quiver slightly.

“Stable, for now.”

“That’s good, though. Isn’t it?” She senses the hesitation in Rick.

“She’s critical with a number of injuries, both recent and long-term. We’ll know more once we get her to the ER and the doctors have a chance to look at her and get her on better treatment than we can provide here.”

“Oh.” Her voice drops.

“It’s Marla, right?”

She nods.

“Marla, the fact that she’s still alive after whatever she’s endured shows that she’s a fighter. If she’s made it this far, she’s not going to give up easily.”

“Evie’s definitely a fighter. She also has the worst luck imaginable, it seems. She’s a writer. Or she was before she got her new job. She’s not…” Marla’s cut off when the EKG starts beeping. “What’s that? What’s happened?”

Rick doesn’t answer as he checks Evie’s vitals.

“She’s in arrhythmia,” Rick says into his walkie-talkie, talking, Marla assumes, to Jared.

“What’s that mean,” she asks, looking from Evie to Rick, hoping for an answer.

“I’m doing the best I can with traffic.” Jared’s response is slightly garbled.

“What’s that mean?” Marla tries again, more frantic this time.

“It’s common with hypothermia, especially cases as severe as this one. Her heartbeat is off,” Rick explains. “We need to get her to the hospital quickly where they can monitor and treat her better.”

“Is she dying?”

“No, but it could lead to more serious issues. She’s fine for now, but the ER is the best place for her.”

Marla doesn’t feel much better at the news, but she believes Rick. There isn’t much that can be done now other than monitoring her and that’s what he’s doing. The ambulance hits a bump, rocking them in the back and the EKG changes tones to a single, piercing tone. Marla sees the flat line on the monitor as Rick moves into action. They hit another bump, causing Rick to curse as he grabs the equipment he needs, moving Marla out of the way without ceremony.

“Careful with the driving. She’s already arresting,” Rick says over the comm. Marla doesn’t hear the response as she watches Rick put a mask with a rubber balloon on the side over Evie’s mouth. “I need you to take over this part while I do the chest compressions. Keep a steady rhythm, just like this okay?” He demonstrates for a few seconds before handing it over to Marla while he climbs on the gurney, straddling Evie and starts the chest compressions.

“If you want her to live, Marla, you have to do this,” Rick says when she is just sitting there, dumbfounded by how her life became an episode of ER. “Marla!”

“Right. Sorry.” She shakes her head and starts in, keeping the rhythm he showed her.

“Good.”

“Can’t you shock her? They always do that on TV.”

“Not… with… hypo…thermia.” He keeps up the steady rhythm of chest compressions even though they show no sign of helping.

So focused on her one task, Marla doesn’t realize they’re at the ER until the doors open and someone is taking over her job. She doesn’t want to give it up, but she doesn’t have a choice. She’s left sitting in the back of the ambulance as Evie, with Rick still doing chest compressions, is wheeled away, surrounded by nurses and doctors.

“You should probably head in,” Jared says, standing at the back of the ambulance.

“Right. I’ll be out of your hair. Sorry.” Marla doesn’t care that her voice is short, nor that it’s hallow. Her friend is dead and they might not get her back.

“I know it looks bad, but this is the best hospital in the city. The cardiac unit is ranked second in the nation. She’s getting the best treatment possible.”

“But that might not be enough.”

“True, there’s no guarantee, but she has the best chance to survive here. And, she’s a fighter. She has to be to come out of that alive.”

“Rick said the same thing and I want to believe that but she’d changed a lot before she left. She wasn’t the same person and, with whatever happened to her in there, maybe she’s not a fighter anymore.”

Jared sighs, climbing into the back of the ambulance to sit near Marla.

“She probably did see some serious shit in there and I’d be surprised if it didn’t affect her. I can’t tell you for sure that she’ll make it, but think of it this way, she’s out of there and she’s not alone anymore. You helped to get her out and whatever happens now, she’s not there.”

“Yeah, there’s that,” Marla says, sniffling as tears start streaming. Jared hands her a Kleenex. “I should probably get in there. I don’t want her to be alone, whatever happens.”

“The nurses won’t let you past, but I know them. I’ll help you get there so you can be with her.”

“Thanks.”

#whumpmas #original fiction #original character #evalyne #marla #whump #emotional whump #ladywhump

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dee-brief · 6 years

Text

Camille eased open the door to the softly lit room, taking a moment to listen to the reassuring tones of the heart monitor. Kirsten glanced up and gave her and Linus a small smile as they tiptoed into Cameron’s room.

“How’s he doing?” Linus asked, drawing their combined attention to Cameron’s sleeping form.

“He’s fine,” Kirsten said, her smile relieved. “But the doctors want to keep him here for another day or so.” She turned her face back to Camille, one eyebrow raised in an unimpressed arch. “Apparently he didn’t exactly sign outa here with their blessings. They thought he should have hung around for a bit longer because they’re generally a lot more cautious with people on blood thinners who get knocked in the head that hard.”

Camille let out a startled laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “Yeah, well. I think we’re all learning where Cameron’s self-preservation scale lies. And it’s not a pleasing picture,” she muttered.

Linus nodded decisively. “When he wakes up, I’m going to kill him,” he announced.

Camille, however, had eyes only for her roommate. Her supposedly emotion-less roommate, who still bore the signs of having sobbed hysterically on Cameron’s chest not too long ago.

“The real question is – how are you doing?” she asked Kirsten, eying her critically.

Kirsten tried to deflect. “Oh, you know me.”

“I thought I did. That’s why I’m asking,” Camille pressed. Over a year of living with her, and that had been the first real emotion she’d ever seen in Kirsten. And she’d seen enough residual things from stitches by then to know the difference.

“I think I was just a little… overwhelmed,” Kirsten hedged, and Camille felt her eyebrow raise slightly.

“Well, that’s understandable,” Linus said. “Except we’re talking about you, here.”

Camille watched Kirsten’s face pucker in confusion and automatically tensed to go and offer comfort if the blonde needed it. But before Kirsten could say whatever she was about to, another voice entered the mix, and Camille’s trajectory changed at once.

“Keep it down. ‘m trying to rest in peace.” He even laughed at little at his own dumb joke, the absolute –

She couldn’t stop himself from reaching for him, being very careful of the machines attached to him. His hands were freezing, but he squeezed hers back, and relief and affection welled up like a tidal wave within her. “Hey. How are you doing, tough guy?”

“Hundred percent,” he said with a little smile, and Camille shook her head at him.

“Liar,” she accused. And then, because the sight of him dead was still too close behind her eyes for comfort, she added, “We’re going to talk about that – and a lot of things – when you’re outa here. Fisher’s in on it too.”

Cameron’s face pulled into a little frown, but Camille was having none of it. She didn’t care what it took to keep him alive and not stupid in the future; she’d do it and then some. To hell with whatever force of the universe thought that it was taking anything from her ever again now that she had things this precious.

“How’s Fisher?” Cameron asked, conveniently changing the subject as he let himself worry for his friend again.

“He’s out of danger; he’s going to be fine.” She smiled warmly at him, and gently let go of his hand, half of her wondering how much of the conversation she’d threatened Cameron with she had to have before he could run away.

But this time Kirsten interrupted. “Cameron, do you remember anything from the stitch?”

“I had a dream that you were, um, an angel and I was a…hero,” he replied, smile warm but flaggin, voice slurring with exhaustion. “What did you see when you were in my head?”

Kirsten gave Camille a pleading look that the brunette understood at once, and she allowed herself to retreat for the time being, dragging a protesting Linus out with her. When she was sure enough time had passed, she snuck back into the room and found Kirsten sitting in the dark.

“Did you tell him?” Camille whispered, thinking of the something that was close to awe in Kirsten’s voice when she’d said I’m everywhere and not needing much else to put two and two together with Cameron’s obvious heart eyes.

Kirsten gave her a calculating look, but then shrugged and let Camille in. “Nah. He passed out before I could.” She worried at her bottom lip and – oh. Worry. She had that, now.

“He’s going to be just fine,” Camille assured her, walking over so she could squeeze Kirsten’s shoulder. “But he can’t just… bounce back from that. He’s going to take some time. And we’re all going to be there to help.”

“Absolutely,” Kirsten agreed, firm steel in her voice.

Camille knew she’d meant it, at the time, so she couldn’t really begrudge Kirsten – newly emotional Kirsten, at that – for breaking her word the very next day.

Linus reported that Cameron was once again sort-of awake and doing fine when he walked back into Fisher’s room with Kirsten the next morning after Fisher asked to speak to her. And Kirsten was barely past passing on Cameron’s thanks for saving his life when Fisher dropped the Ed Clark/Turner bombshell on Kirsten. And Kirsten… hightailed the hell out of there, without so much as a backwards glance.

Linus and Camille, utterly blindsided and baffled, went to call Maggie and check if Kirsten was with Cameron respectively. Cameron’s room was empty save for him, however, and her lone presence prompted him to ask her for answers. Unwisely, Camille relayed the truth.

“Oh, hell no,” she added as soon as her story was done, surging forward to lay both her hands on Cameron’s shoulders to stop him from trying to get up. “Every world of no.”

“Camille – ” he huffed at her, and she slapped his hands away from where they were trying to take the pulse ox off his finger.

“I’m not letting you be an idiot. Again,” she snapped at him.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he snapped back, and she hoped the look she gave him was the reason he slumped back onto the pillows.

“I’m being -? Oh, no, Goodkin. Nuh-uh. You’re the one being ridiculous. You died, Cameron. And we almost didn’t get you back.”

“I only sort-of died,” he protested. “And you did get me back, so…”

Camille let out a strangled noise, shaking her head in disbelief. “And we want to keep you here with us. In one piece.” She resorted to dirty tactics. “You have no idea what your dying did to Kirsten. You didn’t see all of it. She was in pieces. You want to do that to her again?”

Cameron frowned at her, ceasing his efforts to get out of bed for the time being. “Emotions. Those things she doesn’t usually feel?” Camille nodded at him, and Cameron frowned harder. “Could they... I mean, they were probably just residual, right?”

“That was not residual emotion,” Camille said, firmly. “And even if it was,” she continued, overriding whatever he was trying to say next, “she’s not the only one who cares about you, okay? Do you know how it tore through that lab when you killed yourself? Do you have any idea what Maggie looked like? What about Ayo, Cameron? Chelsea called your time of death because Ayo couldn’t seem to bring you back. Do you know how hard Linus cried? And… and Alex…”

Like with Fisher, the words just poured out from some deep pit of grief and horror inside of her. And before she knew it, Cameron was tugging her down to him, curling him in his arms and cradling her close, getting her tangled in his wiring.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was dripping with guilt. “I’m so sorry. It’s okay. It worked out. We’re all okay.”

She allowed herself the moment of indulgence of laying her head against his collarbone and letting him hold her close. Then she gently pulled away, glad to find that she was only crying a little.

“We need to keep you that way,” she said, firmly. “We’ll take care of Kirsten until you can do it again, okay? But you gotta take care of yourself. And stay put.”

Cameron sighed but gave a short nod of capitulation. Camille stroked hair out of his eyes almost automatically.

“Go sit with Fisher,” he said, voice suddenly very tired again. “I’ll be okay – he needs you more.”

“He’s just down the hall. I can move between your rooms,” Camille said, firmly. “And for now I’m here. Just until you fall asleep.” She gave him a falsely sweet smile. “Just in case.”

He pulled a face at her, exaggerated but with an undertone of real, wary displeasure. “This is sounding very familiar, and I don’t like it,” he muttered.

She had nothing to say to that that wouldn’t be her prompting him for more harrowing deep information that he looked in no shape to give, so she went back to stroking his hair as he slowly fell asleep beside her. She was sure he was out again when her phone rang, and she swore as she fumbled for it, not managing to silence it before Cameron’s eyes opened again. Her side of the conversation was short and breathless as the feeling of being sucker-punched settled deep into her gut.

“What’s wrong?” Cameron asked as soon as she hung up, his hand squeezing her elbow.

“Les Turner is dead,” Camille said, shock making her voice flat. She met Cameron’s wide eyes with disbelief. “Kirsten found him shot in his apartment. I…”

Cameron exhaled, then looked determined, giving her another squeeze. “Go,” he said, in a tone firm enough it belied the general weakness of his voice. “They need you in that lab to stitch into him and to stop it from going to hell.”

Linus came careening into Cameron’s room at that moment, face ashen and eyes huge. “Turner,” he choked, and Camille nodded at him, grimly. “We gotta go.”

Camille got off Cameron’s bed, squeezing his hand in goodbye. “If you do something dumb, I’ll make your life very difficult for you,” she threatened. “And I mean that.”

Cameron grinned at her lopsidedly. “Do me proud – make it a good movie quote, Sweetness,” he said, and she grinned back widely.

***

Cameron knew the drill by now – advances in medicine showed that the sooner heart patients got up and moving again, the better. It didn’t take long for the nurses to give him the soft go-ahead, and as soon as they had he was up and putting on something less horrifying than a hospital gown and using years of tricks to manage to shuffle down to Fisher’s room.

The detective was mostly awake when Cameron let himself in, and he looked utterly surprised to see Cameron somewhat-walking into his room on his own strength.

“You look like hell,” Fisher told him as he dropped into the chair beside Fisher’s bed.

Cameron snorted, giving him the once over. “Says you.” He let a beat pass. “Look, I know I asked Kirsten to say it already, but… thanks, dude. For saving me in the restaurant.”

Fisher frowned. “I don’t want your gratitude.” The sudden flash of surprised hurt knifed through Cameron strong and true. “I’ve just heard how you repay debts, kid. I don’t want you getting any more ideas.”

Cameron relaxed a little as the sting of rejection receded. Friends. They were friends. Or, at least, nearly there.

“Kid?” Cameron scoffed.

“You are still a kid,” Fisher said, firmly. “For all your brains. Which I’m doubting a little you have after that stunt you pulled.” Cameron started to answer, but Fisher held up a shaking hand and his mouth snapped shut. “You got a life waiting for you, Goodkin. Don’t do that to your lab. Your work, or the people in it. Take it from somebody who has thrown away everything for his job. It’s not worth it.”

“To protect them – ” Cameron started, hotly.

“I know,” Fisher’s insistence was heavy and very knowing. “Trust me – I get that. But you also gotta realise that sometimes that kind of sacrifice is not what people need most from you; that they need you to give something more. Something that’s a little harder than just going out in a blaze of glory.”

Cameron was quiet for a long moment, thoughts churning. When he looked over again, Fisher gave him a soft smile. They didn’t talk much, after that, but the silence was anything but awkward.

***

Cameron tried to be patient, knowing they were probably not answering his texts because they were incredibly busy, and not because they were purposefully ignoring him. But even though he kept himself from sending a dozen follow-up texts, he couldn’t stop thinking about what was potentially happening at the lab. Who had shot Turner? Were the others in danger? Had the stitch gone well? Had Kirsten found out if Fisher had been right – had Turner been the one to shoot Ed?

He started trying to sweetalk the nurses into giving him signout papers, and when the sweetalking didn’t work he started getting a bit more insistent. One didn’t grow up with a doctor as a mother, or spend as much time in hospitals as he had, and not learn one’s rights. But it turned out that the hospital had an Ace up their sleeve as well – one in the form of Ayo, who appeared in his doorway and folded her arms at him, frowning severely, as he sat stubbornly on the edge of his bed and fidgeted.

“I told them to call me when you got impossible,” she informed him.

Guilt slumped his shoulders and made his smile sheepish. “Hey, now. I’ve mostly been good, okay? I just… Our big boss is dead,” he said in a lower voice. “And nobody is telling me what the hell is going on. I just… I need to help, Ayo.”

“I know,” she replied. “And I know you sitting here getting worked up will not help matters. So I’ve come to sign you out.” Cameron brightened like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, and Ayo held up a finger at him. “On my terms,” she said, sternly. “You are going to sit still. You are going to interject only when you are asked to. You are going to suffer me checking your stats every hour. And you are going to be removed from the lab if you don’t stop yourself stressing. Am I – ” Her voice wavered and she cut herself off before saying the last word. There was something raw on her face, but she took a deep breath and finished. “Clear.”

How many times had she yelled that word over him not a day ago? Cameron’s heart broke a little for her. “I’ll be good,” he promised, softly.

Ayo walked to his side and handed him a pile of clothes. And then, seemingly impulsively, she bent and gave him a kiss on the forehead. She let him change while she filled out paperwork, and stink-eyed him before he had a chance to protest the hospital’s policy of a wheelchair. But she didn’t berate him any further and didn’t give him a list of things he could and could not do, and Cameron was so entirely grateful to her that he hugged her close, for a moment, as they descended in the elevator.

Nobody had warned him about the tall, hulking NSA agents, and Cameron was so thrown that it took him a moment to realise that the rest of the lab would be less over-enthusiastic at his return. He hated the attention and the over-concern and the babying, but he bit his tongue and let it happen and then firmly shooed people back to work, eying the NSA agents with almost instant dislike. He could only imagine what they’d been saying and implying to his people. He hated bullies.

“Doctor Goodkin,” Maggie said, suddenly at his side. She was seemingly watching them prep Turner for another stitch, but Cameron wasn’t fooled – he knew all her attention was on him. “Do I even need to start?”

“No,” Cameron said, warily. “But, for the record, I’m not sorry for doing it.”

Maggie sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“I made sure there was somebody to replace me,” Cameron offered. “Camille’s been doing a great job. You guys would have been fine.”

Maggie looked at him, then, and her expression was so very, very odd. “That’s not what this talk is about, Cameron,” she said, very quietly, and left Cameron floored and somehow wanting to apologise to her, too.

Linus filled him in on Turner’s fractured memories, and took Cameron’s suggestions of things he’d already tried in good spirit. Finally, sheepish, Cameron heeded Ayo’s look at him from across the room and shuffled to the seat they’d brought him beside his own desk. Camille was already there, buzzing nervously, and he rubbed her arm in reassurance. The stitch started out frustrating but okay – and then it all went to shit, guns being drawn all over and Kirsten accusing Maggie of shooting Turner and what the absolute hell. Cameron could only sit there, hands raised slightly, looking around and hoping to hell nobody got shot on top of everything else.

And then Linus barrelled in and was brilliant. So brilliant, Cameron wished he was beside him so he could give the best fist bump and genuine hug he could. Damn, he loved what Linus’ innovations gave them. And he loved it even more when Linus turned to him in the midst of giving orders and included him.

“Cameron, head to engineering.” Everybody stared at Linus for a moment in dumb shock. “Come on, move!” And Cameron moved, skidding a little over the floor, a little bewildered, but determined none-the-less, shaking off Tim’s grumbles with a mutter.

“What’s going on?” Kirsten demanded.

“Turner’s memories exploded into three dimensions,” Linus explained quickly. “We need three separate controllers to re-align the fragments. I’m re-routing Turner’s mindmap to all the terminals now. We need to rotate the pieces together. Okay – just watch the map. It’s like doing a 3D jigsaw puzzle. Ready? Go!”

Cameron’s hands were shaking, slightly, but they worked well enough for him to help Camille and Linus align Turner’s memories just enough for Kirsten to clear Maggie’s name. The guns were put away slowly and the entire lab allowed itself a sigh of relief as Kirsten bounced. And then tension returned as Kirsten, sat up in the tank and immediately sought him out.

“Cameron? Are you okay?”

Every eye in the room zeroed in on him at once, and the expressions on people’s faces were not ones he wanted to see. He curled his hands into fists to hide the shaking and tried not to visibly sag against the desk. He assured them that he was fine, but then there were people all around him, concerned and smothering, and he knew he had to set the boundary line then and there or return back to his nightmarish teen years.

“I’m fine,” he said, firmly, backing away and raising both his hands. “I swear to you all. Please just… just back off. I barely survived having one mother, okay? I really don’t need a whole team of them.”

People blinked at him in shock for a moment before Maggie’s voice floated over. “Then don’t give us cause to mother you,” she said, simply. Cameron met her eye, and the whole team watched them watching each other. “Is there anything we need to know, Cameron?”

He saw Ayo looking at him from the corner of his eye, and knew that when he answered, “No. It’s all over,” that she would know he was lying. But he also knew she would hold her peace, and that was all he really needed.

“Okay, then. Everybody, let him be; we have work to do. Cameron, you’re allowed to be here but you only start work again in three days. Got it?”

He nodded and gave the station back to Tim, slowly making his way back to his desk. Camille was frowning at him. “I saw that look on Ayo’s face,” she said, quietly, her gaze intense. “And we’re going to talk about it sometime.”

He avoided her gaze. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Sorry,” Camille said, pulling a face that was anything but apologetic. “You only get to pull that one with people who aren’t your friends.” She stared at him defiantly, waiting for him to suggest that he should just make them not friends any more, then, but he couldn’t bring himself to even pretend he could make that call. Her gaze softened and she rubbed his arm. “Trust me,” she said, quietly, and he sighed.

He sunk into his own chair a moment later, his legs betraying him, and watched the lab try to sort itself out after the chaos of the past few days. Camille offered him a ride home but he declined, sending her after a harried-looking Kirsten instead. And he was still there, watching people fix the lab, when Camille came rushing back into the lab, her face pale and her eyes once again wide.

“What happened?” Cameron used the desk to lever himself upright, keeping a grip on it to ride out the inevitable vertigo. “Camille, what’s wrong?”

“I… you won’t believe me if I told you,” she said, laughing shakily. “You have to come see.”

She let Cameron get his legs while she turned to find Maggie, and then came back to unobtrusively grab him by the elbow so she could support him to the elevator. He was ashamed that he needed her help, and didn’t meet Maggie’s eyes when his boss glanced at him sharply. And then he forgot all about his shame and embarrassment, because they were being taken to a room that shouldn’t exist, that was freezing cold and that held…

“That’s…” Cameron said, unable to complete the sentence, because he was staring at the absolute impossible before him.

“Ed Clark,” Maggie breathed beside him.

“Turner’s had him here right under our noses since his murder.” Kirsten looked and sounded pissed but all Cameron could focus on was the body of Ed Freaking Clark in a room that shouldn’t exist. “Why?”

“I didn’t know anything about this chamber,” Maggie said, calmly, and a horrible realisation started dawning on Cameron.

“This is your lab! How could you not know?” Kirsten yelled.

“Because I didn’t,” Maggie snapped back, firmly.

Cameron’s stomach had sunk right past his feet and through the floor. Faint memories of things he and Turner had talked about resurfaced, and in horror he realised that he knew more about this room than Maggie did. “Son of a bitch built it,” he said softly, reeling. His lab. Turner had done this above his lab. With some of his help.

“You knew about this?” Kirsten shot at him.

“No!” Cameron reassured her. But that wasn’t the whole truth. “I mean… not exactly. Turner once asked if I could design a drug protocol to extend the shelflife of our subjects. Something about breaking the four-day limit on viability.” He’d made it sound like a dream. For one day. The one day when the lab was replicated across the world and helping thousands. And Cameron… had fallen for it.

“So you helped him build this? And you didn’t tell me.” There was a break in Kirsten’s voice; a raw betrayal that made something in Cameron’s chest clench. And then keep clenching. Damnit, not now.

“It was a theoretical conversation,” he pleaded with her, involuntarily taking a step back and feeling how Camille shifted closer to support more of him. “I drew up some preliminary plans. I didn’t know he was going to use them.”

“Well he did,” Kirsten snapped, unforgiving. “And Ed was the guinea pig for your experiment.”

Cameron’s heart sank lower at the look in her eyes, and then rebuked him for the emotion by clenching his chest tighter. He tried to breathe normally through the pressure, keeping his gaze locked with Kirsten’s but unable to answer without upsetting her further or giving away the sudden fluttering of his heart. Kirsten turned her ire onto Maggie instead, and Camille tugged on Cameron’s arm, silently concerned. He gave her an approximation of a smile that did nothing to reassure her, and then tried to focus on Kirsten and the not-cremated Ed and the fact that his legs suddenly felt a whole lot like Jello.

“So what do we do?” Camille interjected before the fight could continue, pulling more of Cameron’s weight onto her despite him trying to stop her.

“What I’ve wanted to do since the very beginning. We stitch into Ed.”

Cameron gulped past the tightness and shortness of breath at that, not willing to risk Kirsten. Not after the bad luck their lab had been having with near-misses. “We have no way of knowing if his memories are even viable.”

Kirsten rounded on him. True anger on her was, he discovered, hurtful to watch. “Everything that happened to us began with Ed’s murder – it started with Ed. Maybe he has answers. And nobody,” she said, shooting a glare at Maggie, “is going to stop me from looking for them.”

It was only Camille’s hold on him that kept him upright when Kirsten brushed past him, and he exhaled shakily when the brunette cursed.

“I mean, seriously,” Camille hissed. “I get that she’s pissed but – Shit, Cameron.” She’d found a pulse point and his secret was out. Camille’s face was alarmed. “Wh-”

“It’s okay; it’s fine,” he said, feeling exhausted and wrung out and sore and hating every minute of it. He shot a glance at Maggie, who was watching him with narrowed eyes. “I promise; it’s fine. We can even check with Ayo, if you want,” he said, over Camille’s next words. “Just…” He sighed. “I guess we’re stitching Ed Clark.” He frowned at the body, unhappily. “This is not a safe stitch,” he muttered.

They waited until Kirsten got off the elevator and then rode down together in silence. Ayo was waiting for Cameron, and descended upon him as soon as the doors opened. Camille deposited him in a chair and left him to Ayo, only because she was needed elsewhere. He was, admittedly, glad to see her go; people hovering just made it worse.

“Scale of one to ten,” Ayo asked him quietly.

“Four,” Cameron said after a moment of contemplation. “I swear,” he added, at Ayo’s stern look. “It doesn’t hurt. Just… uncomfortable.”

He took the pills she wordlessly handed over and then braced his elbows on his knees, waiting it out. Breathing was easier, sitting down, but he hated how his limbs were shaking. But even worse than that was the memory of Kirsten’s face and accusations. He had helped Turner keep Ed from her. He’d been the one to hand Turner all he needed to build a miniature lab and keep Ed Clark locked away in secret. Which begged the question – what else had Cameron helped Turner do?

“Hey.” Camille’s hand stroked his hair, and he jumped a little, having zoned out. “You doing okay?” He sighed at her for the question, and she sighed back. “Okay, okay, fine. Sorry.”

“You ready for this stitch?” His thoughts on the matter were clear in his tone.

“I… guess. Could you… I mean… If you need to stay here then… But I’d like you to…”

He hesitated a moment and then held his hand out. “Hand up?” he asked, quietly. Camille complied gently and then gripped his elbow when he swayed a little. “Thanks.”

Things were better, but it was still much harder to breathe than usual. Camille stuck close as they made their way back to his desk, and he sunk into a chair gratefully, automatically hiding his shaking hands from sight. Kirsten came out, dressed in the stitch suit, and he saw Linus, Camille and Alex all glancing his way a little helplessly. He asked for an extra com link and, as soon as he put it in, started trying to prepare Kirsten for what he was sure was a very, very bad idea.

“Listen, Kirsten. With the new protocol, Ed’s memories are impossible to map. So we’re going to use the mindmap we generated the first time we stitched into Ed.”

She glanced his way, face impassive. Now that he’d seen real emotions on it, the shutdown was a slap in the face. “Is it safe?”

“I’m not sure. But the moment it goes sideways, Camille is going to bounce yo-“

“No, she’s not,” Kirsten snapped. She glared at Cameron fiercely. “This stitch is mine.”

Without another word, she turned her back on him and got into the fishtank. Cameron scoffed and then ran a hand down his face. “Fine,” he muttered.

He wanted to keep a hand on Camille’s knee for support, but he also didn’t want to give her any more reason to worry. So he kept his hands to himself, watching her run the go/no gos and start the stitch. Every inch of him was chomping at the bit to be the one piloting, but he wasn’t an idiot. And he had seen more than once how good Camille was.

“Okay, Kirsten, we’ve moved you to Ed’s last available memory. How does it look?”

“Not good,” Kirsten grouched. “Cameron, your drug protocol sucks.”

He felt the barb and frowned, sinking lower into his chair. Camille gave him a sympathetic wince that he simply inclined his head at. Camille and Kirsten went back to the stitch and somewhere in his focus on what they were saying, he started rubbing at his chest automatically. Camille unfortunately caught the movement, and her expression flickered with worry for a moment before she lost herself back to the piloting. Not that it was doing much good – as he’d feared, Ed’s memory was just too far gone. But they had to do something, or Kirsten would never forgive him. Not even after he’d tried everything to keep her safe and prove himself trustworthy.

“Alex,” Cameron called, forcing his voice stronger than it was. The plan was stupidly crazy, but it was the only one he had. He wanted to give the commands standing, but a half attempt at that reassured him that it was not a good idea. Not if he didn’t want to collapse in front of the whole lab he was trying to assure he was just fine. “On my signal, increase glutamate and atropine level to one hundred percent.”

Alex side-eyed him for a moment. “You sure?”

“Yes. Just do it. Linus? Increase conductivity to every sensory target zone.”

Camille looked at him, sharply. “If you do this, Ed’s memory’s gonna flame out.”

“Look, there’s barely any memory left,” he argued back, his face pleading with her to trust him. They had to try. They had to try everything. Camille exhaled shakily, but nodded. “Kirsten? Brace yourself; we’re going to fire every synapse Ed’s got left.”

Maggie leaned behind Camille to glare at Cameron. “Can Kirsten’s mind take it?”

“Okay, Kirsten, the Rev 2 suit is meant to protect you. It’s made of tough stuff, just like the person wearing it.” He took a deep breath, trying not to notice how it caught a little. Damnit. “Okay. Go, Alex.” Cameron’s hand returned automatically to his chest as Alex leapt into motion.

“One hundred percent,” Alex confirmed.

“Linus, go.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Linus said, and Cameron had to bite on his tongue to echo the sentiment.

The relief when she bounced out of the stitch unharmed had him sagging. Maggie and Kirsten got into an argument about protection detail and Camille sank to Cameron’s side at once, her face pinched again. He hated that he’d put that expression on her face so many times.

“Hanging in there?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” She gave him a disbelieving look. “I am. Just… still a little tired.” His heart was mostly behaving; Ayo’s pills had helped. But he still felt exhausted and wrung out. And not just physically. He reached for Camille’s hand, not caring about the leftover tremor in his fingers. “You were amazing, darling,” he said, sincerely. “If I’m not careful, you’re going to have me out of a job.”

She scoffed at him, but still looked pleased. And then her gaze turned calculating. “Cam?”

“Hmm?”

“You know she was just hurt and angry, and didn’t know how to deal with it, right? Ed wasn’t your fault.” Cameron looked away and Camille gripped his shoulder. “It wasn’t. You didn’t know. And you helped her try to put it right.”

He tried to cling to her reassurances – tried to hand them to Kirsten before she left. But he didn’t really believe it, and it seemed she didn’t, either. She left without a proper goodbye, her accusations about him having secrets and being untrustworthy stinging like physical blows. I died for you, he wanted to tell her, desperate, but it hadn’t helped the first time he’d said it, and he doubted it would help then. The euphoria from earlier had drained away to a hollow desperation. He may have finally beaten the looming shadow over his life, but it hadn’t really helped anything. His absolute most hadn’t been enough for Kirsten to trust him, let alone love him. They hadn’t gotten Barbiaro’s boss. The big bad was still out there. And he’d unintentionally helped Turner desecrate somebody Kirsten cared about deeply.

“I think,” Camille said quietly beside him, “that she needs a few moments by herself to cool off. So I’m taking you home” – she spoke louder over the start of his insistence that he could take a cab – “and then I’m going to drink some of your wine. And then I’m going to take the rest of it home so I can drink it with Kirsten.”

Cameron had to laugh at her, even if it was shaky. “Sounds like a plan.”

She offered him her hand again, and as much as he wanted to wave it off he was just too low in all ways to refuse it. Once again she held on while the vertigo passed, and then she hooked her arm in with his and they wandered to the elevator together. Linus joined him, but he was on the phone – to an estate agent, apparently. Cameron and Camille shared an amused glance and gave him a silent wave farewell, which he returned enthusiastically before returning to his call.

It was a short walk to Camille’s car, and another short one to his elevator and then into his loft, but even so Cameron was flagging by the time he let himself in, and his heart was starting to stutter a bit in warning. He hoped it got with the programme not to be a melodramatic asshole sometime very soon, or he was going to go up the wall.

“Cameron…” Camille was looking at him with a soft but hesitant look on her face. He realised he was absently rubbing at his chest again, and immediately stopped. “We are going to talk about that, you know?” she said, but it came out less insistent than she probably meant it to be.

She was torn, he realised, between caring deeply for him and not wanting to drive him away by overstepping boundaries. And he could, he also realised, shut her down right there and then. Tell her to back off and never have to deal with her worry or her protectiveness again. And if she went down, it would be easy to shut down Linus and even Fisher. Maggie would fall away on her own. And Kirsten… didn’t really seem to care that much, any more. His heart hurt for a purely different reason at that thought.

And it was that sort of pain that had him taking a leap of faith. “Yeah, Gumdrop, okay,” he said, softly. “We can do that.” Camille’s face cleared. “But just… don’t fret, okay? I promise I really am fine. Dying a little didn’t change anything.”

“That’s a lot less reassuring than you meant it to be,” she told him, and he laughed a little.

“Steal my wine and go and get drunk with your roommate,” he told her, fondly, standing and stretching very, very carefully. “I’m going the hell to sleep.”

“Two very excellent plans of yours, sir,” she said. “Go on. I’ll let myself out.” But as he turned to shuffle to his room, Camille wrapped a gentle arm around him. It was less of a hug and more of a… lean. And he let himself melt into the embrace. “It’s all going to be okay,” she assured him, softly. “We’ll make it through this, too.”

“I know.” He paused. “I’m dead sure of it.”

Camille groaned loudly and playfully shoved him towards his bedroom, fingers trailing softly down his back in goodbye and reassurance.

#Deespicable Word Vomit #Littlefandomheaven #Freefomr Stitchers #Cameron Goodkin #AKA the other 6k of my trash and headcanons surrounding this prompt #CameronxKirsten #Cameron&Linus #relationship: dead or alive #relationship: here feels like home #Relationship: Men of science #relationship: when we've got each other

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abdomented · 7 years

Text

dash!whump and harv!angst for the b’day blogger ;)

HBD @distendedbellies! Hope I got enough angst in there for ya!! -Ripley

Dash curled up on his sectional couch, pulling his limbs in and cradling his sore stomach.

"OooOhh," he moaned, almost snorting at how freaking pitiful he sounded. This incubation was the pits, though. It was less than twenty-four hours after he'd swallowed the specimen capsule, and already he was too bloated to sit up straight – or stand up at all – and had resorted to rolling around in the fetal position like a wuss.

His abdomen made a hideous, thick "GLLuorp" sound. He chanced a look down at it. It bulged tightly, giving him a "six months pregnant" potbelly that should've only been half that size by now. Dash pressed a splayed hand gently into the taut surface and hissed in pain: his insides were so tender, it felt like pushing on a bruise. He could feel something oblong and solid shift beneath his fingertips… had to be one of the specimen’s grotesque extra limbs.

The localized pain throbbed for another thirty seconds after Dash lifted his hand from the spot, and when he looked again there was an ugly deep red coloring to the skin there. Dash was about to check out the ruddy blotch some more, but suddenly the fledgling creature in his belly started bucking and wriggling so much that a little discoloration was the least of his issues. Dash tipped his head, clenching one set of fingers in his dark mop of hair and hugging the other arm around the shifting, groaning mass in his middle. He could feel the thing inside him flopping and jerking and hammering his guts. Bile surged up his throat and it was all he could do not to spew it heartily onto the living room floor. Dash didn't care how pitiful he sounded anymore: he whimpered, high and painfully. Moments like these were why he kept Harvey on speed dial.

"And you say this is bigger than you expected to be by now?" Harvey was asking. Dash could barely pay attention: he was concentrating on biting his lower lip to keep from groaning. He took a deep breath and let the feeling of the soft, firm hospital bed against his back steady him. "Ohhhhh yeah," he grunted. "Way bigger. As in. It was only supposed to be half of this." He gestured vaguely at his domed belly, which Harvey had begun examining. Harv held a stethoscope against the slowly undulating skin. "Mmm," he mused, putting his other hand on the opposite side of Dash's bloat like he was trying to hold it steady. "It’s really active. What’s it supposed to be, again...?" "Luren Spiral… Scar-thing? Scab-thing…?” Dash said weakly, trying to remember. "Y'think they gave me two on accident or somethin'? At least I might get bonus pay outta this…”

Harvey held the diaphragm of the scope right below Dash's protruding navel. The doctor shook his head.

"Yeah, we can check on the quantity," he said. "It's the violence of the movement in there that I think is the real problem, though. Might just be a more rambunctious species than InCube figured. How bad's the pain?" "It's like a si..." Dash started, and then his voice jumped up an octave as one lopsided bulge in his stomach visibly switched switched places with another, “eight! Ahggh shit, eight and a half…”

“Okay, bud, hang in there,” Harvey soothed as he swiped around on his tablet, “we’re gonna have a look and then get you feeling better. You with me?”

“Mmmph… yeahyeahmmkay…”

“Good,” said Harvey, putting his hand on Dash’s shoulder as a large, shiny ultrasound scanner whirred down from the ceiling.

“That's… new…” Dash panted at the ceiling, trying to let his friend’s tech distract him from the violent alien offspring in his aching belly.

“InCube budget’s always good for a couple new toys here ‘n’ there,” Harvey said with a tense smile. He powered the machine up and detached the cordless wand from its holster. A round bubble of gel appeared on the end of the wand and then fanned out into a malleable disc that Harvey held up to his patient’s heaving gut.

“There’s a joke to be made here…” Dash groaned through gritted teeth, “...’bout the wand… producing its own lube… AAUgh Harv owow that spot hurts…”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harvey murmured gently, “just a little longer…” His voice deepened and got more sincere the longer he stared at the monitor. “Oof, Dashie… Hm… I'm really sorry…”

“Would you stop apologizing?” Dash snipped, voice tight from the pain. “It's freakin’ me out a little.”

Harvey didn't want to know how much more freaked out Dash would be if he could actually see the ultrasound output. The screen was turned away from the bed: only Harvey could see the knobby, slimy nightmare that was winding and spreading through Dash’s stomach and bowels. It had at least twenty limbs, and each limb had hundreds of smaller tendrils spiraling off of it, wormy protrusions that spasmed and coiled around each other like colonies of maggots on dead logs. The bigger limbs had multiple joints that looked… almost bony, like little elbows. Once in awhile the entire creature would spasm and shoot a leg or an arm in an awkward direction; the movement was so forceful and jagged that it made Harvey’s grip tighten on the wand. This awful thing didn't seem like it belonged in a human… it didn't even seem to have a face…

Suddenly the thing’s whole body thrashed and a particularly harsh, snarling gurgle from Dash’s overtaxed abdomen jolted Harvey’s attention away from the monitor. Dash held a trembling hand against the left side of his gut, his eyes wide and watery and his breathing fast like… wait, fuck, was he going into shock?

“Harv… I…” Dash stammered, swallowing hard, his expression alternating from slack-jawed dizziness to grimaces of pain, “I… ungh… there's three of you all of a sudden… oWWowOW… ahh…”

Dash’s head fell back onto the pillows as the pulse-ox beeping sped up… Harvey was rushing to get in Dash’s face and tell the younger guy to keep his eyes open when he saw it: a reddish cluster of bruises gathering around Dash’s straining belly button. Cullen’s sign.

Fffffffffuck.

“Dashie, hey,” Harvey said, quietly but urgently, trying to keep fear from creeping into his voice. As he talked, he guided the ultrasound wand around Dash’s lumpy stomach. “Dash, bud, can you help me out? Can you tell me if that last big movement hurt you anywhere specific?” Fuck. Checking quadrants for a bleed. Upper right. Nope. Lower. Nope. Fuck. Keep your hand steady, Edmund…

“Harv…?” Dash whined. He was sweating and shivering, getting less alert by the second. “I think I might…”

“Shhhit,” Harvey said under his breath and got an emesis basin beneath Dash’s chin in the knick of time. There wasn't much, just a weak, guttural cough that brought up yellow bile. Harvey checked “stomach” off the list of places Dash could be bleeding internally.

“I know,” Harvey said in response to Dash’s shaky, threadbare moaning, “I know, you're feeling really bad now but I promise it's gonna be fine…” Jeeeesus, leave it to Edmund Harvey to be so distracted by a crazy alien specimen that he didn't think to look for a god damn bleed. He wanted to comfort Dash more, to rub his back or his hair and be there for his friend, but he needed to keep searching for the hemorrhage. He could kick himself and comfort Dash later.

He paged for a nurse to treat the shock and stay on basin duty while he slid the wand over more of Dash’s swollen abdomen. Right when he was thinking he'd have to open Dash up just to fucking figure it out, he felt a clammy hand close around his wrist.

“Upper left,” Dash croaked, “you goateed fuck…”

And then his eyes slid shut and he fainted for real.

Harvey’s hands flew to get the wand over Dash’s upper left quadrant. No wonder it was difficult to tell… all of the creature’s bony, twitching limbs were in the way. Harvey flicked through the wand’s different settings and finally got one of the ultra-sensitive heat configurations to give him what he wanted… ugh… gnarly hematoma, clear as day. Would explain some of the extra swelling and tenderness, too.

Harvey turned to the nurse. “Tell them to prep OR eight plus a transfusion, specimen containers…”

He looked at Dash belly one more time. It seemed more swollen than even a minute ago, more blotches of red staining the skin and the creature’s movements rapid and chaotic.

“And everybody better bring some tranq guns just in case,” Harvey added.

Even though admitting it made Harvey want to scream and throw a beaker at the wall, he had to keep telling himself. Had to keep telling himself so he would do better next time:

Dash was really, really sick.

Not like, “low grade fever” sick, or “minor obstruction” sick.

This was “Dash has an artificial spleen now because the specimen elbowed him in the old one and popped it” sick.

The artificial spleens were a recent development for Argentis’s medical community. Could humans live without a spleen? Certainly. But would their quality of life improve in the long run if they could have another one? The odds said yes, and the clinical trials had gone well enough that a splenic implant had crossed over from “net harmful” to “you'll be in an InCube board hearing if you don’t give an implant to an eligible patient.”

Dash had been eligible. But Dash was now fighting strained bowel walls, peritonitis, and a phony new organ that was barely out of its trial days.

He was keeping Dash in a medically induced coma until things looked stable enough to wake him up. Harvey snuck pulls of whisky, and slept in a cot next to Dash’s bed, and watched the monitors until he wasn't sure where the data ended and his own thoughts began. He had to constantly, constantly hold himself back from giving the okay to wake Dash up: as heartbroken as he felt now, Harvey had to remember that talking to Dash sooner wasn't worth him dying the same damn day.

On the morning that all of Dash’s vitals were finally clear, Harvey had a raging headache and an awful sense of dread, like waking Dash up would almost certainly put the nail in his coffin.

Harvey shut the door in the lab’s tiny bathroom, took a couple deep breaths, and cried for the following ten minutes.

Dash woke up just fine. Everything worked: his heart, his lungs, his limbs, even his sarcasm (“Harv, if you start crying again I’ll pop my god damn stitches on purpose”).

The next day, they raised the back of Dash’s bed a little, and Harvey relaxed on the cot, and they watched bad movies.

“How are you feeling?” Harvey asked.

“Haaaaaarv, c’mon, I just told you…”

“That was at the beginning of ‘Lair of the White Worm.’ Now we’re more than halfway through, and I'm not pressing play until you tell me.”

“Once again: I am sore, weak, and spectacularly high.”

“So…?”

“Once again: not too shabby.”

Harvey picked his tablet up and pressed “play.”

“Good enough for now,” he said.

Ripley: Heheh. Might’ve rushed the ending there but again. Happy happy birthday, hope you enjoyed!!

#whump #medical #illness #injury #mpreg #alien preg #blood #emeto #nausea #angst #angst majeur #edmund harvey #dash cantor #ripwrites #distendedbellies #yayyyyyy BIRTHDAY #lol also a BIRTH day for Dash i suppose #:))))))

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