my roman empire is that bllk actually has a fandom inside the bllk universe (yk with bllk tv and all), do you think they do the same shit we do? like fanarts, fanfics? do you think the members watch velocity edits of themselves? is there a josh hutcherson edit equivalent of a bllk member? you think one of them said smth that became an online meme and has become a sound on tiktok? you think fans debate online on who shouldve gotten eliminated the way kpop survival show fans do? you think one of them has gotten canceled for the most miniscule things meanwhile shidou does the absolute most yet people brush past it?

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Word Count: 2k

Warning/s: toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, gaslighting and manipulation, abduction, injuries were mentioned, stalking, dark!bucky x dark!reader, emotionally/mentally unstable!reader, dismemberment (not gore-y but still), three very special character mentions, shady corporate stuff, career sabotage?, food mention, sedation/drugging, f-words.

A/N: oh my god, this is the final chapter of CTRL. to all who read from the start, thank y'all so fucking much - from the bottom of my big-ass heart, thank you so much for coming along with this journey. this is my first FINISHED series, oh my god. to @babyboibucky (CTRL's number one fan), @sarge-barnes-sir, and @borikenlove thank you so much for indulging my inner degenerate GHJSDFG and for screaming (affectionately) at me when i first let y'all read the finished draft.

BUT THIS IS NOT THE END (just yet), i will be uploading TWO epilogues very soon: the explicit version and the not-so-explicit version. stay tuned!

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

epilogue:

.eps (explicit)

.eps (cut)

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Your demeanor, character, even tone, changed.

Calculated, cold, unnerving.

But you sat there like a housewife in front of her husband, eating spaghetti and meatballs. Acting all dandy like there isn’t a man strapped onto the chair four feet away from you.

“C’mon, darling, eat! I made your favorite,” your eyes twinkled as Bucky helplessly tugged on his restraints, “oh, sorry, you’re tied up.”

Hm, sick in the head, bad for the heart.

“What do you want?” Oh, wow, even talking hurts for him. His throat is all dried up, he tasted something bitter under his tongue.

You chuckled, moving half a meatball around your mostly empty plate, “for you to stop treating me like I’m stupid.” You spear the meat with your fork, swirling it in the sauce, “I know you’ve been… checking in on me, Bucky.”

Oh, fuck.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was-- I mean, look at you--” He’s making it worse. You’re mad. You’re angry because he was being a good friend.

He only did that because you were lonely and he’s right: you are lonely.

So lonely that you’re willing to kidnap a grown man to keep you company, “I’m so sad for you.”

“You’re aware you’re the one’s been tied up, right?” You’re curt as you should be, scooting over near Bucky to feed him.

“I can’t eat that—” If he wasn’t sitting down and tied, Bucky would’ve vaulted over you and called the neighbors, she’s fucking crazy!

You giggled, rolling your eyes as if he had the freedom to make a choice right now, “if you’re thinking of screaming… More than half of my neighbors are felons or on parole, I doubt that they’ll call 911.”

Jutting forward the fork, you let the prongs gently touch Bucky’s lips, “now, eat! We have so much to talk about.”

“No. I don’t-- I’m not hungry.” He shakes his head, the fork hitting his chin and clanking down the floor.

“Just eat the fucking food, Steve!”

Bucky flinched at your sudden outburst. The words—the name—seeping in a moment later. Steve? Who the hell is Steve? Was he your husband? Boyfriend? His head throbbed again, his mouth filling with saliva like he’s about to throw up.

You kneel down, pulling a napkin from the table to wipe the meat and the sauce from the floor.

“This better not stain.”

—

He promised thrice.

Once over pasta and meatballs, once over dessert, and once when you were clearing the table.

You relented, of course. Half because you love him and half because it’s getting annoying.

“As long as you don’t leave me, okay?”

“Yes, I promise. I won’t leave you.”

Bucky’s still seating on the dinner chair, slightly slumped without the ropes holding him up, “look, I’m really sorry about the anesthetic, I went overboard with it.” You look over to him—at least he’s regaining his fingers and arms again.

“It’s okay, babe, I wouldn’t trust me either.” If he could stand up, he’d go over and hug you. Helping with the dishes, peppering you with sweet kisses.

A genuine laugh slips out of your lips, “ugh, still… I’m really sorry.”

The last of the plates were neatly stacked, cups and cutleries were placed gently on a drying rack. It was getting late, you could tell.

“I’m not mad, by the way.” You muse, prompting Bucky to lean forward, listening to you.

“What do you mean?” He takes your hand into his, ever so gently.

“You did that,” you squeeze his hand back, gazing into his soulful eyes, “because you love me.”

Did you know that some people could read microexpressions well? Bucky went through a whole lot of them before answering, “of course, I do.”

Contemplating whether you call him out on it or not, you hum, placing a gentle hand on his jaw, “it’s okay, you’ll learn how to love me.”

He has to. He has no other choice.

Bucky clears his throat, “have you seen my phone?” His tone was hopeful, upbeat, maybe he can reach out to someone, anyone, before you can do any more damage.

“Yeah, ‘s on the couch.”

He tried to move, he really did. Bucky’s fairly strong, he can bench an easy 140 on a good day. But even the beefiest motherfuckers have no match for Propofol.

“Don’t worry about your friends, they’re not worried about you, Buck.” The coolness of your tone sends Bucky into a panic—again. “D’you wanna check your messages though? There’s a lot of ‘em.”

Grabbing his phone, you asked Siri to read him his latest notifications.

Urgent: Notice of Immediate Termination

From Joaquin: Where are you, man?

From John W.: Do you have copies?

Urgent: Notice of Immediate Termination

Urgent: Gross Misconduct

From Joaquin: Bucky, what the fuck?

From Samuel Wilson: Pick up the phone, Barnes. You’re fired.

17 missed calls from an unknown number

From John W.: I knew you were a freak but holy shit, dude!

72 text messages from an unknown number

Bucky never really liked horror movies. It made him jumpy and anxious. Too paranoid, even. But now? Now he’s sure that people have never experienced sheer fright before.

His toes cramped inside his boots, his feet were cold, sweating. The little hairs on his legs stood up, goosebumps littering the entirety of his body. If he held his breath, he’s sure he could hear his heart hammering out of his chest. The blood rushes past his ears and onto the base of his skull—he’s gonna be sick.

“What,” he gulped back the saliva pooling in his mouth, “what did you do?”

You’re irritatingly calm, “well, I mean… We’re already together, what do you need those for, right?”

Putting a warm hand over his forehead, you cooed, “poor thing, you look sick.”

—

Bucky thinks it’s well past midnight when the anesthetic wore off.

His limbs were heavy, he had to lean on the wall every couple of steps to regain his balance. Helpless. He’s helpless and you both know it. As if it’s a bear trap, Bucky carefully took his phone from the coffee table.

Why would you leave it unattended?

The screen lights up as soon as he picked up, his lock screen littered with ‘fuck yous’, ‘sicko’, and his personal favorite, ‘motherfucker.’

Ignoring the glaring messages, he went straight for the emergency dialler and—you took out his SIM card, snapping it into two neat pieces, placing it beside the phone.

Bitch.

The golden surface of the card was scratched too, he can’t do anything, use it as a toothpick, maybe? His phone was just as good as a paperweight.

He looks out of the window, limping towards it. Even if he could climb over, it would take him forever to get onto the street. Your neighbors would probably think that he’s just on a bad trip.

“It’s bolted shut. Perks of living alone as a single female.” Your voice made him flinch back, like a kid whose hand was halfway down the cookie jar.

Bucky plays it off with a cough, he can’t be weak now, “no, babe, I was checking out a noise. You ready for bed?”

You smiled softly, taking his hand and draping his arm on your shoulders as you prop him against you, “almost, big guy. Gotta get you settled in bed first. Are you tired?”

Nodding, Bucky kisses your temple, “yeah.” He just needs to play with your sick little games until he regains his strength.

Where would he go? His reputation and his job are besmirched, his apartment is probably crawling with forensics too.

“You fell down and banged your head earlier. Nasty cut on your head too. I told you to not tire yourself much.”

You hit and drugged me but I digress, “Yes, darling. ‘M sorry.”

“You scared me, Buck. I thought you were dead.” Are these tears forming in your eyes?

“I’m not leaving you, not by any chance. I promise.”

He promises a fourth time.

—

Your bedroom was bigger than he thought. But of course, he only saw your desk and your bed through the webcam.

Save from the Ted Bundy-esque corkboard you have in front of your workspace, he feels weirdly at home. You tucked him in, reminding him to wake up every two hours for the painkillers.

“You’re not going to bed?” He muses from behind you, all cocooned in your blankets.

“Just need to take this phone call real quick, babe.” Your back was turned from him as you work on your company laptop. He noticed that the webcam is covered with white tape.

The sound of an incoming call filled the room before you quickly answer it, your voice turning hoarse and raspy as if you’ve been crying.

Hi, Mr. Wilson. I’m so sorry for the late call. Do I- do I need to come in tomorrow? I just... I don’t feel comfortable facing everyone—I used all my home hours this week and—

Miss L/N, I’m glad you reached out to me. Is it okay if I record this call for security purposes? It’s just for you, me, and the HR department.

You turned to Bucky, your face is stone-cold but your voice belonged to someone so utterly helpless.

No, you don’t have to call into work tomorrow… Or any other day.

A dainty gasp and a fucking sob comes out of your mouth, your eyes were telling a different story.

Am I fired?

God, no. Please, Miss L/N, don’t worry about that. We want you with us through this entire debacle. We want you to take some time off—paid. We’ll also grant you… a grievance package.

You could almost hear what he would say next.

As long as you don’t talk to any members of the press or any journalists until our friends in the PR department can clean this up.

A triumphant smile creeps on your bare features, putting a finger in front of your lips, you mimic a ‘shh’ gesture to Bucky.

You round up another mirthless sob as the CEO drones on about the bureaucracy of this whole thing.

He was really nice to me, you know? He took me out on dinners and lunches. He even brought me to his place and I– nothing happened but I can’t stop thinking about it.

I’m really sorry, Miss L/N. I thought he was…

A good guy? I really thought so too.

Please stay offline for a bit, just for the weekend, alright? Someone from the HR department will be in touch with you for the process. We don’t wanna be a hassle more than what Barnes is. On our behalf, please accept our deepest apologies.

Jesus, this guy had the PR department cook up an apology letter.

Thank you—thank you so much, Mr. Wilson. I’ll keep in touch.

You burst out in laughter a second after the call ended. Hearty laughter, the one where you can feel your belly tightening.

“Did you hear how good I was, baby? Oh my god, we had them fooled.”

We? Fuck your ‘we.’

You slide over the covers, propping up yourself with your elbow as you turn to face Bucky, “don’t worry, you don’t need them anymore. You have me, yeah? We have each other.”

—

Out of the most bizarre things that happened to him last week, finding dismembered fingers in the fridge was the least of his concerns.

“Honey!” Bucky calls out, holding the ziplock bag with a pair of tongs.

You bound down the stairs, your laptop in hand as you squint, “what am I looking at?”

Bucky hesitated, maybe he’s going insane too, “fingers. Dismembered fingers—are these yours?”

Setting down the laptop onto the table, you peck him on the cheek, smiling as if him holding a baggie with human remains is just your Sunday normal, “god, I hope not. I need my hands to do things.”

As soon as you look back at him, you dropped the facade: “those are Steve’s. Well, used to be.”

Bucky’s afraid to ask the question where’s the rest of him?

“You know the term pinky promise, right? Well, it has a dark origin.”

Just as fast as a bustling train, Bucky rakes his brain for all the times he promised you something. Hoping that he won’t end up with a stump for a hand.

One vividly bright memory is seared into his brain though, the days blurred together with sharp edges and mismatched colors: we love how we were taught to love.

So, who taught you how to love like this?

Whumptober Day 29: Emergency Room

CW: Medical whump, sick whumpee, hospital whump, brief references to past child abuse and resulting traumatic association

Immediately follows Infection and Disorientation

Chris wakes up in the middle of a sentence.

Or rather, when his brain switches back on and he is conscious on a level he can participate in, he’s already talking, and the first thing he is aware of is a woman’s face, brown-skinned and with a slightly dry smile, watching him as he is saying, “-and, and, and then I saw, um, saw towels and the, the, the colors were all wrong, so, so I fixed them.”

“Oh, did you,” The woman replies, and there is a guarded kindness in her. “That was very kind of you.” He blinks at her, his vision slowly coming into focus. Chris takes a deep breath only to wince as a hazy sort of pain ripples up his right side. She leans over, a little closer. Her hair, black and full of tightly-wound curls slips over her shoulders and forwards, just brushing her cheeks. “Are you back with us? Don’t breathe so deep yet, okay?” She tilts her head, putting a hand up to push some hair back from his face. Jake does that sometimes, and Chris turns his head to encourage the affection, closing his eyes again.

Eyes closed feels better. 

In the clinic they’re always kinder to trainees, if still brusque, businesslike, getting them in and out with bandages applied, fevers broken, internal injuries healed with rest and whatever drips down the IV to make them sleep when they have done nothing but beg for sleep since they lost themselves to the Drip.

The nurses are nicer than the handlers, and this one is talking to him and touching him but only where he wants her to, and that makes her the nicest of all.

The way the world is spinning begins to settle when his eyes are closed and she lays her hand briefly against the side of his face, and he breathes a little more easily. He must not be in trouble, if she’s allowed to be so nice.

There’s something beeping nearby, and he doesn’t like the flat white light coming from the fluorescents in the ceiling laying on exposed skin - he can feel its weight on his arms where they lay on top of the scratchy rough blanket - but at least it isn’t a cold light. 

He shivers, opening his eyes to look down at himself, blinking. There are blankets pulled up to just under his arms, pale blue and sort of rough and soft, both at once, pilling so badly he can pick the little balls of fabric off bit by bit with one hand. Normally trainees don’t get blankets in the clinic, they’re supposed to freeze here, too.

He must have been very good but hurt anyway. Sometimes the handlers just want to hurt you, even when you’re good, because your tears are beautiful, too.

Besides, 499, you wanted this - you signed up so we would make you cry, right? Give me your arm, a little half-dose of purple should get you nice and worked up for us.

He tries to obey, rolling his left arm slowly over to expose the marked-up space at the inside of his left elbow - bandages wrapped around his left wrist over his barcode crinkling - and then realizes something is on - is in - his left arm. There’s… there’s a needle in his arm already, with a thin tube that runs up to a stand on wheels with multiple bags hooked onto it, and he thinks there’s something down below his waist, too. A catheter. 

He’s been bad, then. There’s only one reason to have a needle in his elbow and a catheter in, but when he tries to panic, he’s… he’s too tired, and too dizzy, and too foggy, to feel very scared at all. Even if they are going to take him away again, it’s too late. The Drip is already in his veins and there he goes, all of him, wiped clean all over again.

The soft throb of pain along his right side, wrapped up in the gentle blanket that covers his mind, makes it clear he’s not going anywhere very fast, not today. The handlers will have to leave him alone, and that’s good, but if he’s here and on the Drip, it means he’s back again.

Back in the Facility, here to be wiped, refurbished, and sent back to Sir or to someone new… and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

He feels his throat closing against helplessness - no, he was rescued, he was rescued and they said he’d never go back… they swore, they promised, Jake and Nat promised they wouldn’t let him go back, Jake would have fought them, he would have done something-

Tears flood Chris’s eyes and he hitches in a breath on a whimper. Jake must have gotten too hurt to save him. He must have, he might even be dead-

If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive-

“Hey, hey, come on now.” The soft female voice is closer now, and her hand is back on his face, up to run back through his hair as he sniffles, coughs, winces as the dull pain sharpens briefly and then fades again. “It’s okay, you’re okay. It’s just the hospital, yeah? Your appendix ruptured, you had to come here in an ambulance, had some pretty serious surgery. Can you remember that?”

His eyes manage to open, blurred through his tears, and he looks at her. She’s not wearing the uniforms that handlers or even the nurses wear, but a softly floral scrub top and plain navy pants. Her smile is different than any nurse’s in the clinic that he’s ever seen. She’s looking at him, not through him. 

“I d-don’t know where, where, where I am,” He whispers, and she nods, her smile still in place.

“I know. That’s why I’m the one sitting here with you right now. You’re in the county hospital. You’re okay, Chris.”

Not 223499, but Chris.

He reaches back into his own mind and finds the train track that Jake and Nat are on, remembers their faces, their names, the way it feels when they hold him. He brings up the memory of Jake pulling his shirt off, handing it to Chris, whispering, I’ll come back, I promise.

He remembers Jake carrying him up the stairs three days later.

Chris holds, for a moment, the memory of Jake looking at him as they loaded him onto the plastic-backed bed-thing in the ambulance. He can remember, clearly, Jake's voice. We’ll be right behind you, Chris. I swear to God I’ll be there. I promise you, buddy, we’ll bring you back home.

He’s awake.

Jake isn’t here.

“Um, J-Jake, my, my… my…” Chris shakes his head, like a dog shaking off water. What had Nat been saying, before the ambulance came? Talking to Jake, the two of them, going over their story. His name is Christopher Stanton. He’s my little brother, and he’s autistic. “My, my, my my my brother, my-... he p-promised, where’s-... need my, my, my brother-”

“I texted Yoder when you started talking,” The woman says gently. “They’ll be up to see you in just a minute, okay?”

He tries to believe her.

There’s a fog in his thoughts and the trains are all running, but slow, finding their way, winding around the gray clouds in his head. “I, I was talking already,” Chris whispers. “Even… though I wasn’t, um, awake.”

His throat feels a little scratchy and rough, like someone shoved something down there, but the agonizing pain he’d been in - the sharp ache that had been a knife shredding him to nothing again and again and again - is gone. In its place there’s a duller throb, and the sense of floating inside a very nice fog. Like the fog he hates, but… better, somehow, too.

“I was… was asleep, and now… ‘m talking, but, but I was still, um, asleep, and… and and and… and talking…”

“Yes, that happens. It’s coming out of sedation, you kind of wake up before you really wake up, you know? I’ve done this before, and you know, I had someone once who… came back to himself in the middle of telling me about a margarita recipe he used to make for his girlfriend. He didn’t remember it any longer when he was awake. That’s the fun of recovery, I hear all kinds of things when I’m with someone. My wife proposed to me in recovery from her own surgery, you know. She doesn’t remember it at all.”

“You… you you you said yes?” Chris looks back at her. He can focus his eyes again, and the look of her is nice. Soft, but like she’s had to be hard before. Like Nat looks, sometimes, only Nat doesn’t have a wife, or anyone at all but… but Jake, just like everyone else has Jake to help. 

He moves his right hand, gingerly - he can feel the thick bandage wrapped around his left, and is never less than terribly aware of the needle in his elbow - and she takes it in both of hers. 

Her hands are cool, and dry. He smiles, faintly, and lets his head fall back against a flat pillow behind him. There’s a window to his left, three panes of glass, and outside, when he turns his head, he can see some trees, a courtyard. Birds hopping around the branches, but he can’t quite see what kind they are.

The woman squeezes his hand lightly. Chris takes a breath. This isn’t the clinic, because there are no windows at WRU. You’re never allowed to see outside, not until your owner is ready for you, not until you are good enough to go home.

Going outside is a privilege a pet has to earn.

This… this must be what an actual hospital looks like. He’s seen them on TV, sometimes. The TV ones didn’t really look much like this.

The woman keeps his hand in one of hers and uses the other to check her phone. “Oh, I made her ask again when she was all the way conscious, but yes.”

“That’s, that’s that’s nice. I’m Chris.” His voice is low, and shy, and he doesn’t see her nod - he doesn’t want to stop looking out the window at the clear morning sky - but he can kind of feel it, anyway.

“I know, sweetheart. Your family will be here any second, but they wanted you to have someone when you woke up, so I’m kind of sitting in for them for a bit. Don’t worry, they’re on their way.”

“Jake-”

“Yes, I’m told there’s a man named Jake and, you know, I know Yoder pretty well by now.”

“Why… why, why why why do y’call… Nat? Yoder?”

“Hm? Oh, I don’t know. Just always have. Used to be we weren’t allowed to know each other’s first names, so I guess the habit stuck. How are you feeling?”

“Um. Weird. Am, am, am I… give m’drugs?” Fear hits, again, but it’s faded, a shadow of itself. He shifts his left arm and feels tape pull against the skin inside his elbow, looks at the tubing that runs from the needle up to a bag hanging on a metal stand. There’s a machine, too, that shows numbers he doesn’t understand. His eyebrows furrow. “Was I… bad?”

“No, sweetie, no. No. You just had to have surgery, and you have to be knocked out for that.” The woman pats his hand again, and Chris tries to relax himself. There’s a window, and if there’s a window, he’s not going back. He recites the differences like an incantation. Like a chant. Like a prayer, to keep him safe, as long as he does everything just right.

There’s a window, and so he can’t be going back. He can see outside, the sky and the sun, and so he’s not going back. There’s kindness here, compassion and warmth, and so he isn’t going back. His wrists and ankles aren’t strapped down to the bed, so he’s not going back. Her hand holds his but it doesn’t touch him anywhere he doesn’t want, so he’s not going back. “Do you know what an appendix is, Christopher?”

Chris looks back at her. She has a nice face, and warm eyes, and calls him a name and not a number, so he’s not going back.

He can remember Jake, so he’s not going back.

Jake will come find him, and he’s not going back.

“No, ma’am,” He says, softly.

She laughs, and he likes the sound of her laughing, shaking her head, her curls moving with her. “Not a ma’am, thanks. I appreciate the politeness, though. I just don’t like being ‘ma’am’d, I’m not quite that old yet, now am I?”

“Where… where, where where where Jake is from, you c-call… everybody sir or, or ma’am, if you’re… if you’re raised right.” He tries to put the hint of sarcasm, dry and cynical, that Jake always has when he says it, but it doesn’t work for him. He can tell it doesn’t quite sound the same. He is floating, in this warmly lit room, watching the sky change from grayish-pink to purplish and finally to a pale blue, going cooler and deeper at the top.

The sun is rising, warm, to wash away the cold light.

“Well, that’s not where I’m from. In any case, your appendix is this little doohickey right there along your right side, and yours got infected. So Yoder-... well, Nat, I guess - called a mutual friend of ours-”

“Am-... ambulance,” Chris whispers, thinking of the two people, moving around him. His memories are faded and terrified and full of pain, but he thinks of the gloved hand on his shoulder, the hint of a brusque, calm reassurance, cool focused expression and clear brown eyes. “Finn.”

“Right. That’d be my friend. Then you weren’t feeling super great when we got you here, your appendix burst and you sure gave Mandela a job to do cleaning out that infection, huh? Finn stuck around to help out with that, they trained as an Army medic. Did they tell you that?”

Chris just blinks at her, and slowly shakes his head.

“Yeah, way back. Signed up right out of high school, dealt with some scary shit when things got tense at the Canadian border when Canada started taking runaways… anyway, they’re good in a pinch, but so am I, I guess.” She shrugs. “We can’t trust everybody, so… they helped us get you stable, and then we got you in and out of that OR. Just between us, though? Can you keep a secret?”

Chris blinks twice, then slowly nods.

“Good. Just between us, I think they stuck around because they took a shine to you. Anyway, now you’re hooked up-... let’s see, they said you wouldn’t like the IVs, so let me tell you, it’s something for your pain and a literal ton of antibiotics, that’s all.”

“An, antibiotics-... for the, um, the the infection?”

“Right. That’s all it is, I promise, antibiotics and something to make sure your incision doesn’t hurt too badly. Mandela knows her work, you should be able to leave in the next few days. Mandela’s kind of an arrogant blowhard, but she’s also maybe the second-best surgeon I’ve ever met and she’s, you know, safe… for you. Lucky for us she was meeting someone at that Starbucks across from the hospital, huh?” 

“... lucky, lucky for us,” Chris repeats, just to show he’s listening, but he doesn’t quite understand what he’s being told. He could, he thinks, if he could just wake all the way up, but the hint of fog makes the connections a little more difficult, more of a struggle. “Um, can, can I, can I ask-... are you… Tori?”

The woman blinks, and then laughs again, and Chris smiles faintly in return. He wants her to laugh again and again, it’s a nice laugh, it changes the light inside the hospital room when she laughs like that. Makes it brighter, more like sunshine and less like a cold white room with a door he can’t open.

He wonders if her wife makes her laugh.

“Oh, Finn got chatty in the ambulance, hm? Well-”

There are footsteps, and the woman turns before she can answer his question.

“Let’s see… 210, 212… 214… here it is, 216, this should be it. Jake, damn it, knock first-”

The door opens with a hard jerk of the knob, and Chris looks to the doorway. He knows the bit of blond hair before he sees the face it belongs to. The fog inside his head is familiar, but it hasn’t taken anything away from him. 

They didn’t take Jake away.

He lets go of the woman and a smile stretches across his face. The throb of pain is gone, it can’t hold together under the weight of the warmth inside him. “Jake!”

Jake moves through the doorway, eyes on Chris, the bright blue focused and intense, shadowed from lack of sleep. His hair mussed, and he’s still wearing the clothing Chris saw him in last, rumpled. He drops a backpack on the floor as he moves, and he doesn’t even seem to realize he’s done it. Nat appears behind him, her braid half-undone, circles under her eyes dug in even more deeply than the ones under Jake’s.

Jake leans over him, one knee up on the bed. “Hey, buddy.”

“Hi, hi, hi, um, hi-... h-hi, Jake.” He holds out one hand. “Um, can you, could, could you please-”

“Oh, Christ, be careful, he just had surgery!” 

The woman’s warning is lost, because Jake is already hugging him. 

Warm, strong arms around him, and he tucks his head right under Jake’s chin and breathes in the familiar smell of him, deodorant and cologne and the laundry-smell from his shirt, the skin-smell of Jake underneath all of it. The simplest way to anchor himself, the greatest certainty he has that he isn’t going back, because Jake is here, and Jake would never let anyone take him away, not ever again.

“There were people having a fucking pizza party in the ER waiting area while you were in surgery, I thought I’d kill them with my bare hands if I had to listen to it any longer. Who the fuck orders fucking delivery pizza at the ER?” Jake’s voice is cracking, and Chris hums, twisting his right hand into Jake’s shirt, twist-and-release, then finger-twist-tap-tap-tap, and it’s solid and real and the sun is so pretty outside the window.

“Sorry I, I, I, I didn’t tell you I was, um, was sick,” Chris whispers.

“Sorry I didn’t know without you having to tell me,” Jake whispers back. “I hate hospitals, little man, you have no idea how much I hate having to tell lies in a hospital again. Fuck, I hate hospitals so fucking much.”

“Me, me, me me me, me too, but, um, but it’s okay with you here. It’s okay. It’s, it’s not-”

“It’s not the same,” Jake says softly. 

“Right. Not, not, not the same. I’m, I’m, I’m not, not, not, um, not going… going back.”

“Never, Chris. Not ever. Letting you go in that ambulance without me is the second-hardest thing I’ve ever fucking done,” Jake whispers, and tears build in Chris’s eyes as he buries himself against Jake’s neck, his hands making short, jerky little flapping motions as he struggles to keep the feelings inside him from overwhelming his ability to speak.

“What, what, what was, was the hardest?”

“What?”

“What’s, um, what’s… what’s the, the, the… the-the hardest thing? You’ve, you’ve ever, um… ever done?"

Jake’s breath hitches, and there are tears in his voice as he holds on tight. “Sitting in fucking limbo knowing I couldn’t be the one to help you.”

Chris swallows back a twist inside his heart. “Y-yeah?”

“Yeah, just… having to be stuck outside while someone else did all that shit that it feels like I’m supposed to do.”

There’s a sudden rustle at the window, and Chris turns his head just enough to see a flutter of red wings disappear down towards the courtyard below.

---

Tori belongs to @whump-tr0pes and is used with permission and great love

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

Art From Ashes

So @dirtydancyart and I were talking about the world they created in which Eskel is a biker, Geralt got involved with Emhyr in some underground shady stuff. Then I came along with this in which Cahir is technically Emhyr’s enforcer but keeps getting mistaken for Ciri’s nanny. Long story short, we wanted some hurt/comfort, some Cahir getting kidnapped and hurt, some Eskel coming to the rescue like a badass. Thus, here we are.

CW: Torture, blood, injuries.

Things had been going surprisingly well after that initial meeting. Eskel had apologised profusely for mistaking Cahir for a decorator. And then for putting his foot even more in it by thinking he was Ciri’s babysitter. For not such an auspicious start, he and Cahir actually got along alarmingly well. Not that they had ever told anyone, officially Nilfgaard and the Wolves were still not openly allies so they had to toe the line. That didn’t stop them from seeing each other or from quietly falling in love. They didn’t need grand declarations or even tokens of affection. For them, it was enough that if Cahir came home late and with blood in his hair, Eskel would wash it out for him with tender touches. By the same token, if Eskel had a run to do, he often found himself with a packed lunch on the passenger seat and a little post it with a smiley face on it. It was more than enough for them, knowing without ever saying anything. After all, if they didn’t say it, they had plausible deniability.

It did however mean trying to be a little more secretive. The nights they spent together were marred by the fact they couldn’t leave at the same time so there were no goodbye kisses on the porch or standing by bikes. That had been another flustering moment in Eskel’s life, discovering that Cahir had a bike in his garage. It was sleek, black and as quiet as a bike could come. Plus terrifyingly fast. Cahir had taken him out to a track just the once and Eskel almost had a heart attack - which was rich coming from someone who would happily rev his way down any stretch of road as soon as it was clear.

Another morning meant Eskel had to leave before the rest of the neighbourhood was up. The sun was already shining through the window and he’d kissed Cahir goodbye. Stepping out into the hallway, Eskel sighed and turned to get going. However, he couldn’t resist one final peek through the half open door. A smile twitched his lips as he watched Cahir rummaging for a t-shirt, bare skin on display. It was quite the sight and Eskel sighed, eyes tracing over the phoenix that spread over Cahir’s back, tail and flames dipping down below the waistband of his slacks. Eskel’s breath hitched when, rather than the shirt being pulled on, Cahir’s hands dropped to his flies and his trousers were slowly pushed down to reveal the rest of the tattoo that Eskel did so dearly love to trace with fingers and lips. Confused, eyes flitted up and Eskel’s gaze met Cahir’s in a mirror. A knowing smirk had him blushing which only deepened as Cahir’s finger traced the tattoo along his collarbone before stopping at the flame that licked at his throat, dipping to run over the Nilfgaardian sun that usually lay just about hidden under the top button of his shirts. A wink and a kiss blown at him had Eskel leaving with a smile and a spring in his step.

They weren’t due to see each other for a couple of days. However, the messages Eskel sent Cahir remained unanswered even though they were sporadically marked as read. Worry began to creep into Eskel’s days as the silence stretched on. It was only through Geralt that he learned something was amiss. Emhyr’s daughter had been attacked. While she had been whisked away to safety, someone else had been snatched.

[Who are you and what have you done with him?]

The message he sent to Cahir’s phone was read and, magically, three dots appeared as a reply was typed out.

[Seems the wolf is involved after all. Lies cannot go unpunished.]

Rage flushed through Eskel. Usually he was so good at keeping his emotions in check but his rash actions had caused Cahir problems. He didn’t even want to imagine what kind of punishment his captors would deliver. Throat tight, Eskel’s phone went sailing through the air and bounced off the wall. Searching the news brought nothing up. Of course Nilfgaard wouldn’t go public if one of theirs went missing. Those lower on the totem pole weren’t worth the effort while those higher didn’t want the authorities searching for them. Eskel’s own contacts didn’t bring in much information over the course of the next day. Time was of the essence and he was no closer to finding Cahir. So he did the unimaginable.

“Geralt. We have to talk.”

Thankfully, there wasn’t much need for words. Geralt sighed and shook his head.

“Should have known.” That was all the acknowledgement that there was. “Filavandrel’s men have him.”

That was serious. Worse than expected. Eskel had heard of what those who ran with Filavandrel could do so he began packing heavily for his rescue attempt. What he didn’t expect was for Lambert to silently step into the room and begin arming up. When Geralt did the same too, Eskel gave them incredulous looks.

“You’re not going in alone. We hunt in packs, remember?”

Armed to the teeth, they were on their way. For a change they took Roach, Geralt’s trusty SUV that had seen more blood than most cars. However, they didn’t know what condition Cahir would be in, probably not well enough to hold on for a bike ride. He’d been in Filavandrel’s not so tender care for three days, they were going to be lucky if he survived.

Storming the house Cahir had been kept in was oddly anticlimactic. It was in a quiet suburb and the house naturally had a basement. Well, it wasn’t so quiet as they walked in through the broken down door and shot anyone on sight. Eskel gave thanks for the invention of silencers as he indiscriminately disposed of another scumbag.

Going down the stairs was difficult. It was undoubtedly where Cahir was but Eskel dreaded that they would find. The smell of burned flesh hit them before they saw anything and Lambert swore. There were a few more people in the basement but the wolves were quick to dispatch them. Well, Lambert and Geralt did, Eskel was rooted to the spot as he caught sight of Cahir.

Strung up by his wrists and hoisted so his toes barely touched the ground, his shoulders were strained each time his legs gave out or slipped in the blood on the floor. There was no way to relax in the position and if Cahir’s head fell forward, his breathing turned to a strained rasp. He had his back to the entrance and Eskel could have cried at the sight, the beautiful phoenix tattoo was all but shredded as a whip had torn the skin to strips. Seeing Cahir struggle to get back on his toes, Eskel jerked into motion. Rounding Cahir, he wrapped an arm around his narrow waist and lifted as gently as he could. That earned him a soft, hoarse cry and apologies dripped from Eskel’s lips.

With Cahir in his arms, it was easier to assess the damage. Geralt was next to Eskel while Lambert guarded the door. Their first look didn’t paint a pretty picture. Aside from the oozing lashes on his back, most of Cahir’s tattoos had been destroyed. Deep cuts ran along his collarbones, slicing up the patterns in a mockery of symmetry. There were strips of skin peeled from his ribs where Eskel had liked to trace his fingers over patterns and dates. Worst was probably the Nilfgaardian star. It had been doused in something and probably set on fire judging by the deep, openly weeping patch and the blisters along Cahir’s neck and chin.

“Nenneke. Now.” Geralt barked and wasted no time in helping Eskel pick Cahir up. As Lambert led the way out, Geralt brought up the rear. They’d run extractions all too often so had this kind of thing down to a tee. In the car, Eskel was in the back, holding Cahir and trying to keep pressure off his multiple injuries. With nothing else to do, he could catalogue all the injuries they had missed before - the dark bruising around Cahir’s throat, scrapes to his knuckles from where he undoubtedly fought back, a puncture mark to the crook of his elbow. Who knew what his captors had shot him up with.

Arriving at Nenneke’s, Cahir was taken from Eskel’s arms and whisked away. He wasn’t allowed to see him for almost a whole day but at least he wasn’t chased from the building. Geralt disappeared, probably to talk to Emhyr but Lambert stayed, made sure they ate and drank while they waited. At long last Eskel was allowed to sit with Cahir in his room. For now, he was sedated to help keep him pain free, There were pillows either side of him to stop him from rolling onto his front or his back and an IV dripped steady from a stand.

It was another day before Cahir stirred, eyes opening and struggling to focus. His first words almost broke Eskel’s heart.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was so strained, no doubt the hand shaped bruises on his throat did some damage deeper than the skin. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Cahir slipped back to sleep shortly after that, Eskel’s apologies and promises that he was safe lost as the world span into darkness.

When Geralt returned, it was only to beckon Eskel with him. They had business to sort and Emhyr had a proposition. With backing from Nilfgaard, the wolves went after Filavandrel. They weren’t stupid enough to outright kill him. But they certainly weakened his stance. Viciously indiscriminate, the wolves burned through his network, scorching the earth. Once done, there was just one thing left to do.

By the time Cahir was coherent and out of the danger zone, Eskel was back by his side. His hand was covered in clingfilm and it was something Cahir noted almost immediately.

“Let me show you,” Eskel murmured, all too aware of how quiet the room was. He already felt he filled more than his fair share of it with his bulk, it didn’t need his voice booming through it too. Carefully, he unwrapped his hand to reveal a Nilfgaardian sun. “For the one you lost. It’s a fealty exchange.”

From his pocket, he pulled a wolf medallion and offered it to Cahir. The wolves and Nilfgaard were united now and they were the guarantee of their continued cooperation. Somehow, Eskel didn’t think that was a bad thing by any means. Especially not when it meant he could freely love Cahir exactly as he deserved.

Game of Survival

Chapter 3

Jay awoke and shifted his head. He looked to the side to see Hailey and Will sitting next to him. Hailey was asleep but it seemed as though Will had been watching him sleep. A little creepy, but Jay couldn’t blame him.

“Hey.” He was surprised by the scratchiness of his voice.

“Hey.”

“What time is it?”

“A little past 12:30 in the morning.”

“Hmm.”

“Jay, I need to tell you something.”

“Did you get arrested? Who do I have to bribe?” Jay attempted to deflect Will’s serious tone. Will cracked a smile.

“No one. But, uh. Your neck.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re gonna have to do another reconstruction surgery. Finish repairing the muscles. The bullet did a lot of damage to your skin as well. You might need a skin graft. That may mean a third surgery. They may do it during the next one. It depends.”

“On what?”

“How long you’re under. If they have time. If your cbc comes back good from the transfusion. If it doesn’t then you risk bleeding out if you’re under too long. If they need things to heal up a little bit first.”

Jay shifted his jaw.

“So I won’t be able to go back to work for a while.” Jay observed.

“No.” Will sighed. “Not for a few months.”

“When are they planning on doing it?”

“It’s scheduled for the morning after tomorrow. Or tomorrow morning technically, I guess.” Jay sighed.

“Does Hailey know?”

“No. She doesn’t.”

“Can I tell her?”

“Yeah.”

“Do I need to shave before?” Will smiled.

“They will do that for you. But, I have certain contacts that made sure you were fully shaved last time instead of getting half a beard.” Will said mischievously.

“They would really only shave half of someone’s face?”

“If they didn’t need to shave the other side.”

“That’s just awful.” Jay laughed. Will smiled.

“Anything to make sure my brother remained a baby face.”

“Shut up.” Will smiled at his brother doped up on pain meds.

“Alright, now that that’s out of the way, we can both go to sleep.”

“Sounds good to me.” Jay said, closing his eyes.

He woke up late in the morning. Hailey was whispering something, so he decided to be nosy, and keep his eyes closed and listen.

“I love you so much, you know that. I love your freckles. The way that they’re all different sizes. And I love your curly hair. It’s so thick and soft and beautiful. And I love your hazel eyes. I love that they’re multicolored, I love that they change colors. I love the scars. I know you hate them. They remind you of Afghanistan. And I know you think they’re ugly. I think they’re beautiful because they’re a part of you. And I don't know how to tell you all of this. And you almost died and I thought I missed my chance to to tell you how amazing you are. I wish I knew how to tell you that you’re everything to me when you’re not asleep-”

“Just like that.” Jay said softly, opening his eyes. Hailey was perched next to him, sitting on the bed. She gasped and a horrified look crossed her face.

“Hailey, you’re beautiful, strong, brave and so many other things but most of all you’re everything to me too.”

“You heard that?”

“Yeah.”

She stared at his neck, wrapped from his chin to his shoulder with gauze sticking up on one side. She felt as if the air was stolen from her lungs.

“How bad.” She squeaked out.

“Huh?”

“How bad did it hurt.” She said slowly reaching out and touching the surface of the bandages. Tears welled up quickly in her eyes and her vision started to blur. He could see the guilt in her eyes and it broke his heart.

“Hailey” he whispered, grabbing her hand. “I’m still here.” He said, putting her hand over his heart. “I’m gonna be okay.” She put her head down and nodded.

“I should have had your back.”

“You did. You were there and pressed on the wound. You made sure I didn’t bleed out. If you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be here today. You saved my life.”

“Hey,” he tried to soothe. “It’s gonna be okay.” Hailey wiped her tears and forced a smile.

“Yeah.” She pulled her hand away like it was burning. “I’m sorry. It’s just, you mean alot, so it sucked to watch you almost die.” Jay looked at her beautiful figure as they sat in silence. He didn’t know how to respond.

“Will says I’m gonna have another surgery tomorrow morning.” Jay broke the silence.

“What for?”

“To finish the reconstruction from the first surgery. He also said I might need a skin graft which could potentially be a third surgery if they can’t do it during the second surgery.”

“Huh.”

“I- uh- Can you tell the team? I don’t want to drag them all the way down here.”

“I’ll call Trudy and tell her.”

“And tell her what?” A female voice from the door startled them.

“Sarge!” Jay said as Hailey jumped up from her spot.

“I don’t know if you’ll like them, but I brought flowers because it's a custom practice in the United States when visiting someone in the hospital.”

“Thank you,Sarge. You can put them wherever.” He quickly realized how sore his neck was as he strained to turn his head and see her.

She pulled up a chair and sat  next to Hailey.

“How are you feeling?” She asked sincerely.

“I’m sore all the time. Hurts really bad when the meds start to wear off.”

“From what I heard, you took a hell of a blast.” His eyes flickered over to Hailey before looking back at Trudy.

“I guess. I don’t really remember. It’s kind of a blur.”

“Everyone’s worried about you. People keep coming up to my desk to ask how you’re doing.”

“What have you been telling them so far?”

“Well, you were in surgery, you were out of surgery. You were recovering and stable. Stuff like that.”

“Hmm. Well, uh, Hailey was gonna tell you that I have another surgery tomorrow morning. They gotta finish fixing everything. I was wondering if you could tell the team for me.”

“Definitely. I can do that.”

“Thankyou.”

“Alright then, let me head back to the district before it turns into a mad house.Do you guys need anything before I go?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“No, thanks.”

“Hang in there, Halstead.”

“See you, Sarge.”

The rest of the day was tense. Both Jay and Hailey were nervous about his upcoming surgery. Rojas stopped by for a visit, and Will came by in the late afternoon, forcing Hailey to go home and freshen up. She came back in the evening and spent the rest of the night with him. Jay didn’t sleep well that night. He was anxious and restless. Jay did finally manage to fall asleep and was woken up by Will.

“Hey buddy, we need to start getting you prepped.”

“What time is it?”

“A little past six.”

“Can you wake Hailey up?” Will did and Hailey quietly stroked his hair as they started setting a new IV up and getting his catheter in and transferring him to a stretcher.

“Hailey, I’m scared.” He admitted in a whisper once all the nurses had left.

“I know. You’re going to be okay. Will is gonna be with you the whole time.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“I promise.”

She slowly bent down and their lips connected.

She pulled away slowly.

“Good thoughts only, Jay.” She whispered, her lips twitching up into a smirk.  Sadly, she couldn’t comb her fingers through his hair because it was covered in a hairnet.

“Good thoughts only.” He echoed as their fingers intertwined.

“The team wanted me to have us call them before you went in.”

“The team?”

“Well, call Adam. Who would have the team there.”

“Oh. Ok.” Hailey pulled out her phone and dialed the number.

“Hello?” Adam answered.

“Hey, phone’s speaker. Jay’s here.”

“Guys, guys. It’s Jay.” The heard Adam say in the distance. There was some rustling before a chorus of greetings.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Kim asked.

“I’m feeling good. Just want to get it over with.”

“Not nervous though, right?” Kevin said.

“Nah, man. Never.” Jay joked back.

“Stay strong, Jay. We’re sorry we couldn’t be there but we wanted to make sure you knew we were all rooting for you.” Rojas said.

“Yeah man, you got this.” Adam said.

“Thankyou guys so much.”

“Hang in there Jay. We need you back here.” Hank’s gravelly voice said.

“Thank you.” They said their farewells and ended the call. Will made his way from the door to Jay’s bed.

“Aright, Hailey can’t walk with you the whole way but she can walk most of the way. I will be in the OR with you the whole time. Perks of being a doctor here. I will try to get Hailey as soon as the operation is over. There may be a chance that you will be sedated overnight to rest.”

“Okay.”

“Are you ready brother?”

“Yeah.” The started the journey to the OR. They stopped at the double doors that only staff could go through and Hailey gently kissed his forehead.

“Good thoughts only.” She whispered.

“I love you.” He whispered.

“Tell me that after.” She gave his hand a long squeeze before nodding to Will.

From there he was quickly transported, sedated, and the operation started.

She went back to the waiting room. It was like déjà vu. She waited and waited. She let a few tears fall. She let herself be angry at the shooter. She let herself ride an emotional roller coaster. Finally she was just exhausted and fell asleep in the chair. She was gently awoken by Will.

“Hailey...Hailey?”

“Huh?”

“Surgery’s over.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. They have him in his room already. He did really good. His vitals stayed steady throughout. And they were able to complete the graft already. We’re gonna keep him sedated overnight so he can rest.”

“So no more surgeries?”

“No more surgeries.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah, its really good. The only downside is that there will be a lot of scarring and rehabilitation will hell.”

“Wow, way to kill the mood.”

“Sorry. Uh, we have him on an NG tube to feed him tonight and tomorrow. His stomach will be sensitive from the anesthesia. I can take you to sit with him.”

“Thankyou.” He escorted Hailey back to the familiar room.

Her partner lay there once again. He was sleeping peacefully despite the bandages and the icepack. A small yellow tube coming out of his nose was taped to his cheek and tucked behind his ear. A mask rested over his nose and mouth. Hailey smiled.

“He looks so peaceful.”

“I don’t think he’s slept like this since.. well… since before he enlisted.”

“Yeah…”

They sat with Jay for a while, occasionally cracking jokes about Jay getting plastic surgery, before Will went out and got both of them some supper. After, the team visited when they were done with work. All night Hailey slept holding Jay’s hand. The morning was pretty dull. Jay was given meds, an NG feeding, and taken off the sedation. The mask was removed and replaced with a cannula. The team dropped by again, whispering and chatting while Jay slept. They missed it the first time Jay blinked his eyes open because he was asleep again in a matter of a handful of seconds. The second time was a little different, because Jay made a noise when he awoke. Adam nudged Hailey who was at Jay’s side as his eyes cracked open.

“Hey, big guy.”

“I love you.” Hailey froze, Jay probably didn’t realize that the rest of the team was there. But, then again, it wasn’t like the team didn’t already know they were dating and had been for a long time. Jay took a breath before talking again.

“You told me to tell you after the surgery.” Hailey smiled. Of course Jay would be the one to remember something like that.

“Awwwwww… how cute.” Adam teased.

“Jesus...” Jay whispered under his breath, realizing he had an audience and reddening with embarrassment.

“That might be one of the cutest things I’ve seen all year.” The team giggled.

“Shut up, Adam.” Jay and Hailey said in unison.

“Man, someone’s cranky.” Adam retorted. Jay rolled his eyes.

“Glad you’re awake, man.” Jay fist bumped Adam. Jay was met with a chorus of greetings. When asked how he was feeling he answered that his neck and his thighs were sore, to which Hailey had to explain that that was where they took the skin from to graft it in. Jay lasted for all of about thirty more seconds before falling back asleep. Will woke him up in the afternoon to pull his feeding tube. It was a terrible experience that made Jay tear up and sneeze  and cough from the tickling sensation in his nose and the back of his nose. Jay rubbed his nose aggressively to try to get rid of the feeling. Jay fell back asleep shortly thereafter. He woke up and was covered in his favorite blanket. It was a fleece blanket Will had bought him once that was camo with the 75th Rangers insignia on it. It was soft and Jay had frequently used it. Someone had obviously picked it up from his apartment. Will, who was sitting next to him, smiled and held up a container of red jello and a spoon.

“Wanna try it?” Jay smiled. It reminded him of his mom. When he would get sick as a kid, his mom would cover him in his favorite blanket and give him jello. Granted, Jay mostly got stomach bugs as a kid so that would be one of the few things he could keep down.

“Yeah.” He said, gladly accepting it.

He quietly opened it and took a bite before looking at Will.

“Hey Will?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you think Mom would say if she was here? About me getting shot, again? Do you think she’d be disappointed?”

“No, no. I think she’d be worried. But more than that, I think she would be proud. Not that you got hurt. But that you were pushing a civilian out of harm’s way when it happened. You were being selfless. I think she would tell you that it was a good call. But she would probably also tell you that she would want you to be more careful. Even though you couldn’t control it.”

“It’s hard going into the field sometimes. I know that it’s my duty as a cop to protect, but I worry. Because I don’t want to leave you here alone. I mean, I became a cop because I didn’t think it mattered if anything happened to me. Mom was gone, Dad had disappeared, you were in New York. But now I have you, and I have Hailey, and the team.” Jay set down his Jello container and finished his last bite.

“I don’t even know what I’m saying. I think I might be a little high.” Will laughed at him and Jay smiled.

“Oh brother. I love you so much.”

“Ditto.” Will rolled his eyes.

“Mom would say she loved you no matter what you did or what you were going through.”

“She loved us.”

“Yeah.” Will rubbed Jay’s leg.

“You wanna stay awake. We can turn on the news or something.”

“Oh that sounds good.”

They flipped through channels until Jay stopped Will.

“Go back.” Will did to see Deputy Superintendent Miller on a podium, holding a press conference.

“Turn it up.”

“During the shooting, however, the responding officer, Detective Jay Halstead, sustained a life threatening injury. The offender fired multiple rounds at Detective Halstead using a shot gun, one of which unfortunately hit Detective Halstead’s neck. He underwent life saving surgery and is now recovering from a second surgery. Detective Halstead acted humbly and heroically, trying to protect a civilian from danger, and the CPD commends his efforts.”

“That made it up the ranks quick” Jay commented.

“Yeah.”

“Can you put something else on?” Jay asked after a few seconds. “I don’t really feel like listening about my own near death experience.”

“Yeah.” Will put on some documentary before sitting back down. They didn’t speak to each other but enjoyed each other’s company. Hailey came with dinner for her and Will which they mercilessly teased Jay about. As the night fell, Will decided to go home that night, knowing Hailey would call him if anything happened. They talked until they both decided to settle down to sleep. As Hailey was about to doze off, Jay’s voice startled her awake.

“Hailey. Hailey?”

“I’m here, what do you need?” She said standing up.

“I don’t know how to ask this. But, I’m wide awake. And I thought maybe it was because I’m used to sleeping with you at home. I - I don’t know- I - can you lay with me. Please?” Jay held his breath waiting for the answer. Hailey carefully sat down on the edge of his bed.

“You just had surgery, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. And if you do, I’ll tell you” Hailey gave him a look, knowing he probably wouldn’t.

“I promise.”

“Scoot over, then. My ass is not that tiny.” Jay smiled and complied.

She fit right next to him, her warmth was comforting as he put an arm around her. She avoided touching his neck and instead scooted down enough to put her head on his chest.

“Your sweatshirt smells good.” He whispered.

“Mmm… it smells like hospitals.”

“It smells like you. Perfect.”

“Oh shut up.” They both chuckled at his cheesiness.

“I had to try.” He said, pulling the blanket up.

“Nice blanket.” Hailey commented, noticed the logo.

“Yeah, Will got it for me years ago for Christmas or something.”

“This year I think I’ll get you bubble wrap for Christmas. And that way, you’ll have an extra layer of padding when you go out in the field.”

“Oh really? I can’t wait.” Hailey snickered and rolled her eyes.

“All I want for Christmas is for you to be safe.”

“That would be nice. Stop having to be in hospitals.”

“Why do you hate them so much?”

“Uh-Afghanistan. I uh- injured my back- broke a few vertebrae. Spent five weeks in a hospital in Kandahar.”

“That’s where you were stationed?”

“No, I was actually stationed in the Korengal valley. But it was the closest hospital.”

Hailey set a hand on Jay’s chest.

“You don’t have to talk about it, but was that after the explosion?” Jay nodded silently.

“It was scary, and unfamiliar and everything just seemed so uncertain. I woke up and I couldn’t walk for close to six months.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. I mean, it was horrible. It was the most painful thing I’ve ever been through. But it’s over now. It’s healed. I’m just grateful that I can walk.”

“The more I know about you, the more I realize that I have no clue who you really are.” Jay immediately caught on that she was quoting him.

“Good, my plan is working.” He quoted her without skipping a beat. He squeezed her closer.

“Goodnight, Hailey Ann ‘hopefully in the future Halstead’”

“Oh my gosh, goodnight, Jay ‘I love saying the cheesiest stuff to my girlfriend’ Halstead.”

Guess who wrote about Chopper keeping Zoro alive after Thriller Bark...again

Title: The Good Fight Rating: G Word Count: 2230 AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23204785

Sixteen hours of surgery. Ten pints of blood. Countless stitches and the devil’s own luck. That’s what it took to keep Zoro alive after the battle of Thriller Bark.

Chopper laid his head down against Zoro’s bed, listening with a clinician's ear to the beep of the heart monitor, the steady drip of the IV, the rasp of each shallow breath. If he strained hard enough he thought he could hear the rapid, thready beat of Zoro’s heart, but he knew it was his imagination. He’d stabilized his patient, somehow. Brought his heart back into rhythm and sewed his eviscerated organs back into place. Zoro’s veins and arteries, the connective tubing that pumped his lifeblood from head to toe, were now attached to their proper ports instead of leaking immense volumes of fluid everywhere except where it was supposed to go.

If Chopper had the energy he would have cried. Instead he took a shuddering breath through a face full of linens and tried to keep his hooves from shaking.

Zoro claimed god didn’t exist, but Chopper had fought Death itself too many times not to believe in some higher power. He hadn’t lost... yet. But there had been too many close calls lately for him to believe things would get better anytime soon. Chopper was afraid to even think it, but this latest battle had been a near thing, with Zoro’s life in the balance.

Too near.

He didn’t mean to doze off sitting like that, leaning over his patient like some kind of watchdog, but he must have because when there was a soft rap of knuckles against his infirmary door Chopper jerked violently awake. The sudden motion was enough to tip his chair over backward, and it was all Chopper could do to avoid cracking his head against the ground. The last thing anyone needed now was to give himself a concussion.    

“Hey, Chopper, are you okay?”

Usopp popped his head in the doorway, then rushed in when he saw Chopper laying in a dazed heap on the floor. He helped him to his feet and righted the chair, then brushed off the front of Chopper’s shirt like an older brother who wanted to help but didn’t really know how. Once assured that Chopper wasn’t harmed turned his attention to Zoro.

“Is he…?”

Usopp left the question unfinished. There was still an ashen, unhealthy pallor to Zoro’s normally bronzed skin, the barest hint of blue at his lips visible beneath the oxygen mask. But his respirations were steady and his blood pressure stable, and that was more than Chopper could have said sixteen hours ago.

“Everything has gone as good as I could have hoped for. Better, even,” Chopper said.

“That’s great!” Usopp exclaimed. He wrapped Chopper in a tight hug and danced around in a wild circle. Even after being set back on the ground, it took Chopper longer than it should have for the room to stop spinning.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Usopp asked earnestly. “Everyone’s just starting to wake up, I think Sanji’s putting together a party. You should come out and eat something.”

Chopper shook his head. “I can’t. I need to know right away If he starts bleeding again, and with all the transfusions I need to be careful not to put him into fluid overload. Plus with all those open wounds there’s a huge risk for infection, and...and…”

He meant to say more. He needed to say more, for Usopp to understand that while Zoro was better, he was by no means well . But the harder he tried the more his tongue tied into knots. Chopper knew he wasn’t making any sense, which frustrated him even more , the emotion of it all building up within him with no valve for release.

Chopper let himself plop onto the floor before he exploded, sniffing piteously as his vision went unexpectedly fuzzy. Usopp blinked, body going lax as his usual bravado rushed out of him like Luffy after a gum-gum balloon.

“Hey, it’ll be okay.” Usopp knelt down and patted Chopper awkwardly on the back. “You did good. Maybe you need to take a nap or something.”

He faltered, his eyes going wide as saucers. “Wait, you’ve been up all this time? We were awake all night chasing zombies, and then that weird bear guy came and blew everything all to hell, and we found Zoro, and ohmygod you’ve been awake since before yesterday .”

“Zoro needed me,” Chopper said simply. “He still needs me.”

As if agreeing, Zoro groaned in his sleep, making a feeble attempt to scratch at the drain that kept his right lung from collapsing on itself under the weight of the blood and fluid in his pleural cavity. Chopper hurried over to sedate him, mentally running through the dosing calculations and praying that he wouldn’t drop his already-precarious blood pressure off of a cliff.

When Zoro was once again resting comfortably Chopper returned to his chair to document, jumping a little when he saw Usopp staring dumbfounded out of the corner of his eye. He’d forgotten anyone else was in the room.

“Y’know, I bet one of Lola’s crew is a doctor,” Usopp said. “Maybe I could go ask--”

“Zoro is my responsibility!” Chopper said shrilly. “I can’t trust Zoro with some random doctor I’ve never met! If something happens I need to be here, because if I’m not I...I don’t know what I’d do.”

“I mean, I guess,” Usopp said, defeated. “But  Zoro wouldn’t want you to run yourself ragged, either. What if you’re too tired and make a mistake?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Chopper said stubbornly, even as statistics of the effects of sleep deprivation rolled through his mind unbidden.

“I won’t lose him,” Chopper said, more quietly. Except the won’t came out sounding a whole lot more like can’t , and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling. It made the fur on his face feel funny, and Chopper concentrated on that instead of the pitying expression on Usopp’s face.

He didn’t understand. He couldn’t, not without being a doctor. Chopper’s fight started when Zoro’s stopped, and it was up to him to make sure that his efforts, whatever they were, hadn’t been in vain.

A normal person would have died taking half of the punishment Zoro had. Even a fourth would have been crippeling. Yet Zoro stood tall, so much blood slicking his skin that it was a wonder he had any left inside. Usopp couldn’t know the look Zoro had given him right before falling unconscious, the faint smile of relief as he realized it was finally okay to let go, because his doctor was there to keep fighting the battle he had no right winning.

“Chopper?” Usopp asked, startling him back to his senses. There was something in his expression, hesitant and a little frightened, that made Chopper think it hadn’t been the first time he called his name.

“Hmn?”

“You did your part. Now let us do ours.”

The thing about Usopp was that he wasn’t afraid to play dirty, and when it was clear that Chopper had no intentions of listening to him, he went and found Robin.

Not that she looked much better than Chopper felt. Having her shadow forcibly stolen from her had taken its toll, and of all the Straw Hats she was the one he trusted to assist with surgery when he was unable to manage on his own. She had stayed until Chopper was reasonably sure Zoro would pull through, but only after making Chopper promise to call if he needed assistance once more.

But Chopper hadn’t needed assistance, at least not as much as Robin needed rest, so he had plowed on, breaking through his second, third, forth wall of fatigue through caffeine tablets and sheer force of will.

“Your hands are shaking,” Robin observed. She had a bottle of water with her that she handed to Chopper, fixing him with a look until he sheepishly took a drink. Chopper could see Usopp’s shadow in the doorway of the infirmary, whispering fiercely to Sanji and Nami.

Robin noticed his gaze and shut the door before kneeling down to his level. “I know it can be...difficult, at times, to ask for help. But we all have limits, and you have long-past yours.”

She pressed a hard candy into his hooves. “Sanji will be in shortly with a proper meal, but this should hold you over till then.”

“But if something happens--”

“I will wake you,” Robin said. “Nami is getting your bedding now, so you can rest here with Zoro. You don’t have to leave him if you don’t want to.”

All the air left Chopper in a rush. “Oh.” He unwrapped the candy and let it melt on his tongue, even that small amount of sugar boosting his dangerously low levels. When was the last time he had eaten?

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You are exhausted,” Robin said matter-of-factly. Then, with a note of reproach in her tone, “You cannot treat anyone if you do not take care of yourself.”

Before Chopper could argue there was a knock at the door. Sanji swept in, and foregoing his usual praise set a tray down at Chopper’s feet. There was a steaming bowl of cinnamon and sugar rice, milk, more water, and a cookie. Out of deference to Chopper’s patient, the cigarette that hung from his lips was unlit.

“Those shithole zombies took our food supply, and I haven’t had much luck raiding theirs,” Sanji said apologetically. “Looks like most went to feeding that great shithead Oars.”

Chopper nodded. Luffy’s appetite was bad enough on its own, but in the body of a giant it was nearly insatiable. “Thank you.”

The smell alone made Chopper’s mouth water, and he ate with mechanical efficiency, scarcely tasting the food before shoving the next spoonful into his mouth. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was, and the rice settled like a lead block in the pit of his stomach. His limbs felt heavy as he drank the rest of the water and his eyes burned with lack of sleep.

While he ate Nami came in with a pillow and blanket, but Chopper ignored it in favor of curling up in Robin’s lap. “Lemme know if his heart rate goes up and his blood pressure down, or if he wakes up, or if...if…”

“Hush, now,” Robin said, placing a calming hand against his back. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard someone start to sing, but he couldn’t place the voice.

It sounded nice, Chopper thought, and he hoped he’d get to hear it again when he woke up.

Chopper woke up entangled in a pile of limbs and blankets. He blinked against the light of the infirmary, realizing somewhat befuddledly that his hat was not sitting on his head. His eyes were sleep-crusted and his throat was dry and he kinda had to go to the bathroom, but Chopper did not move. For some reason, he didn’t want to.

The smell of blood hit first and hardest. Somehow Chopper squirmed enough to get himself turned around and looking directly up at the bed were Zoro currently lay.

And if he was looking up that meant he had to be laying down . It took another long moment for his brain to reboot itself back to waking, and only then did Chopper realize he was on the floor and surrounded by Straw Hats. His head still lay in Robin’s lap while she herself was sitting up against the wall of the infirmary, and it was Nami’s arm that was currently wrapped around his torso. Sanji lay curled up on top of the blanket haphazardly thrown across Chopper’s legs, effectively pinning him to the ground.

Usopp and Luffy (when had he come in?) were on the other side of Robin, sprawled and taking every last bit of space, while Franky sat in Chopper’s tiny chair with his head rested against his massive forearms.

They were all here. They were all alive. Chopper took a deep breath, feeling it catch in the back of his throat.

Music came in through the doorway, a smooth caress to Chopper’s soul.

Maybe Luffy was right, and they’d gone too long without a musician. Hopefully he would find one soon, Chopper would like to study the therapeutic effects of music on the crew…

He drifted back into a deep and dreamless slumber.

The Straw Hats threw a party, as they always did after their biggest and hardest battles. Chopper still didn’t trust Zoro to leave him alone, and Luffy wouldn’t allow Chopper to miss out on the fun, so they arrived at the festivities together. Patient and doctor. Big and little brother. Crewmates.

Friends.

Chopper won this round, but deep down he was still afraid. Afraid that each success would encourage Zoro to greater recklessness, afraid that someday he’d go a step too far and Chopper wouldn’t be able to bring him back. Afraid that he wouldn’t make it in time.

But that was the thing about the Straw Hat Pirates, they trusted one another. Just like Chopper believed there was no one Zoro could not defeat, Zoro believed there was no injury he could not fix. That’s what it meant to be the greatest doctor in the world.

Chopper could only hope that he was right.

From across the room Brook began to play a round of Bink’s Sake. Beside him, Chopper’s small hoof nestled into his hand, Zoro smiled in his sleep.  

❝ i’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you. ❞ -schneeplebro, you got me loving this one

Okay, first of all, thank you so much. Second of all, I’m so sorry that this took so long. It reminded me of a story that’s been in the back of my head for a little while now so I just decided to go ahead and do that even though I didn’t 100% know where it was going.

Warning for medical situations and surgery, but nothing graphic. No one’s more squeamish then me so I very intentionally skipped over/bullshitted around that stuff, even if it made the pacing kinda weird lol.

“There’s a patient looking for you.”

“If they just have a question send Laura. I’m on call for emergencies today,” he answered the intern without looking up from his paperwork.

“No, this guy said he was a friend of yours. Name was Chase -”

“Where is he?” Henrik almost knocked the kid over, he was up and across the room so fast. 

“He was in the ER last I-”

Henrik didn’t wait for him, just went right for the stairs. The ER was, as always, chaotic and noisy, but he managed to pull a doctor aside and ask about Chase.

“No Chase Brodys admitted - I have an Alexis Brody.”

“Yeah, that’s his daughter. Where are they?” As the doctor led him back into one of the rooms, Henrik didn’t know what to expect. Anything bad happening to the kids was unimaginable; but at the same time, Chase did have a very real history of hypochondria when it came to them. Henrik couldn’t even begin to count the number of times throughout their friendship he’d answered frantic late night phone calls about fevers or double-checked scraped knees for signs of infection.

He knocked before opening the door. “Chase?”

Chase was sitting next to Lexi, rubbing his face with one hand and looking close to tears. His younger son was sitting in his lap, but when Henrik came in, he stood up, setting Noah back down in the seat, and said, in one breath, “She wasn’t feeling well and she wouldn’t eat and then she said it really hurt in her side and so I brought her here and um, they felt her stomach and then they did an ultrasound and they said it was appendicitis so they want to get her into surgery and I couldn’t even get in touch with Stacy until like twenty minutes ago and she drove out to visit her parents this weekend so she probably won’t be here for hours but they want to take Lexi to Sedation right away.”

He put a hand on Chase’s arm. “Alright. Is all alright, Chase. Hi, by the way.”

“Henrik.”

“Okay, okay.” He walked crouched down beside Lexi. She was awake, but not at all her usual energetic self. “Hi, Lex Luthor.”

“Hi Schneeple.”

“How are we feeling, hm? I bet the other doctors already poked your belly a whole bunch?”

“Yeah - it hurt.”

“Have they given her anything for pain yet?” he asked Chase, looking up at her IV pole.

“Yeah. Just, uh, ten minutes ago, maybe? Like right before you got here.”

“Ok. I’ll be gentle, I promise.” He pressed along her abdomen briefly; after a few whimpers he didn’t see much reason to keep tormenting her. They’d already done the ultrasound. “We should definitely get her into surgery as soon as possible. You might want to call Jackie, see if he can come by to pick Noah up and watch him for a while. I don’t know how long you’ll be here.” Chase just looked at him, eyes wide, like he was waiting for Henrik tell him what to do to make this go away, or what he did to make it happen in the first place. The best he could give was, “It is a very safe procedure. We do it all the time. And I’ll make sure she gets Dr. Fletcher; she’s one of the best surgeons-”

“Wait, you’re not gonna do it?”

“I did not think that would be what you wanted. I am supposed to be doing emergency surgeries today, but if I explain to my boss what the situation is, I’m sure we could get someone else.” Technically, there was nothing against the rules about him doing the surgery; she wasn’t a family member. But he and Chase were close - best friends… even if they weren’t as close as Henrik wanted them to be. And unlikely as it was, if anything went wrong, Chase would never forgive him. Henrik wasn’t, by nature, a dramatic person, but this was Chase’s child. Even if he didn’t hate Henrik forever - and that was a big if - there was no way they could ever be friends again. 

“I don’t know the other doctors.”

“I promise, they are all excellent and more than qualified for such a simple -”

“I don’t care.” He stepped closer to Henrik, grabbing his wrist and looking straight into his eyes. “I only trust you. Please.”

He took a second to answer but he didn’t know why. Maybe just to drink in the sight of Chase looking right at him, in case it was the last time it ever happened. Because he knew, as soon as Chase asked, that he was going to do it. He couldn’t say no to him, and he wasn’t going to leave Chase with someone he wasn’t comfortable with just so he could duck out of the pressure. He was many things, but he wasn’t a coward. If for some reason this was the one in a million case and something terrible happened he was going to lose Chase, but he’d rather be able to look him in the eye and tell him that he had done everything he could than have to live with the guilt of being too scared and stepping aside when he might have been able to do something. He slid his hand into Chase’s, squeezed it, and then walked back to Lexi.

“Did the other doctors explain what we’re gonna do?”

“Surgery?”

He chuckled. He knew she knew what surgery was in a general sense; they’d done pretend operations on her stuffed animals once or twice, and she was normally excited whenever she got to visit him at the hospital. It was a testament to how bad she felt that she hadn’t demanded to use his stethoscope yet. “Yes, surgery. There’s this nasty little bugger inside you called your appendix that’s making your belly hurt, so I’m going to take it out, okay?”

“Is it gonna hurt?”

“We will give you medicine to make you go right to sleep and you won’t feel a thing. It may be a little bit sore when you wake up, but not as bad as it is now. We can give you some more of this pain medicine, and I think just maybe your parents might be convinced to give you some ice cream when you start feeling hungry again. Do we have a deal?”

“Ok. But only because you’re the best doctor and I know you’ll do a good job.”

He smiled and held out a hand for her to shake. Her hand was so tiny; even with all her bravery and sincerity, she was still just a little kid, and he loved her like he loved his own kids. Chase wasn’t the only one he was scared of losing, but that thought was unbearable, so he promised both of them, “I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you.”

He turned back to Chase. “I will tell them we are ready to go to get moving. They should be here in a few minutes; you might want to try Jackie while you wait. You can tell him - and Stacy, when she gets closer - to go in the main entrance of the hospital. I’m going to have a buddy of mine go and explain what is happening to the person at the information desk, so they’ll know where to send them. In Sedation they will get her ready for surgery - give her some antibiotics, maybe something to calm her down, if you think that would be best. You will probably have some papers to sign. I will meet with my team, we will figure out some details. Usually they’d have me go out and see her beforehand, but I will let them know I’ve already examined her, so I’m not sure if I’ll see you or not. Once she’s in the OR, someone will take you to the waiting room until we’re done. Alright?”

“Okay.” 

Henrik waited a second for him to say more - ‘good luck,’ maybe, or ‘goodbye.’ But he seemed to be scared beyond words, so Henrik gave him what he hoped was an encouraging nod and left to check in with the ER team. 

After that, as promised, he tracked down one of his coworkers and hurriedly asked them to go to the front desk and tell whoever was there that when a Jackie or Stacy came in to send them to the waiting room outside the OR, and even as he was finishing up, he was being paged.

It was like life was happening at double speed, meeting with the rest of his staff about the case, telling them he’d already been called to the ER to examine the patient, scrubbing in. And then it stalled to slow motion as they wheeled her in. Chase was with her - they let parents do that sometimes with pediatric patients, just until they fell asleep. 

It was strange and wrong, to see him here. Chase’s eyes scanned the room and all the surgical staff. He blinked when his eyes met Henrik’s, like he hadn’t recognized him in the full getup of his surgical gown, gloves, and mask until that moment.

“Ready?” the anesthesiologist asked Lexi. 

“Yeah.”

Chase squeezed her hand. “You have good dreams, ok, and I’ll be there when you wake up. I love you.” 

They held the mask over her face and told her to take deep breaths. Henrik watched Chase; he couldn’t touch him - it wasn’t sterile - and there wasn’t much he could say to him either. It may not be technically illegal to operate on someone you happened to know, but given how close they actually were, this was an ethical nightmare, and if any of the other doctors in the room caught wind of it, they wouldn’t hesitate to tell Schneep to get the hell out and send in a more impartial surgeon. He just tried to be gentle when he said, “we’ll take it from here.”

Then Chase left, and in spite of everything, Henrik felt calm. One of the reasons he loved his job was that it was straightforward in its complexity. It wasn’t easy, but it was simple in that there was procedure to it, it was step by step, do this then this, be careful of that, and if something goes wrong, you have a limited number of choices, each with clear, factual benefits and risks. It wasn’t like life, where everything was all tangled up and you could fall in love with your best friend and you had to decide to tell him, or not tell him, or tell him in four months or two years, and there was no way to know what would happen when you did. Henrik was never good at ‘meditating’ or ‘deep breathing;’ his mind was only ever clear when he was standing over a patient, when he had no choice because someone’s life depended on his ability to shut up all the noise that forever rang in the back of his mind and focus on doing each thing perfectly, one step at a time.

And almost in a blur, it was over. Even as they were stitching and bandaging, he almost couldn’t believe it. He’d been holding his breath for the disaster and it never came.

Apparently Chase felt the same; after taking extra care to wash all the blood off his hands, he wanted to be the one to tell Chase they were done. As soon as he walked into the waiting room, Chase sprang out of his seat like he had in the ER earlier. “What happened?” 

“Nothing happened. Everything went perfectly and they’re taking her to Recovery now.”

Chase stared at him for a second then ran across the room, more or less jumping to wrap his arms around Henrik’s neck. Henrik wrapped his around Chase’s waist and held him for a moment, until he realized that Chase was crying - finally, after holding it together as long as he needed to. Schneep patted his back. “Hey, let’s go see her, ok?”

He sniffled but nodded. “Yeah.” He picked up a plastic bag that was sitting beside his chair. “Jackie brought me some stuff from the gift shop on his way to pick up Noah,” he explained. “He took him back to my apartment so he could give him dinner and get him into his pajamas and all that. I didn’t know if we’d be here overnight.”

He held the door open for Chase and lead him down the hallway. “We’ll probably hold her just for observation, yes.” They turned into the room and Henrik pulled back the curtain. “She might not wake up for a few minutes. I convinced them to go on the heavier side of the safe range of dosage for the anesthesia and pain medicine. She will be groggy at first, but she shouldn’t be in much pain. And if they gave her medicine for anxiety beforehand, she probably won’t remember what happened after that; that is normal side effect.”

They sat down in the uncomfortable hospital chairs, Chase never taking his eyes off of Lexi. “They decided they didn’t need to, ‘cause she was ok. She’s so brave, I don’t know where she gets that.”

“From you.”

“Please. I’m a mess. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t work here, dude. I can’t handle this kind of shit by myself.”

“It seemed pretty handled when I got there. She was already where she needed to be.”

Chase shrugged, ducking his face. He reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a bottle of water - which, Henrik was glad to see, it looked like he’d already been drinking -  and took a sip. “Do you want something?” He pulled the bag all the way open in his lap. Henrik could see three more bottles of water, two of those refrigerated bottles of iced coffee, a little get well soon teddy bear, a phone charger, a few granola bars, and some chocolate. Leave it to Jackie.

“I mean, I didn’t want to say anything, but usually when you come visit me at work you bring me some lunch or something.”

Chase laughed, and the sound almost made the whole exhausting day worth it. “I apologize for my rudeness.” He held one of the coffees out to him. “I know you don’t usually like iced, but hey, it’s caffeine.”

“No thank you. I’m sure one of them is for Stacy. Have you heard from her, by the way?”

“Oh, yeah. She should be here any minute.” He bit his lip. “She’s gonna be mad.”

“Why on Earth would she be mad? What could you have done?”

“I don’t think she’ll really be mad at me, but she’ll be frustrated. And scared. As shitty as this day is, I don’t even want to think about one of the kids being in the hospital and me not being able to get to them. I just think we’re both too emotional right now, and things between us are still… a little tough. I don’t know how this is gonna go down.” 

He never knew how Chase did that, could see the humanity in the worst of situations, and he never knew what to say when he did it either. He just looked at him until Chase said, “Lexi’s ok. That’s all that matters.”

It was all that mattered. After all the unexpected stress of the day, Henrik started to relax a little, just sitting with Chase. He spent a few minutes going over some of the basics of what they’d do for pain medicine, how to take care of the wound. At some point, Alexis stirred.

“Hey, sweetie. How do you feel?”

“When’s the surgery?” she asked, her eyes still closed.

“The surgery’s over. You did it.”

“I did it?”

“You did! You did a great job. Do you want some water?”

“Mmm-mm. Not thirsty, just sleepy.”

“Don’t you at least want to see what Uncle Jackie got you?”

But she’d already fallen back to sleep.

“Should I wake her up again?”

“You don’t need to unless you want to try. She’s getting fluids; she won’t dehydrate.”

Chase settled back into his chair. 

“At some point, we’ll get her moved to a proper room for the night. But I make no promises about when. Trust me, now that this is no longer an emergency, you’ll see how slow a hospital can be.”

“If that’s the worst I have to deal with, I think I’ll live.”

“That’s -”

And then the door opened, and there was Stacy, looking completely frantic. “Where-”

Chase got up to get her attention. “It’s alright, Stace. She’s right here, she’s ok. Everything’s good now. She woke up a little for a minute, she was out of it but-”

He was cut off by Stacy pulling him into a hug. “Thank God you were there, Chase. She told me her stomach felt weird before I dropped her off to you last night and I thought she was just being dramatic because she - she wanted to take every stuffed animal she owned, I swear, and I told her there was no room and she had to pick just a few and I don’t know why I didn’t listen to her or why I didn’t let her take the damn toys I just -”

Whatever Chase had been expecting, it clearly wasn’t this, but he managed to get her to sit down, offer her some water. “That was probably nothing. It started getting bad this afternoon - believe me, you would’ve noticed. You would’ve done the same thing.”

Henrik was suddenly very uncomfortable; he backed off to a corner of the room, not sure what he was meant to do or say, just watching them talk between themselves. After a few minutes, Chase came over to where he was standing.

“Hey - you heading out soon?”

His shift had long since ended, but it felt so strange to just walk away from the situation. “I can stay. I don’t have the boys tonight.”

“No, you should go. You must be tired. Go home and get some rest; we’ll be good here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I texted Jackie, he said he can handle Noah for the night. Stacy and I are gonna stay with Lex.”

“Okay. You know where everything is - the cafeteria, the vending machines, all that?” Chase nodded. “And my office, too? I will leave the door unlocked for the night, in case you need anything or you decide you need to be… in separate rooms for a while.”

“It actually seems kinda fine. I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

“Well, just in case. And there should be a sweater in there if you get cold, some snacks maybe. Just look in the desk drawers.”

“Got it. Now go get some sleep, for real.”

He said it kindly, but it still felt like he was being sent away. He knew it was childish and stupid, but after everything, it was hard to let go. To accept that no matter how much they went through, Chase and Lexi weren’t his family. To leave them behind.

By this time, the hallways were a little quieter. He’d just pressed the button for the elevator when he heard Chase’s voice yell, “hey wait!”

He turned, and Chase was jogging toward him. “I forgot to tell you something!”

“What is it?”

Once again, Chase wrapped his arms around him, pressing his head against Henrik’s chest for a brief second before getting on his tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“Thank you.”

And maybe it didn’t change anything, but the elevator opened behind them and then closed again, and they were still holding on to each other.

i um

yeah i wrote a naruto fanfic sue me. slight blood tw and hella angst because you know its ya boi

    Naruto fell from the windowsill into Sasuke’s living room with a grunt. The only thought sustaining him was the need to get somewhere safe. The ground wasn’t safe. He could get kicked down here, or stomped, he had to get to somewhere safe. 

    With a heavy groan, he hauled himself to his sore feet, listing to the right before stumbling forward. His knees hit the arm of the couch and sent him sprawling onto it. Naruto groaned again, body aching everywhere, face throbbing. 

    He faintly heard someone click on a light and winced at it. Everything seemed to be coming from far away, like he had fallen down a well. A face swam in front of him. He instantly felt better, relaxing his sore muscles and melting into the couch slightly. 

    “Sas...uke…” He coughed wetly.

    “You idiot, what happened?” Sasuke struggled to turn the blonde onto his back, hissing through his teeth when he inspected his face. 

    Naruto didn’t have the energy to cry out in pain. His eyes were sliding closed as Sasuke tried to get an answer out of him. A shake on his shoulder only jarred him back to reality so much. 

    “Naruto, who did this?” Sasuke’s voice was intense. His hand was gripping Naruto’s shoulder, the other on his phone. “Answer me, please, dammit!”

    Naruto blinked sluggishly. Why wouldn’t Sasuke let him sleep? He was so tired, and everything hurts… 

    The hand on his shoulder started to shake, and Naruto faintly heard half of a conversation. 

    “Sakura? Are you busy? It’s Naruto, the idiot’s all busted up. No, he’s not responding. Yes, of course I tried! Yeah… yeah, alright. See you in a few.” Sasuke turned back to his boyfriend. “Help me out here, alright?” 

    Sasuke wound his arm under Naruto’s and hauled him up. “Jesus, how much do you weigh?” He groaned, stumbling towards the door. 

    Naruto’s head lolled and rested against Sasuke’s shoulder. He stared hazily at the ground, falling asleep. He faintly heard Sasuke talked, but it wasn’t relevant. His feet dragged against the ground, too tall for Saske to fully support. 

    “Naruto, I swear to god, come on, snap out of it.” Sasuke jostled him a little. No reaction. “Hey, idiot, come on.” 

    Sasuke swore, trying to hurry out the door, but Naruto was dead weight at this point. He dragged the beaten boy to Kakashi’s car, knowing the keys would be in the center console. He managed to get him buckled into the front seat, before getting into the driver's seat. 

    Sasuke jumped when his phone rang. He hastily answered it. “Hello?” 

    “Sasuke, where are you?” 

    “I just got this idiot into the car, on my way. He’s responding less now, I’m- I’m getting worried.” What an understatement. He was beyond worried. Naruto was the only person besides Kakashi who understood, who knew what it was like, who could comfort him. He was half-dead in the passenger seat. 

    “Listen to me. Get him here. We have the emergency room prepped. We contacted the police, they’ll let it slide if they see Kakashi’s car speeding.” Sakura informed him. “Get Naruto here, quick.” And with that, she hung up. 

    After gently turning off his phone, Sasuke slammed the palms of his hands against the steering wheel. Tears threatened to spill over. He gripped the steering wheel hard with his left hand before slamming his right against the steering wheel. 

    With a final, steadying deep breath, he jammed the keys into the ignition and started the car, pulling out of the driveway and out of the neighborhood. All along the fast and slightly illegal journey, he kept sneaking glances at Naruto. The blonde haired boy slumped against the window, nose gently trickling blood against the cold glass. 

    Sasuke pulled into the hospital parking lot, roughly yanking the key out of the ignition and rushing out of the car. Sakura and a team of people came out of the hospital with a gurney. Sasuke helped then situate him on the gurney, careful to work with them. Then, before he could process what was happening, Sakura had lead Naruto away, leaving him alone in the parking lot. 

~~~ 

    The waiting room wasn’t large- there were two other families here. Sasuke checked his watch- two in the morning. Was it really that late? Sasuke sat in one of the uncomfortable plush chairs, jogging his legs and massaging his knuckles. His mind bounced around, latching onto irrelevant facts and onto anything about Naruto. 

    “Sasuke?” Sakura had peeked her head out of the door. “Could you come back here for a moment?” 

    Sasuke stood up, the fog in his head lifting a little. It had to be about Naruto. Maybe he was alright? Just concussed? He didn’t let himself hope that. He knew he attracted bad luck- it was his fault if Naruto wasn’t all right. Naruto was so happy and fun and bright, and Sasuke was just the complete opposite. He was going to suck all the bright sun out of Naruto just by being around him, just like his mom and his dad and Itachi- 

    “Hey. Snap out of it.” Sakura’s fingers snapped a few times under his nose. 

    “I- sorry.” 

    “He won’t calm down, he’s scared of the nurses and doctors. We can’t hold him still enough to sedate him.” She explained. “And I- I can’t stand seeing my friend hurt like that.” She turned her head, hiding her shame. 

    Sasuke nodded. She slid her card through a lock on a door and opened it. 

    The sound reached him immediately. Wet, harsh sobs punctured the air, along with the sound of several people struggling. Sasuke hesitantly stepped into the room, and resisted the urge to recoil. Five nurses were trying to hold him down, but he was putting up a better fight than Sasuke had expected him to. Tears streamed out of his eyes as he kicked and struggled against them, hyperventilating. He struggled to talk, half formed words breaking his sobs. 

    “No! Don’t- please- Stop! No! Don’t- don’t- please-” 

    Sasuke quickly wound around the nurses and placed his hands on either side of the other boy’s face. “Hey, Naruto, look at me.” 

    He struggled harder, jerking his head out of Sasuke’s hands. “Stop, stop, no, please stop,” He rasped, coughing wetly. 

    Sasuke tried again, but without touching him. “Naruto, please. Look at me.” 

    Wild, wet blue eyes hesitantly locked with the cool black ones. He huffed and sniffled, glancing at the nurses periodically. 

    “Hey, it’s going to be okay. Can you breathe for me?” He coaxed gently. 

    Naruto breathed harder, not anymore even. He kept glancing back at the nurses, fear clear in his eyes. 

    “That’s right, babe. In, and out. It’s alright. They’re trying to help. Promise.” Sasuke offered a small smile. 

    “P-p-promise?” Naruto hiccupped, still trying to steady his breathing. 

    “Promise.” 

    A nurse readied the sedative, waiting for a good moment to use it. 

    “What- what’re they going to do? I- I don’t want- don’t-” 

    “Naruto. They’re just here to help. Sakura is in charge of them. You know she’d never, ever hurt you.” 

    “S-Sakura?” 

    Sasuke nodded. “They’re going to give you something to relax, alright? It’s going to be alright, you’re safe.” 

    Naruto relaxed slightly, still sniffling. He nodded. “O-okay.” 

    The nurse gently eased the IV into his arm, and they all backed away, their job done. Sakura came back in, relieved. Sasuke reached for Naruto’s hand, gently rubbing circles on the back of his hand with his thumb. The sedative slowly took affect, and Naruto was out within five minutes. 

    Sakura pulled Sasuke from the room, back into the hallway. “I didn’t get a chance to thoroughly examine him, but he’s pretty beat up, Sasuke.” Her eyes searched his. “What happened?” 

    Sasuke looked away, shrugging. “He sneaks to my house sometimes, he practically lives there. I heard him crash in tonight, and he was on my couch half-dead.” Sasuke paused. “Is he- is he going to be alright?” 

    Sakura sighed lightly. “Knowing Naruto, he’ll be fine. He’s come closer to dying than this. But it’ll probably be touch and go for a while. Do you know how he ended up like this?” 

    Sasuke started to shake his head when it dawned on him. By her expression, Sakura realized what it was too. “It’s October 10th.” 

    She nodded. “He was probably over in Konoha’s graveyard.” 

    Sasuke cursed. “How many times have we told that idiot not to- not to go alone?” His voice stuck for a second. 

    Sakura shook her head helplessly. “He’s Naruto. It’s something he’d do. Even knowing the people there hate his guts. It’s just who he is.” She turned and went back into the room, leaving Sasuke to figure out how to get back to the waiting room. 

~~~

    Kakashi was in the waiting room when Sasuke came back. 

    “Yo.” 

    Sasuke sat down heavily beside him. “How’d you know I was here?” 

    “Blood in the living room.” 

    Sasuke cringed slightly. “I’ll clean that up.” 

    “I already did. Was it Naruto?” 

    Sasuke nodded, clenching his hands together. 

    Kakashi checked his phone. “Went to see their graves?” 

    Sasuke nodded again, starting to jog his leg. 

    “Hey. That kid’s strong. He was strong enough to convince you off the brink. He can do this.” 

    Sasuke shook his head slightly. “He- he was almost in a panic attack. They had to call me back. I just- I’ve taken all the joy out of his life. This is my fault, I should’ve-” 

    “But you didn’t.” Kakashi interrupted. Sasuke’s head snapped up, glaring reproachfully at the white haired man. “Besides, Naruto has enough joy to go around. You know he’s glad to be in your life.” 

    Sasuke nodded and let it drop. There wasn’t any point in pushing it any further. 

    Kakashi pulled up the news app on his phone. “Looks like it was reported to the Konoha police. Figures, ever since leadership changed it’s been a disaster.” 

    Sasuke wasn’t paying attention. “I think I’m going to get some fresh air.” He stood up abruptly and half ran out the doors. He leaned heavily against the metal railing, feeling the cool October air chill his cheeks. He squeezed his hands into around the metal pipe, trying to stop them from shaking so badly. It didn’t matter what Kakashi said, he should’ve known Naruto would’ve tried something like this. He did every year when he was alone. Sasuke should’ve done something. He should’ve been with him, and he should’ve talked to him, and not just in his room eating shredded mozzarella cheese. 

    Kakashi walked out to join him, probably offer some words of half-baked wisdom again. 

    “Before you say a word, please, don’t.” Sasuke said voice shaking, his grip on the bar increasing. 

    Kakashi simply nodded and leaned against the railing, book in hand. For some reason that irritated Sasuke more. He bit the inside of his lip, trying to quiet the noise in his head so he didn’t scream at one of the few people close to him. 

    Kakashi looked up. “This is just as bad huh? Sorry, sorry, I’ll go now.” He closed his book with a snap and went back inside. 

    Sasuke sighed again, easing some of the tension out of his shoulders and releasing his lower lip from between his teeth. His hands shook when he detached them from the railing. Countless thoughts swirled through his head. 

    It’s your fault he’s in here, if you had been a better boyfriend, if you could’ve just been there for once, maybe this wouldn’t have happened, you filthy Uchiha, you aren’t even welcomed in Konoha just because of your stupid parents. Maybe if he killed you too this wouldn’t have happened. If you had died then Naruto wouldn’t be in the hospital right now, it’s all your fault Sasuke it’s all yOUR FAULT-

    “Oi.” Kakashi’s familiar greeting shattered Sasuke’s spiral. He felt a hand firmly placed on his shoulder. “Breathe, kid.” 

    “I- I can’t,” He grit out. “I-it’s- it’s my fault, Kakashi, I-” 

    “Stop that.” He jostled Sasuke’s shoulder a bit. “It isn’t. He needs you here just as much as you need him. Who else would stop him from doing reckless stunts unsupervised?” 

    “But- but I-” 

    “You can’t save him every time, Sasuke. Life isn’t that simple.” Kakashi sighed, leaning against the railway beside him. “Listen, this time may be bad, but I’m confident he’ll recover. He’s had much worse.” 

    Sasuke would have laughed if he could remember how to breathe properly. He struggled to pull a full breath in. “I was- I was just eat- eating cheese, K-Ka-” He broke of, wheezing for breath. 

    His eyes began streaming when Kakashi held his inhaler in front his face. Hands shaking, Sasuke took it, desperately taking a puff. “Thanks,” He groaned once he could talk. 

    Kakashi shrugged. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, kid. It was what, two in the morning? You don’t have to be ready for everything all the time.” 

    They stood there for a long moment, each in their own thoughts, before going back into the waiting room. 

~~~

    Naruto was discharged the next morning. He was waiting at the receptionist’s desk when Kakashi woke Sasuke up. 

    He was there in an instant, quietly taking Naruto’s hand as he filled out forms with the other one. Naruto chuckled softly, rubbing the back of Sasuke’s hand gently. “I’m alright, Sas. Look, they even gave me free merch.” He joked, showing off his hospital tags. 

    Sasuke just stared before saying, “I equally want to kiss and punch you right now, dick.” 

    Naruto laughed again. “I’ve reached my punch allowance for the month, Sasuke. You gotta wait until November now.” His face stayed in the same carefully constructed, optimistic half-smirk he wore so often, but Sasuke knew different. 

    “Fine. I guess you’ll just get your ass kicked again in a few weeks. Better work to pay your hospital bills.” 

    At a concerned look from the secretary, Naruto jumped to explain. “Oh- oh no, he didn’t do this, don’t worry. We love each other very much.” He grinned widely, throwing his arm around Sasuke’s shoulders. 

    Sasuke’s worry and anger seemed to lessen as he watched Naruto spew actual sunlight. 

    That didn’t mean it was gone for good. 

    “Sooo. Naruto.” Sakura was waiting in the parking lot. 

    Naruto’s eyes widened, and he turned around, looking for a way out. Not finding one, he slowly turned back around to face her. “Hi, Sakura.” He grinned nervously.    

    She tapped her foot angrily. “What. The hell. Were you thinking.” 

    “Ha, you see, Sakura, I was-” 

    “Can it, off-brand Goku!” He recoiled slightly, the excuse dying in his mouth. “If you weren’t already beaten up so badly I would literally murder you right now.” 

    “Hey, Sakura, don’t you think that’s a bit intense?” Kakashi said from where he was leaning against the car. He peaked out from behind his book. “Besides, Sasuke and I already have first punching dibs. Get in line, kiddo.” 

    Sakura sulked for another moment. “I gotta get back to work. Naruto, if you do anything else stupid this month, I won’t hesitate to break your arms.” And with that, she stormed back into the building. 

    “Guess I have to break your ribs.” Sasuke remarked calmly, ducking into the passenger seat. 

    “Konoha beat you to it- fuck.” Naruto realized his slip up a little late. 

    “We been knew, Nards.” Sasuke said saltily.

    “Hey wait! Why do you get the front seat?” 

    “You got it on the way here, idiot.” 

    “Don’t remember! Didn’t happen!” Naruto said, getting into the backseat.

    “You probably don’t remember falling onto my couch at two a.m half dead but here we are.” Kakashi remarked simply. 

    Naruto shut up and sulked the rest of the way back to the house. 

~~~

    “Explain.” 

    He sat at the kitchen table, fiddling with the bandage on his left hand. “Guess I can’t really plead the fifth here, huh?” He felt hot shame and guilt eating away at his stomach. Which was fine. Nothing he couldn’t hide easily.

    “Obviously.” Sasuke was not impressed by Naruto’s stab at humor. “Why in God’s name would you go there? Especially on your birthday!” 

    Naruto blinked in surprise. “Y-you remembered?” 

    Sasuke rolled his eyes. “Of course I remembered, it’s your birthday, why wouldn’t I?” 

    He fiddled with the bandage some more. “No one else really did, ya know?” 

    Sasuke sighed. “Yeah, well, I did. Happy seventeenth or whatever.” 

    “That’s gay. Anyways, you still have to explain yourself.” Kakashi said from his corner. 

    Naruto looked at his hands. “Just- I wanted to see them, ya know? I don’t care what they think, they’re my parents, not theirs. I- I should be able to visit them peacefully without being chased down, ya know? It’s not- it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong, I just wanted- just wanted to clean off the headstones.” 

    Sasuke reached his hand across the table. Naruto reached out to take it, but Sasuke slapped the back of his hand. 

    “Hey! What was that for?” He yelped, pulling it away. 

    “For being an idiot! How many times have we told you to not go to Konoha? Especially on the tenth!” Sasuke took a deep breath in. “I’m glad your not dead.” 

    “Yeah, me too.” He said saltily. “Man, why are old people so mean?” He whined. 

    “Maybe you’re just weak.” 

    “Sasuke I’ll- ouch!” Naruto had jumped up and disturbed his healing ribs. 

    “Don’t hurt yourself anymore, idiot!” Sasuke got up to look at his bandages. 

    “No, no, I’m good, just moved wrong.” 

    “If you’re shitting me I won’t hesitate to fully break your nose.” 

    “Oh, it’d be a lot scarier if you had just gotten beat up by old people with sticks and rocks.” He snarked. 

    Sasuke raised an eyebrow. “They beat you, Naruto Uzumaki, parkour expert and self proclaimed ninja, with sticks and rocks?” 

    “I can’t hit old people!” 

    “But you hit Kakashi the other day!” 

    “Stop. I’m not old. And if you two are gonna be this grossly in love, take it to your room. I don’t wanna see it.” Kakashi interrupted, pulling out his book. 

    “Still, if you ever go to Konoha alone I won’t hesitate to eat your eyebrows and steal your eyeliner.” Sasuke said before grabbing his boyfriend’s hands and tugging him upstairs. 

    “Gasp! Not my eyeliner!”

Pidgeot used Whirlwind

Last few days have completely spun me around. I had my third round of chemo this past Thursday, and that in itself went fine. Afterwards, much else started to take a different turn. First of all, there were issues with my re-feeding because I went essentially from eating barley 400 calories a day (if that) to working up over three days to about 2200 calories in a full day. My labs showed some issues with my electrolytes and a couple other things. I had to drop my feeding to almost a fourth of that, and had to go back in for labs on Sunday. 

Sunday is where things get… interesting. I went in for labs, which should have been a 20 minute visit, and we could head back home. I brought up with the nurse that the area surrounding my PICC line looked a little red and there seemed to be some kind of white gook around the catheter. They thought it looked questionable too. So I had to have blood cultures and cultures of the entry site taken. Thinking it could be some kind of infection, I had to go down to the ER for it to be evaluated. What came of it was that more blood had to be drawn, and my PICC line had to get pulled. YUP. I had this thing for barely three weeks. I have absolutely no idea how this even happened, but my line was pulled. UGH. I was and still extremely frustrated that I have to get another one placed because I still can’t be sedated because it’s still not safe (more fun expansion on that to come). Getting the PICC placed sucked. SUCKED HARD. Next, we had to wait to see if I could just go home with some antibiotics or if I had to be admitted. And just my luck, on SUPERBOWL SUNDAY, may I add, I had to be admitted when we already had Superbowl plans because we’re still normal Americans. 

So I mainly had to be admitted because they needed to administer antibiotics by IV, which they had to throw one into my arm because bye bye PICC line. They also needed to watch for fevers for me because I ran one in the ER, and I ran one that night. Initially I was supposed to be admitted only until Tuesday so long as I no longer had a fever for more than 24 hours (which I didn’t), and my cultures came back clear for 48 hours (which they did). 

BUT NO, apparently with me, it’s never been that simple lately. Life has been loving throwing some curveballs. I saw my main doctor on Monday, and we talked (well mainly she talked, I wrote and grunted). We discussed how it seemed like this newer piece in the front of my mouth has been growing pretty rapidly, and it seems the golf ball has been shifting. Despite little pieces of the tumor flaking off here and there, it seems that to some degree, my tumor is still getting bigger, despite what was hoped for. Also, on Monday, I started feeling like I was having more trouble breathing because I was having thicker mucus that seemed to be stuck behind the golf ball. I couldn’t really swallow it or spit it out entirely, so it was causing me some breathing problems. 

So the rest of Monday went like this. I met with an ENT surgeon so she could get a better grasp on my story. She then brought a scope and another surgeon. The purpose of this was to see if in the case of an emergency, they could get a breathing tube in me. The answer is yes, they could. Next, I went and got more MRIs. I tried to tough it as long as I could on my back, but it got to the point where I could not breath. So we got creative, and I was on my side, and they could finish off the rest of the imaging. My doctor came back after they got the MRI results, and yes indeed some areas, especially in my mouth, have still grown significantly, and the golf ball was moving more to the right and back. So I was meeting with the radiologist the following day because they needed to attack this more aggressively, and they feel very confident that this tumor will respond very well to radiation. Lastly, to top it off I was made aware that also in the event of an emergency, ICU has been made aware of my situation, and may talk to me...just in case. OH! And my intended two day stay because of the new changes has now turned into ONE WEEK. I’ll get into this shortly.  

Tuesday, day 3 of this nonsense. So now since the plans have drastically changed, the biggest reason I’m being kept so long is because with me about to start radiation, in the beginning, the tumor will sometimes get bigger before it starts to shrink. This is not ideal for someone who’s golf ball is definitely playing around with the joys and luxuries of breathing. They had also started me on a steroid on Monday to help combat some of that swelling, which on Tuesday, some current swelling went down. The radiologist was in the building earlier in the morning and stopped by (he’s not at this hospital, but in the same system and in a different building down the road). He told us I would be starting radiation today. We got transported there at 11:30, and we didn’t come back til almost 6pm. We talked to the doctor, and he showed up the MRIs with comparisons to the imaging in January, and in that time my mouth portion grew significantly. The portion creeping near my brain grew some, but not much. Not bad, but not great either. For now they’re just using regular (photon beam) radiation as they’re currently focused on my mouth with a short term plan, then in the following weeks they’ll come up with a more complex plan, and possibly switch me over to the proton beam radiation. Radiation is currently set to take place for 7 weeks, Monday - Friday concurrently with chemo. Next, they did a simulation first and made this mask to go over and keep my head in the same place for the treatment. They found a way for me to get propped up just enough that I could still breathe during the whole thing. We had about 4 hours of down time until the actual radiation treatment again. The nurse was super nice because mom winked at her, and she let us stay in the room. I even napped some. Total life saver instead of having to stay in the waiting room that long. The actual treatment is very quick, maybe 20, possibly 30 minutes long. I didn’t feel a thing, but afterwards, you could see the redness on my skin. We got back to the hospital afterwards. Last major thing to happen was the whole main ICU team came up here to talk more about emergency procedures and get introduced to one another. 

Finally, this leaves me here, sitting in my bed, on my laptop, past 2am on what is now Wednesday. I’m going to get a new PICC line placed today before I get a fun five days in a row of chemo beginning Thursday. 

Anyways, I thought the other week was crazy, but this week is way more nuts. However, I'm just going with the flow of whatever and enduring what needs to be to get fixed. I trust in the process and the doctors. And this point, I feel like I've endured a good amount, that these extra morning pokes for blood don't even phase me since I dont have a line to just grab blood easily. I've been through worse at this point.

Hope all of your first week of February has been going better. 

P.S. I’m bald now, well, buzzed, but even the little hairs are slowly falling out.

DOTW 17? Start. I'm pretty braindead

Coughing as the breathing tube was removed, Eren felt like absolute shit. He vaguely gathered that he was in hospital, mainly due to the horrible tube shoved down his throat... and the fact every time he opened his eyes, Levi was right by his side. He'd never thought he'd see the alpha again, and didn't understand why Levi looked so sad. He hated it. He hated the man's grey eyes filled with tears and a thin smile that felt way too close to pity, than concern. His leaden body throbbed as if he'd come down with a fever. His stomach rolling and gurgling, like it was trying to eat its self, yet the mere thought of food made him nauseous as fuck. Part of him wondered if this was what dying felt like... if it was, it sucked "Eren, it's ok if you need to sleep" That wasn't ok. He'd only barely woken up before the tube was being removed. Something as simple as a cough shouldn't have him so exhausted. Shit. The doctor was taking to him again. He knew he should listen, but when the man grew closer, he just felt so fucking scared. He didn't want to be hurt again. He didn't want to be touched or looked after. He wanted to curl into a ball and cry until whatever was wrong with him finished him off. If he could have ignored Levi, he would have. Yet the alpha's voice and scent were the only things he could focus on "Eren, it's ok. He just needs to examine you" Opening his mouth, it felt like a whole forest of something disgusting had set up residence across his teeth. He wanted to say no. He wanted to scream no... but all that came out was a nearly non-existent whimper. He didn't know this man. He didn't like this man. He didn't want this man anywhere near him. Placing his hand on Eren's left cheek, Eren tried to push himself as far away from the alpha as he could. He didn't want this... "Hey, hey it's ok. Hanji, why don't you go talk with his doctor outside. He's starting to panic" He didn't need a running commentary of his panic. He was very much aware of how stupid he must look. The man said something, his hand still against Eren's cheek. He wanted to vomit, his body trying to make the action, his stomach muscles clenching as nothing came out "Both of you. Out. Now" Levi lifted the man's hand from his face, the alpha replacing it with his own "You're ok. It's ok. Here, you need to breathe. Can you do that for me? A deep breath in?" He wasn't even sure he'd taken a breath until Levi nodded "Good. You're doing good. It's just us now, ok. Shit brat. I've fucking missed you" Why would Levi miss him? Wasn't he mad at him? He didn't understand anything and couldn't even tell the alpha that "Good. You're doing so good" Levi was nice to him... but this was on a whole other level. This was the kind of nice he'd get after a stupid panic attack, when the man seemed scared that anything minor would set him off. He liked Levi better when the alpha was pissy and just saying what was on his mind. At least he understood him then "Your blood pressure's come back down. The tightening in your chest should be easing" He'd never thought to ask Levi he knew what a panic attack felt like. He supposed the man had dealt with more than one in his span as a paramedic. He just always seemed to know what to say "You gave us all a scare. You showed signs of waking last week, but then decided to pull a sleeping beauty. Even with all that sleep, you still look pretty crap" That was the Levi he liked. He hoped the alpha could tell he trying to give him the smallest of smiles "If I didn't know better, I'd say you like me watching you in bed" Oh god. He wanted to laugh, but all he could do was cough again "Sorry. I'll try and hold back on the lame lines for now. You should get some more sleep. I promise I'm not going anywhere, ok?" Why was it so easy for Levi to get through to him? His mind could barely remember anything. It was like his head was filled with nothingness. He couldn't even remember his thoughts as they passed... but somehow Levi made that ok? He really, probably, definitely should be worried about that. Leaning down, Levi kissed his forehead "Sleep tight, brat" * Waking himself screaming, Eren couldn't remember where he was or how he'd got there. Every molecule of him wanted to run, and he gave it his best shot. Ripping himself free from his IV line and catheter, he was on the ground before he had any idea what had happened. Hands burying themselves in his hair, tearing at the thick strands as he tried to remember. Why couldn't he remember? Where was Zeke? Why wasn't Zeke here? Shuffling backwards, he screamed louder as his back hit the walls. The beeping of the hospital machines hurting his ears as much as his own screams, pained to the point he was oblivious to the warm puddle began to form under him. He couldn't stop screaming. Zeke was... Zeke was hurt. Zeke needed help. Zeke... there was so much blood... so much blood and Zeke wasn't waking up. As strong hands grabbed his arms, he fought harder. His hands covered with loose strands of hair as he tried to shove his attackers away. He couldn't let them get him. He couldn't let them take him away from his brother. Zeke needed help. He needed him. He was taking him away. He... why couldn't he remember? What... why... why couldn't he breathe? Kicking, and snarling with his teeth bared, he fought harder. His body betraying him his a his energy failed to translate into fury, his blows barely taps. Lifted from the floor, it felt like was slammed down on a concrete slab as his eyes were cruelly forced open. The brightness burning through into his brain, as is someone was holding a lighter to his iris. It was all too much. * Having been with Eren almost nonstop since, Levi found it hard to be back at his apartment. Titan wasn't talking to him, no doubt because he hadn't been home and had left him to the mercy of Erwin swinging by to make sure the fat cat had food, water and a clean litter tray. He'd showered and shaved, before collapsing into his own bed. The hospital chairs weren't exactly comfortable when it came to prolonged sleep overs, and despite his thoughts being filled with Eren, he'd passed out and slept a solid 8 hours. Moblit was spending the day with Eren. Given how scared Eren seemed to be each time he woke, he didn't know if it was a good idea or not. Still, he'd left the omega. When Eren was discharged, he'd be going back to Hanji and Moblit's house, meaning even if Eren was scared, he wouldn't exactly be able to escape from the man. Refreshed from his near dead sleep, Levi had showered again, before cleaning through his apartment. His plan was to stop by and pick Eren up some real food, as well as bringing the omega the photos he still had in his possession, and a book to keep himself occupied with. Even if Eren couldn't eat solids, cafe soup was better than hospital soup. His alpha secretly thrilled to be doing something nice for their ome-friend. Eren wasn't his omega. The closeness they'd formed would have to be rebuilt, even if Eren really only ever seemed comfortable when he was around. He made it as far as the hospital carpark before his phone started ringing. Answering the call, he heard Moblit sigh heavily "What's wrong?" "When are you coming back?" Ok. Well this wasn't how things normally went, or at least not lately "I'm in the carpark" "I'll come find you" Moblit ended the call. Levi's stomach twisting into knots. He wanted to rush from his car to Eren's room, but with Moblit coming to him... it couldn't be good news. When Moblit finally joined him, the man looked exhausted... and was sporting a black eye for some reason "What happened to you?" With a dry laugh, the man shook his head "Eren. He woke up screaming" "Screaming?" Eren was struggling to stay awake, and he'd seen a few blips in his heartbeat from nightmares, but as far as he knew, this was the first time he'd woken up screaming "He didn't know where he was. Hanji called me, so I stepped out into the hall. It was only seconds Levi. By the time I got back into his room, he was on the floor screaming" Fuck... "They've sedated him. He made a mess of himself and his bed. They wanted to restrain him, but with his scars, that would have only made it worse" "Did he say anything? I mean, other than screaming?" "When we went to lift him off the floor, he started snarling like an alpha. We got him up and onto the bed. He was completely delirious. He started asking and begging for Zeke" Fuck. With Eren being so out of it, he hadn't been able to talk to the police. Zeke's body was still being held by state morgue "They wanted to place him in a 72 hour hold" "Are you fucking serious?" In a 72 hour hold, Eren wouldn't be allowed visitors. It was probably the worst possible thing they could do for him "Hanji's doing everything she can to prevent it, or even to postpone it" That was something, he supposed "How are you?" "Honestly. I don't know what to do. Eren and I talked about his issue with male alphas, and not to take it personally" "But it still hurts like a bitch when he looks to you in fear?" "Yeah. He didn't even seem to realise who I was" "Is he allowed visitors?" "Not right now. He had an accident, so the nursing staff was taking care of cleaning him up. Even once he is, they'll more then likely keep him under some form of sedation" If they were going to keep him drugged to the gills, they may as well stick him the psych ward for the 72 hours. There'd been far too many drugs in Eren's system, and while he'd seen the pain withdrawal caused, it had to be kinder than keeping him in a haze "Do you need a ride home?" Moblit blinked, before nodding wearily "Yeah. That would be great. I came in with Hanji, but you know what she's like" "Yeah. I know it's fucking shitty, but if Eren was in his right mind, I know he'd appreciate the fact you were there for him. He really does think highly of you" "He said that?" "He did. He told me more than once how grateful he was that it was you and Hanji, and that he hated not being able to control his anxieties" "You two really did get close?" "Close enough that we had just decided to date, without the label though" "Sorry. I forgot" "It's ok. I'm well aware of my reputation as an Ice Queen. Eren however didn't get the message. He'd come in and flipped everything upside down before I had a chance to realise what was happening" "I know Hanji was teasing you both over getting together, but I guess I never saw it happening" "I didn't either. I mean, he's an amazing omega, but he's also an abuse victim. He can't control his anxieties and spent years being trained on top by Zeke, on top of whatever gave him those scars, and whatever it was that Zeke saved him from. I wanted to let him heal and experience the world. Maybe if I'd been more forceful, none of this would have happened" "Now you're sounding like Hanji" "In that case, we should get you home" Levi got the feeling that Hanji and Moblit's marriage was on the rocks. Moblit knew Eren needed help and trusted the hospital to act in Eren's best interests. Hanji did not. She insisted on triple checking everything, as if micromanaging the situation would solve the situation. Though if he was in her position, he'd probably do doing the same. Wisely keeping those deductions to himself, Levi drove Moblit home. With Moblit dropped off, Levi returned to the hospital. Eren was still in his room, which was a small relief. Dragging the visitors chair back over to the side of the bed, he settled the soup cup down on the bedside table as he sat. Eren's room still smelt of fear and pain, but the omega's face was relaxed. He didn't know how he was supposed to explain to Eren that Zeke was dead, but he wanted to be the one to do it. Hanji was way too optimistic about Eren's mental condition, she'd try to hush him instead of letting him feel the pain... where as Levi expected the tears and screaming. He couldn't even give him a proper answer as to why Zeke was dead. * Blinking tiredly, Eren yawned softly. His body felt warm and heavy, while a comforting scent was soothing his anxious omega. Looking down, his heart jumped at the sight of Levi. The alpha was half-sitting/half laying, his head on Eren's right hand where his soft warm breath tickled along Eren's wrist. Gathering up the saliva in his mouth, he coughed slightly, waking Levi who must have been only dozing. Giving him a sheepish look, Levi scratched the back of his head "Hey, nice to see you awake" "L-Levi" Levi's eyes widened slightly, the tips of his lips turning up "Yeah. That's what they call me" "I..." He what? He didn't know what to say "It's ok if you don't want to talk. They'd got you sedated at the moment, because you had a pretty bad panic attack" "D-don't... remember" "It's fine" Now what was he supposed to say? He wanted to say something... "Are you hungry? I know you're on soups and fluids, but I got you the good stuff. Soup from a cafe. Not the hospital stuff" "N-not hungry" "Ok. It's here if you do get hungry" Licking his cracked lips, Eren sighed softly "I guess you're wondering what's been happening?" "Kind of..." "You've been here for the last two and a half weeks" Two and half weeks? If he'd been in bed for that long, why was he so tired? "You had a touch of pneumonia. Your left wrist and hand were broken, and your right ankle dislocated" "I... don't remember" "It's ok. I just wanted to warn you that that cast you love so much is now a splint" "Ugh... no" "I thought you'd feel like that. Moblit and Hanji have been by almost daily, except for when they had work. Not that that's stopped Hanji" "W-why?" "Because we all missed you. We went looking for you, even went to the police. Whether you like it or not, you're stuck with all of us" "But..." "But nothing. We all fucked up and let you down. I'm not asking for you to trust me, or for a second chance. I just want to be here for you" Levi wanted to be there for him? What could the man possibly get from being near him? And... "Where's Zeke?" Levi's brow furrowed, a long moment passing between them "L-Levi. Where's Zeke?" It was slowly coming back to him... Zeke... there was so much blood. Oh god... it... it was pouring over his hands and wouldn't stopped... "Eren, I'm sorry" "No" "He'd passed by the time the paramedics arrived" "No" "Eren" "No. No... No!" The machine to his right beeped loudly "Eren, I'm so sorry" "No! You're lying!" "I wish I was" "No. No... no... not Zeke..." "Don't force yourself to remember. There was nothing anyone could have done" "You're lying... please tell me you're lying... please..." Reaching out to cup his face, Eren flinched away. He didn't want to be touched "I'm sorry" "He... no. I need him. I need him!" Memories rushed up. He wanted to scream, but nothing came out. God... there'd been so much blood. It wouldn't stop. And Zeke. Zeke wasn't moving "Eren, I know it's hard. I know you're scared. But there was nothing you could have done" Why was he remembering? Why couldn't he forget?! It was like a horror movie. He'd been the dumb useless character... while Zeke... he'd told him to run. He'd seen it again! He'd had watch it all over again... why wasn't it him? Why Zeke? He'd left him. Again he was left behind. He was alone "I want to be alone" "I don't think that's a good idea" "I want to be alone!" "Eren, I know this is a lot. If you don't want to talk, you don't have to talk to me. But I am not leaving you alone. You are not alone" "Fuck you. You left me. Everyone fucking leaves. So go! Get out!" "I am not leaving" "Get out!" "Eren, I'm not leaving you" "Why?! We're nothing to each other!" "We're friends" "What? Since when?" "Eren" "You don't know about me. You know nothing about me! You don't know anything about my fucking life! You have no idea the things I've done! We are not friends" "I know you're shy and awkward, until you get on stage. I know you wanted to die. I know you get anxious. I know you're not ready to talk about your past. But... weren't we working towards that?" "My past is none of your business. Working towards it? Why the fuck would I tell you any of it? Just because I let you between my legs, doesn't mean I love you, or even like you. You need to go" He didn't want to be saying any of this to Levi. He didn't want to be kicking him out. He mentally couldn't handle having the alpha here. He was a mess, and Levi, Levi was always so fucking good to him. He didn't want him to be kind. He didn't want him to be understanding. He wanted to be alone. Levi would leave when he heard what happened, so he'd rather drive the alpha way first. He'd rather set Levi free, than shackle him "Well, Hanji won't be in for another 4 hours. And I'm not leaving you to suffer through his alone. I guess that means you can either stop sprouting bullshit, nap or sit in an awkward silence" That wasn't about how it was supposed to go. Levi was supposed to get angry! Instead the man just causally continued like he hadn't insulted him, even counting out his three options with his fingers "Stop looking at me like that brat. I know exactly what you're doing, because I do the same thing. Fortunately for both of us, Erwin has an almost ungodly amount of patience, or you'd be having the conversation with someone who isn't me. I know you're sorry, so you don't have to say it" "I don't want to sleep and I don't want to talk" "Awkward silence it is then" The silence lasted until Levi pulled out a book from somewhere. Settling back in his chair, Levi didn't even seem to notice he was watching his every move "W-what are you reading?" "I thought we weren't talking" "I don't want to be in my head" "It's called "To Kill a Mockingbird"" "What's it about?" "Preformed prejudices" He didn't know what exactly "prejudices" were... "People judging someone based on appearances without knowing the full story, or bothering to even try to get to know them. It's the book I was going to lend you" "Oh..." "Pretty much. I think you'll like it" "Do you?" "I've read it more than once" * Watching Eren, the omega was still crying. He was trying. The kid was really trying. Zeke's death had hit him hard, but some part of Eren was still in denial. He could see it all over his face... that and Eren had told him he was lying. Soon the second wave of shock was yet to set in. Placing his book down in his lap, he sighed softly "I could read to you. It might help take your mind off things" "Like Zeke?" "Maybe. Probably not, but hey. You could get so bored you fall asleep" "I don't want to sleep" "You don't want to do much of anything, do you?" Eren's lip quivered, his voice dropping as he whispered guiltily "No... I... I don't even want to be..." "Then what? What do you want to do?" "I don't know" "Ok. We still have another three and a half hours before Hanji comes. How far do think we can get?" "I... I don't know. I don't know the words" "It's no harder than Narnia" * Eren really wasn't sure about this. His brain felt like it was having a meltdown, yet his actions seemed to be completely contradictory to that. He was sure the word was contradictory, Levi had taught it to him. If he closed his eyes, even for a second, all he'd see was Zeke. But whatever his brain was doing, it wouldn't let him grieve. He felt disconnected, and it was scary as fuck. His brother was gone. Yet there he was. Having an almost calm conversation with Levi "I... will you wake me if I fall asleep" "Do you want me to?" "I don't want to see Zeke" He didn't want the last memory of Zeke to be him being murdered. Not when it was the same for his mother. The two people who'd looked after him, both killed in front of his eyes while he'd been useless. He didn't want to see it again. He couldn't see it again "Ok" Ok? He got the feeling Levi wouldn't wake him. His chest already tightened with that knowledge. Picking up the book in his lap, Levi opened it to the beginning. The alpha starting to read as if he hadn't acted like a bad omega. Living with Zeke, his brother had told him all the ways he'd misbehaved. He'd shown him how to be a good omega again... he'd shown that bad side to Levi, so the fact he hadn't left confused him. As he'd guessed, he must have dozed off. Levi's smooth voice didn't falter once as he read. It'd almost been like a lullaby, lulling him into a false sense of security. His dream was full of Zeke. Zeke screaming at him to run, while Eren fought the hand around his ankle. He woke to find himself purring in an attempt to calm himself down, flinching as burnt when he realised Hanji hand her hand on his. He couldn't stomach her touch. He'd thought it just mental, until his stomach rebelled and he threw up weakly down his front. Immediately trying to clean it up, he didn't mean to fight. She was only doing what she always did, trying to help. But each time she hushed him, or brushed against his skin, he'd vomit again. Zeke had been late home. He hadn't been able to stop them... "Hanji, let me do it" "I've got this, Levi" "It's nothing personal, but touching him isn't ok" How did he know that? He couldn't remember telling Levi that... "He knows I'm not going to hurt him" "When did mental illness ever have the decency to make sense? I can smell his fear. We already had to change his doctor over to a female because he couldn't handle males in the room" They did? He couldn't remember this. Placing her hand on his forehead, Eren whimpered as his stomach clenched. Hanji wasn't like those men... she wouldn't do anything like that... he didn't want to fear her "Sweetheart. It's ok. I just wanted to check your temperature. You feel a little warm" Didn't they have those ear thermometer things for that? Removing her hand, she started gathering his soiled blankets up "Levi, there should be fresh blankets in the wardrobe beside you. These need to be washed" "S-sorry" He didn't know what else to say "It's ok, honey. We need to have a little talk, but I won't touch you, if you don't want to be touched" Eren shook his head slowly "You don't want to be touched?" "N-no" "Ok, honey. I understand" What did she understand? And why didn't he understand it too? Shivering as the blanket was pulled off, he looked to Levi "It's ok. She doesn't bite" "You're not funny" "I think I am" "Well you're wrong. Hand me those fresh blankets, then drop these ones down in the wash trolley. I need to talk to Eren in private" What? No. He had no idea why, and despite everything that had happened, his omega had decided Levi was the only one he could be near. It wasn't even something he could control.

Salt lick

Vital Signs, Pt9

Vital Signs Masterlist

Word Count: 2602 Tags: @to-pick-ourselves-up-7, @outside-the-government, @jimfromsales, @donnaintx​ (tags are open)

The day after my boards, SHIELD pulled me away for the surgery to my shoulder. I woke in the post-operative recovery room groggy and nauseated, but before I had a chance to say anything the nurse gave me something for the pain, and I drifted back to sleep. When I came to again, I thought someone was sitting beside me holding my hand, but I was too drowsy and drugged up to focus my gaze and figure out who it was. I chose instead to allow the pull of Morpheus to drag me back into unconsciousness.

“Good evening, Dr. Richmond. How are you feeling?” The nurse asked me the next time I opened my eyes. My shoulder was killing me.

“I’m having some pain.”

“I’ll give you some more morphine, and then we’re going to transfer you to the recovery unit.” She pushed the morphine through my IV, and I drifted off again. SHIELD’s surgical centre was amazing, I realized when I awoke the next morning. The nurses were quick to assess and manage pain, and shortly after breakfast, physio came in to start my exercises. I was up walking by late afternoon, and my pain was completely under control. I was looking forward to being discharged home. I returned to my room to rest after walking a few laps of the unit and saw flowers on my bedside table. I picked up the card to see who they were from, although I suspected I already knew.

Out of town for a few days – Hope you feel better soon, Steve

I wasn’t as excited to get home once I found out he wasn’t going to be around.

I was trying to balance my mail on the sling on my arm and close the mail slot and relock it when everything fluttered to the floor. I sighed and locked the box before bending down to pick up my mail. My recovery was taking longer than I’d anticipated, although it was going much better than I’d expected. I was regaining the strength in my shoulder, and I was no longer having any pain. I finally had to admit that the surgery was successful, I just hated being sidelined. I wasn’t able to go back to work yet, so spent the better part of every day haunting the mailbox, waiting for my board results.

I stooped over to pick up my mail, and saw that one of the letters was my results. I suddenly felt a little sick. I was scared to open it and find out what the result was. The exams had been difficult. I felt confident but they were hard work. It didn’t help that Steve had been held away on whatever assignment he was on either. I hadn’t had a single nightmare while I was in the hospital, but considering how quickly they started again once I’d been discharged, I figured there had probably been a great deal of sedation involved in my dreamless rest.

I must have been sitting on my living room floor, staring at the envelope in front of me, trying to work up the courage to open it for 2 hours when a soft knock came on my door.

“It’s open,” I called, without moving.

“Hey, I thought you might be hungry so I picked up steaks on my way ho- what are you doing, Lex?” Steve stopped short of stepping on the envelope. I looked up.

“I am starving.”

“Are those your results?” He asked.

“Are they big steaks? I feel like I could eat half a cow.” My focus had completely jumped from my marks to the bag of steak in Steve’s hand.

“Why haven’t you opened them yet?” He sat down across from me.

“Too nervous.”

“You have to open it eventually.”

“Can you?” I flicked the envelope toward him. He nodded and opened it. I could see him scanning the letter, no emotion on his face. He folded the letter back up and put it back in the envelope.

“Well?” I asked. He handed me the envelope.

“I think you need to look yourself.” He still betrayed no emotion. No smile, no frown. My stomach dropped and I pulled the letter out of the envelope and opened it slowly. A smile crept across my face.

“With distinction?” I shrieked. He leaned over and gingerly hugged me, trying to avoid my sling.

“Glad I bought steaks. Let’s celebrate.”

XXX

I returned to work only to empty my locker out. Once SHIELD had been apprised of my board results, I had been reassigned to the helicarrier clinic that I’d previously been a nurse at. I was sad to be leaving, surprisingly. Steve had, rather chivalrously, offered to help me carry my things back to the apartment, since I was still not supposed to be lifting heavy things. Erica and Jamie walked in while I was packing up.

“Hey, did you get your board results, Lexy?” Jamie asked. I nodded.

“Yep. I’ve been reassigned to my old post, but as the managing doc this time.”

“I guess all the extra time in the pit here paid off,” Erica laughed, and then saw Steve. She smiled broadly.

“Hey, Running Guy! How are you? We’ve never actually met. I’m Erica. I work with Lexy.”

“Lexy?” Steve raised an eyebrow at me. I shrugged.

“Steve, this is Erica and Jamie. They were both in my residency cohort here.” Steve leaned forward and shook both their hands.

“I’m glad you came back to get your things, Lexy. We’ve got an invite for you for the commencement party.” Jamie dug through his locker and handed it to me.

“Really?” I was surprised.

“You’re one of us now, even though you’re leaving,” he said. “It’s day after tomorrow – will you still be around?”

“Yeah, I don’t have to be at my new post until next Tuesday. I have a few follow up appointments from my surgery that I’ve got to get to.”

“So you’ll be there?” Erica demanded. I shrugged.

“Sure.”

“Bring your friend,” she ordered. Steve smiled. I finished pulling my things out of my locker and tossed them in the bag Steve was holding.

Steve knocked on my door before he came in. I was standing at the mirror, putting earrings on. He let out a low whistle.

“You look amazing.” I was wearing a black formal gown. It was fitted through the bodice but all flowy layers of organza in the skirt. And a killer pair of black heels. My hair was loose and curled. I actually did look amazing. I turned to thank him and lost my breath.

“You clean up good, soldier.” He was in a black suit that was tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders. He smiled.

“It was a toss up between this and jeans,” he teased. I couldn’t help myself, I had to touch him. I smoothed the lapels of his jacket, and fixed his pocket square. He helped me adjust my sling before we hailed a taxi.

The party was much more crowded than I’d expected. It seemed as though every doctor at the hospital was there, as well as the residency cohort, and their families. I was once again very happy to have been humbled by Jamie’s reproach those few weeks ago in the locker room, as I felt not only like I deserved to be there, but that I also belonged there with my colleagues. The chief attending approached.

“I understand congratulations are in order, Dr. Richmond. Passing with distinction is no mean feat. To have done so after the break you took is even more commendable.” He shook my hand.

“Thank you, Dr. Jameson. I credit this program entirely. The attendings were fantastic, and the cohort was very supportive. You run an awesome program. Thank you for making the space for me.”

“I know you are headed on to more exciting things, but I do hope that you will remember us, should you need a place in the future. Now, introduce me,” he turned to Steve, “Are you Alexandra’s husband?” Steve had just taken a swallow of his drink and promptly choked. I laughed and rubbed his back.

“No, Dr. Jameson, this is Captain Steve Rogers. He and I work together,” I explained.

“I’m sorry, son. You look so at ease with one another. I assumed,” Dr. Jameson laughed. Steve recovered and shook Dr. Jameson’s hand when he offered it.

“No apology needed, sir. Lex and I are close friends.” The admission warmed my heart. Dr. Jameson excused himself to go speak to another colleague. We slowly made our way around the party so I could make my goodbyes to my cohort, and wound up near the dance floor. Steve smiled as the band played a slow song that we both instantly recognized. It was the Glenn Miller song he’d been humming the first night he made dinner for me.

“Would you like to dance?” I asked. He blushed.

“I never learned how,” he admitted. I pointed to the other couples.

“Look at them. They never did either,” I laughed. He raised an eyebrow and led me out onto the dance floor. I settled into his arms and as he confidently took the lead realized that not learning to dance mean something different in the 40s than it did now. His hand was strong against my back.

“Thank you for inviting me tonight, Lex. Or should I call you Lexy? Your classmates all seem to,” he teased. I rolled my eyes.

“I appreciate you coming with me,” I carefully ignored the inquiry about my name. We passed the rest of the song in silence. My shoulder was starting to ache and Steve took that as the cue to collect our coats and hail a cab. He walked me to my door and stopped.

“You’re off to your new post tomorrow?” He asked.

“I am.”

“I am going to miss our runs.” He looked at his feet before looking me in the eye. His eyes were impossibly blue. And sad.

“I’m going to miss you. Is it bad that I hope something goes horribly wrong so that you are needed on the helicarrier really soon?” I laughed weakly. He smiled.

“Maybe a little bad. Are you actually on duty tomorrow?”

“No, it’s a travel day.” All I was going to be required to do was make it to the helicopter that would take me to the helicarrier and check into my bunk.

“I have popcorn,” he stated.

“Help me unzip and I’ll get changed and meet you upstairs in 20 minutes,” I laughed. He stepped inside my apartment and helped me out of my coat. He slipped my sling over my head and then turned me around and unzipped the top of my dress for me before heading up to his place. I put my pajamas on, brushed my hair, washed my face and unpacked my slippers.

His apartment already smelled like popcorn by the time I got up there. He was flopped out on the couch with a bowl in his lap in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a SHIELD t-shirt. He patted the spot beside him on the couch, and slung his arm around my shoulder when I tucked in beside him.

“I upgraded the sound system a few days ago, so I thought we should test drive it before you go.” He pointed the remote at the screen and the opening credits of Top Gun flashed on the screen. I laughed and grabbed a handful of popcorn.

I was so used to sleeping at Steve’s that it came as no surprise that when I awoke in the morning, we were tangled up together on the couch still. The TV had put itself to sleep at some point, and the DVD symbol was bouncing around the screen. I disentangled myself from Steve and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. His head popped up a few minutes later.

“How soon do you need to head out to your flight?” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. I looked at the clock on the microwave.

“About two hours.” I poured us both cups and brought them to the couch. We sat in silence for a few minutes. Steve suddenly stood, taking me off guard.

“I’m going for a shower. I’ll come with you to the helipad,” he decided and headed to the bathroom. I nipped down to my apartment to shower and dress. He was still in the shower when I got back up, so I thought I would surprise him with breakfast.

“Something smells amazing.” He wandered out of the bathroom with the skimpiest towel I’ve ever seen wrapped around his hips. He looked like a god. A wet, drippy, water beading across his chest like a trashy romance novel god. I stopped dead and took it in, in a highly unprofessional manner. When I realized I was staring, I turned back to the frying pan and blushed.

“Uh, could you go put some clothes on?” I asked, without turning back to face him again. He laughed.

“Weren’t we at a party last night celebrating you becoming a full-fledged doctor?” He teased.

“We’ve covered that you’re really pretty before, Steve. Please put some clothes on.”

“You may have mentioned it once or twice,” he laughed and from the corner of my eye, I could see he’d made no move to go get dressed. In fact, he was walking closer to me.

“It’s just a little awkward to see you naked.”

“This is my last chance to torment you for a while, Lex. Let me have it.” He wrapped his arms around me and rested his head on my shoulder. While still only wearing a towel. I turned in his arms.

“Steve, you are my best friend. But if you don’t put on some clothes, right fucking now, I will not be responsible for what happens next.” I kept my voice calm and steady, and kept my eyes on his. He quirked an eyebrow and made no move to let go of me. I bit my cheek.

“Really?” He dared me. He actually dared me. I put my hands on either side of his face and brought it down to mine and planted a chaste kiss right on his mouth. His arms dropped from around me, and he carefully pushed me away, and just stared at me. My hand dropped to my mouth and I cringed. He shook his head, took my hand in his and leaned back in to kiss me. It was tentative, and gentle, and the minute I responded just so so much more. He pushed me against the counter and I wrapped my good arm around the back of his neck and for about thirty seconds I forgot that I was leaving and he was staying and that he was my closest friend and that I didn’t want that destroyed and I just gave in to all the pent-up frustration and lust I’d been feeling since I first met him. And it was the most incredible kiss I’d ever had. And then the fog in my brain cleared and I panicked and pushed him away.

“Oh God, Steve, I am so sorry!” I cried and ran out of his apartment. I flew through my own apartment, got dressed, and threw the last of my things into the duffel I was taking with me. I ran out into the street and jumped into the first cab I saw. I gave the cabbie the address and burst into tears. I had ruined everything.

Lena Luthor/you fic part 7

“Lena, maybe you should come inside?  I mean…Kara’s probably going to breeze right by us when she gets here,” Winn suggests awkwardly.  He’s never been great with the spectrum of female emotions and Lena had always intimidated him to begin with.  

“Fine,” the heiress sighs.  She peels her gaze away from the night sky and allows Winn to lead her through the emergency room entrance.  Her pulse is racing and can bring herself to sit even once they’re inside, leaving Winn to watch her pace the lobby.  Her footsteps don’t pause until a flash of blue and red shoots through the doors and stops in front of the nurses’ station desk.

“I need a doctor!”

Time slows for Lena the moment her eyes lock on your limp form in Kara’s arms.  The symbol on her chest is streaked with your blood and Winn reaches out too late to catch Lena from bolting in your direction.

“Y/N!”

The way your name leaves her lips is heart-wrenching and the ER seems to spring to life around her.  Kara turns away from Lena’s direction, not wanting her to have to see the way you’re choking for air and the way your features have been distorted by bruises and swelling.  The hero’s cape flutters behind her as she walks to meet an approaching team of nurses and doctors.  Winn finally catches up to Lena just as they lay your body onto a gurney and he wraps his arms around her torso to stop her from getting any closer.  Kara turns and feels her eyes water at the desperation on Lena’s face.  

“Lena—“ Winn’s voice cuts off as the nearly hysterical woman rips out of his grip and tries to make it around Kara as well.  

“Let them help her,” the blonde murmurs, pulling her friend into a tight embrace.  “It’s alright, Lena.  We found her.”

“I’ve got her,” Winn takes Lena by the arm and nods at Kara, knowing she needs to change, and leads her to a chair in the waiting room.  In less than a minute, Kara returns in a sweater and glasses; nodding her thanks at Winn as they switch places.  

“Thank you, Winn,” Kara whispers.  She reaches forward and squeezes the young man’s hand earnestly.  

“Thank you,” Lena repeats after her; voice thick with emotion.  It takes every bit of her self-restraint not to barrel through the double doors she had watched them wheel your gurney through.  Winn nods at her sympathetically before exiting the hospital and leaving the two women alone.

“C-can you hear what they’re doing?  I mean…you’ll hear if she…” Lena can’t bring herself to say it, but Kara understands nonetheless.  She can’t imagine how painful it is for her to be so close and still not know what’s going on.

“I’ll hear,” she assures her.  “Lena, why don’t you try to sleep?  They’re…they’re taking her into surgery soon.  It’ll be hours before we know anything.”

“Okay,” Lena agrees shakily.  “But, you’ll wake me?”

“I promise,” says Kara.  Much to her relief, Lena rests her head back against the wall behind them and allows her eyes to flutter shut after a few seconds; finally succumbing to the weight of the past five days.

————————————————————————————————

It was well past midnight before anyone came to the waiting room calling your last name.  Kara hadn’t responded initially, having not known it and not heard you croak it out to one of the nurses during the chaos of your intake.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” the doctor had tried finally.  Lena’s eyes flashed open before Kara could even wake her and she blinked away the momentary confusion that always accompanies waking up in a foreign environment.

“Is she alright?” Lena sat up in her chair and gripped the arm rests; scared to hear what the man had to say.

“Are you family members of Ms. Y/L/N?”

“She doesn’t have any,” Kara clarified before Lena could rip his head off and gave him a pleading look.  

“Hmm,” he grunted and glanced down at the chart in his hands.  “Ms. Y/L/N has suffered an immense amount of physical trauma.  Her CT’s indicated some internal bleeding, so she was taken to the operating room upstairs and we found several damaged arteries in her abdomen which we were able to take care of.  There was also a significant contusion on the back of her skull, but her neurological reflexes seem to be normal, so we’re not expecting any lasting brain damage.  As for orthopedic issues; we did a full body x-ray after surgery and she has a stable fracture on her left tibia and severe bruising on the left side of her ribcage, which means she could have some trouble with pain during breathing.  There was also a considerable stab wound near her heart, but the blade of the knife only struck a minor artery so we were able to stitch it closed and replace the blood loss with transfusions.”  The man looked up from his papers and paused.

“So, she’ll be okay?” Lena ventured.  It didn’t feel safe to assume you were going to survive.  

“We’d like to keep her for a few days, but yes, all of Ms. Y/L/N’s injuries should heal with time.  She was also dehydrated and her blood work shows a low level of major nutrients, so we’ll be treating that intravenously.

“Can she see her?” Kara put a hand on Lena’s back as the other woman struggled to comprehend the fact that you were going to be okay.  You had survived.

“She’s still under sedation from surgery, but yes, one of you can sit with her,” the doctor replied reluctantly.  Normally he wouldn’t allow visitors so soon after surgery, but it was apparent that whatever had happened to you was not under normal circumstances.  He also wasn’t about to say no to the woman he recognized from television as a Luthor.

“Go up,” Kara offered her friend a tired smile and got to her feet.  “I’ll stop by tomorrow, alright?”

“Thank you,” Lena threw her arms around Kara unabashedly and hugged her tightly—a rare action for her.  “I’ll never be able to repay you, Kara.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied warmly.  Kara turned and thanked the doctor before heading out the emergency room doors, leaving Lena to follow him to the elevators.  Her hands began to tremble on the ride up to the ICU and she did her best to try to mentally prepare herself to see you.  She knew it would be bad, but nothing she told herself stopped the air from rushing out of her lungs the second she entered your room.

“She should wake up within the hour,” the doctor informed her quietly before leaving Lena alone with your sleeping form.

It was bad.  So bad, Lena didn’t think she would have recognized the woman laying in the bed if she hadn’t known it was you.  She edged hesitantly to the chair at your bedside as tears welled in her eyes.  

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured.  One of your hands rested above the thin hospital blankets and Lena took it in her own as lightly as she could.  Your skin was cold against hers and she studied the deep abrasions that wrapped around and around your wrist.  Tears spilled down Lena’s face and her voice trembled as she whispered another apology.  

It seemed that since she had finally allowed herself to break down days ago, it became easier and easier to get completely overwhelmed by her emotions; like a dam had broken and now refused to be patched up.  Lena muffled a sob into the edge of the bed’s mattress, still clinging to your hand, and succumbed to the crushing weight of not knowing whether or not she’d ever touch you again lifting.  

———————————————————————————

Lena stays in the same position even after her breathing steadies and the last of her tears fall; with her head resting beside your hand and her eyes clenched shut.  She doesn’t see how your eyes open and then squint against the fluorescent light above the bed.  She doesn’t see the way they scan the hospital room slowly and then finally come to rest on her still form beside you.  Her head only lifts at the sound of her name; raspy and weak on your tongue.

“Y/N?” she whispers.  You realize that your hand is in hers and squeeze as hard as you can.  There’s a sudden, odd pressure on your chest and your vision blurs from the tears that well at the sight of her.  It wasn’t something you thought you’d see again.  You try to sit up, but your entire body seems to protest and your head spins from the cocktail of drugs in your system.

“It’s okay—“ Lena’s voice is enough to get you to lay back and you draw in a painful breath, “—I-I’m here.  Do you want me to get a nurse or someone?”

“No,” you shake your head, “please stay.”

“Okay,” she replies.  There’s a beat of silence, and then she speaks again.  “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“Don’t, please.  Lena, can you just…can you just lay with me?”

The words come out in a tone that makes you feel like you’re begging, but your pride isn’t on your mind.  You just want to rest.  With her.  Despite the waves of pain that follow the small series of movements, you move over on the mattress and try to hide the labored breaths that follow as Lena carefully climbs in next to you.

“Are you alright?” she asks; afraid that even brushing up against you is going to somehow further the damage.

“Yeah,” you reply.  It’s getting difficult to even keep you eyes open at this point, and you rest your head against her shoulder; ignoring the pressure it puts on your bruises.  The smell of Lena’s perfume and the warmth from her body is enough to put you at ease again and the pain wracking your nervous system fades to dull throbs.  You’re nearly asleep when her hand finds yours again.

——————————————————————————————

You wake up with a start around 4 am, short of breath and in a shocking amount of pain.

“Y/N?  Are you alright?”

Lena’s voice seems to center you and you turn enough to lock eyes with her.  She’s here.  You aren’t there anymore.  You’re safe.

“Here,” she places something in your hand and you quickly press the remote once you realize that it’s attached to your IV.  Almost immediately, your heartbeat seems to return to normal and your pain fades slightly.  Lena watches some of the tension in your body melt away and your head falls back onto her shoulder.  

“You’re still here,” you note after the painkillers swim to your head.  

“Of course,” Lena replies quietly.  

“You’ll stay?”

“Yes,” she takes the remote from you and intertwines her fingers with yours once again.  “Go back to sleep.  I promise, I’ll be here.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” you reply.  You don’t have the nerve to say that it’s because you’re scared that if you close your eyes, you’ll be back in that room with her mother when you open them again.  “How did you find me?”

“You need to rest, Y/N.  I’ll tell you everything in the morning, I promise.”

Lena rubs her thumb across the back of your hand and kisses the top of your head as lightly as she can.

“I didn’t think I would see you again,” you ignore her request and tilt your chin up to look at her.  Her face is inches from yours and you can see the toll this has taken on her.  It makes your stomach churn.

“I know you must have been so scared, but it’s over now, Y/N,” Lena’s voice is earnest and quiet in the dark hospital room and you will yourself to believe her words.  

It’s over.  I’m safe.  It’s over.  I’m safe.

You repeat the mantra over and over in your mind until the anxiety in your veins lessens and you let your eyes shut once again.

Week 1, Day 1, Treatment 1

I’m back home, after a day at the hospital. If things continue at the current rate, well, I’ll probably be dead in the near-future (median life-expectancy of GBM patients is 14 months), but at least I’ll make a dent in the reading list.

I began my day with a potentially dangerous, experimental drug. I’m going to focus on the positive and think that this is a step closer to being Hunter S. Thompson, and try to forget the fact that the nurse had to put on protective laboratory gear before handling something that she then injected into my veins. Also, because I’d been warned about keeping super-hydrated throughout this process (and because I have hard-to-find veins), I’d been chugging Gatorade since I rolled out of bed, so hooking me up to an IV  to hydrate me was just gilding the lily. Or over-filling the water balloon, to be more accurate. Anyway, apart from spending a disturbing amount of time, uh, let’s say, “discarding” all that excess fluid, there aren’t too many side-effects worth reporting (we’ll get to that shortly). Admittedly, spending about ten minutes peeing after 18 hours being pumped full of an unknown substance is disturbing, but if that’s the worst I suffer today, I’ll count it as a victory. However, the day is not over, and I have not taken my bed-time chemo drugs, and, as Herodotus wrote, “Judge no man fortunate until he is dead.”

However, as far as side-effects, I’m not too worried about vomiting any more. The nameless anti-nausea drug is amazingly effective; like, I could easily see myself becoming addicted to this stuff. Not because there’s any sort of fun, psychedelic effect, but because I hate puking, and this medication is so effective that I think I could wolf down a rotting raccoon carcass without any side effects (other than contracting rabies, I mean). Obviously, I’ll be putting that to the test over the coming weeks, but life would seem to have improved significantly in that regard (and, I’ve been told the chemo side-effects should be further lessened if I continue my extreme hydration-regimen).

I am, however, experiencing some side-effects; I feel bad, but not horrible. Specifically, my muscles feel sore and cramp-y, which, while unpleasant, isn’t the worst I was fearing. And, according my mad scientist oncologist (specifically, my Southern California Mad Scientist Oncologist), side-effects are indicative that the miracle drug is working well. And, based on how my muscles feel, it’s working. The major complaint, apart from lethargy, is, I shit you not, hallucinations. So, I plan to spend tomorrow lying on the couch, being tormented by my subconscious. This is different from normal because now there will be a visual component, and I’ll have a note from my doctor (also, I’ll eventually have to pry myself off the couch and get irradiated). Also, the worstest side-effects aren’t predicted to show up until week 2 or week 3; bad news is, they don’t think I’ll start recovering until week 10. Worse news - much, much worse news - is, after the six-ish weeks of radiation (for those of you keeping count, I have 30 radiation appointments, but since they don’t work on weekends, that works out to six weeks; and chemo every single day throughout), assuming that’s successful, I’ll get on a chemotherapy rotation, which means I’ll get three weeks off, and one week of chemo, for a whole year. FOR. ONE. WHOLE. YEAR. Which means, at my current life expectancy, I’ll be on some sort of unpleasant drugs for the rest of my life. Still, as I’m very aware, the phrase, “we’re extending treatment” is vastly preferable to the phrase, “we’re stopping treatment because it’s not working.” Also, if I do lose any hair, the clinicians think it’ll be in a very small, specific spot. Still, adding even another unpleasant side-effect seems excessively cruel.

And, I got some very reassuring signs today regarding my physicians. I never had any reason to doubt their competence, but, I have survived three tumors (so far) for fifteen years (the breakdown is; I got tumor #1 removed fifteen years ago, since then, I’ve had two more tumors), but it’s always good to have that confidence affirmed. Before I get there, a brief restatement to all future cancer patients (and humans in general); I’ve said it before, the crucial difference between a fatal disease and a dangerous disease is your medical team. Do not screw around with this, your life will depend upon it; do some research (Yelp does not count), and go straight to the best (the actual best, not the “Trump Steak” best). We now continue with the anecdote currently in progress.

During one of my many, many administrative/clerical intake interviews/vital signs monitoring sessions, an aide asked who my oncologists were, and I said, “Drs. X and Y,” and she, “Oh, they’re the best.” Now, it’s always possible - especially since we have a commander-in-chief who is hell-bent on destroying superlatives - that she was exaggerating, or just saying it because they bought her coffee or something, but, I know from fifteen years on the receiving end of modern medicine, that the nurses and administrative staff are usually where the buck stops, and they know a lot more than they let on, so their endorsements are usually reliable. Also, immediately prior to my serum injection, I was visited by Research Coordinator (and, to preserve everyone’s anonymity, I’m going to be extremely vague), who assured me that they only test drugs that are extremely promising. Which seemed like a regurgitation of Bioethics 101, until he also admitted that my oncology team will occasionally accept money to test drugs they know won’t work, then weasel out of that commitment through various medicolegal means and just keep the money. That might be some sort of standard, cancer research hack, but it’s still brilliant. And, even if they weren’t acting within the bounds of the law, there’s not a jury that would ever convict them.

As far as the radiation treatment, it went mostly-fine. To dwell on the negative (or to forewarn all future brain cancer patients), the weird plastic-mask thing is the most disturbingly claustrophobic thing I’ve ever encountered. I thought it was freaked out about it when they were fitting me for it, and it felt like some sort of weird fetish. Now, it feels like being smothered. The good news is, if you can resist the impulse to panic, and just remember to breathe, it’s not too bad after the initial shock (hopefully, that’s applicable to all my experiences over the next year). So, if you have claustrophobia or a fear of being smothered (a greater-than-average fear of being smothered, let us say), I’d definitely recommend asking about sedation beforehand. Hell, I’d ask about sedation the minute you get a cancer diagnosis, but especially look into it if you have claustrophobia and you’re getting radiation treatment and/or MRIs.

Anyway...

WEIGHT: about 210 lb (95-ish kilos). There were some fluctuations throughout the day (I got weighed several times throughout the day) between 209 lb to 217 lb, but that’s explained by both the incredible amount of fluids I’ve consumed throughout the day and whether I remembered to remove my shoes. CONCENTRATION: Pretty good; I made some decent headway in the Wodehouse novel I’m reading, even while being pumped full of saline and super-soldier serum (which is really saying something, because I really needed to use the restroom during that whole process). MEMORY: Not bad. I’m still missing or forgetting occasional stuff, which is a little upsetting, but I can still quote pertinent studies I read a few years ago. APPETITE: Decreased, but I’m still eating. I’ve also been drinking way too much water and/or Gatorade, and I started the day with a large, bacon-egg sandwich (heart disease be damned), and all that would chip away at the appetite even before factoring stress and experimental drugs in. ACTIVITY LEVEL: Normal. Normal-ish. I’m feeling sluggish now, at 9 pm, after a long day spent in waiting rooms, so it’s not like I turned down the opportunity to go jogging because I was feeling poorly (spoilers: I only ever run when being chased, or when I’m late for a plane). SLEEP QUALITY: Pretty good, for me. I got eight-ish hours of sleep last night, which is great for someone about to start cancer treatments, but I still have a big sleep debt. COORDINATION/DEXTERITY: Not bad, but I’m very slightly wobbly when finishing tasks/movements that require coordination. Starting them and the middle, I’m fine with, for some reason. PHYSICAL: Very much the same as yesterday, which is good. No new headaches or body-based symptoms, and the eternal suture-headache is quite tolerable. SIDE EFFECTS: The muscles in my upper body hurt. A lot. But it’s no worse than if I’d gone to the gym with someone named “Biff,” so I suppose I shouldn’t gripe too much, but it still hurts. And I can’t take aspirin, because I’m already at risk for bleeding thanks to the damned chemo drugs (I guess that’s my pain level - “Needs aspirin and will complain bitterly if deprived, but will survive without”). I’m peeing a lot - an awful lot - but I’m also keeping extremely hydrated, so I’m not sure that’s a side-effect. I feel oddly alert - like I’ve had half an espresso - but my body isn’t moving fast enough to keep up with my mind. It might seem excessively negative to keep track like this, but I actually intend to take careful notes in this area and send them all to my researchers at the end of all this.

As I delve a little into what happened yesterday during my second half infusion of Ocrevus, I want to be very clear that “weakness” is not at all meant to be a taken as derogatory, or a stand-in for failure.  I do not intend “weakness” to bring up feelings of inadequacy or defeat.

Weakness, in this piece, means vulnerability, means softness, means disarmed – and the context of these words are meant to evoke in us the power of our humanness and to speak to the testament that though we are all fragile, that fragility bonds us together and opens up the pathways for empathy.

As I wrote about in my last piece, my decision to start Ocrevus was not an easy one and the long-term side effects were scary and the short-term ones turned out to be terrible.  This all comes with the territory of long-term disease management and medications.  So I won’t re-hash that and I’ll start with yesterday morning.

(Full disclosure, as I’m writing this, I’m currently basking in the warmth of 7.5 mg of Vicodin, 50 mgs of Benadryl, plus the haziness of sheer exhaustion.  Also, my skin is burning at a level best described as “infuriatingly distracting” and I have no feeling in either of my legs, so every once in awhile I’m taken out of writing mode to try to figure out how my laptop is floating in front of me because I can’t see the lump of legs beneath the blanket and so the whole “out of sight, out of mind” comes in to play.)

Knowing that we would have to leave for Duke at 5:30 am on Tuesday morning, I went to bed at 7 pm Monday night; not surprisingly, I woke up at 1:45 am, anxious and pissed.  But I got dressed, combed my hair and took a “Let’s Do This” selfie in an attempt to get myself pumped up.  I was thinking I looked pretty good for 2:30 am, especially since I was fighting a panic attack and couldn’t take anything for it (so there would be no interactions with the pre-medication they give you at the infusion center).

We headed out right on time, and despite the Tropical Cyclone warnings, there was only a light rain falling.  Thommy and I took the obligatory “WE’RE ON A ROAD TRIP!” photo at the first red light we came to, and then he took an adorable shot of the two of us once I inevitably passed out in the passenger’s seat.

Durham rush hour traffic was reliably crazy, so we rolled up to Duke Hospital with 15 minutes to park and check-in.  While I nervously waited for them to call my name I couldn’t help but notice the obnoxiously optimistic vending machine taunting me.  Similarly to adding the words “in bed” to the ending of fortune cookies, I sometimes like to add the words “my ass” to the end of inspirational quotes.  In case the image is too small for you to read, let me assist you in recreating what I read in my head yesterday morning as I waited for the IV toxicity:

“The human spirit is stronger than anything that can happen to it … my ass.”

Despite my obsession with quotes and my belief in their ability to empower and embolden us, sometimes the only thing that pulls me along in life is sardonic humor. Apologies to C.C. Scott.

Anyway, the appointment started out great – especially the first three things.  For starters, the scale was broken!! After just getting weighed in at a doctor’s appointment on Monday (yes, I truly do spend most of my life at doctor’s appointments), I was really not looking forward to it on Tuesday.  Most people dislike getting weighed in on those hideous contraptions anyway, but for someone with anorexia it’s an even harder proposition. Sometimes I do the weigh-in backwards, but most times my sadistic side takes over and I can’t avert my eyes.  I’m going to be writing a special post about my upcoming 10 year anniversary from Renfrew and one of the things I’ll be talking about is some ways people with eating disorders engage differently than regular folks with seemingly benign tasks.  For example, on the day before a scheduled weigh-in, I usually dehydrate myself and often times use a diuretic or laxative (despite the fact that I am chronically dehydrated and have diarrhea anywhere between 5-15 times a day).  I also wear as few items of clothing as possible.  This is much easier to accomplish in the South, but regardless of the fact that I am always cold, I usually wear shorts and flip flops to appointments so I can take them off before stepping on the scale.  At the infusion center, none of these preemptive steps are possible because those places are kept at what seems to be “just-below-freezing”, so I’m forced to wear jeans and shoes.  I digress: I didn’t have to get weighed in.

The second good thing was finding out that they try to keep you with the same infusion nurse for sake of continuity of care.  I loved my nurse the first time and I was ecstatic to be back under her care.  The last positive to happen in quick succession was the fact that she was able to get the IV in on the first try.  Last time, it took 3 pokes (plus the delay of waiting for the “IV Team” to show up).  Then, things started to take a turn for the worse.

Despite assurances last time that were going to double ALL my meds to start (including the Benadryl, which is a god-send during these infusions because it either knocks you out or keeps you in a “I Don’t Give a Fuck” haze), I was informed that only the Pepcid and the steroids would be doubled.  That was the first time I wanted to cry in the infusion chair.  I held it in.  I dug in hard, gritted my teeth, focused my energy and willed myself to stay ahead of the thundering rumble of disappointment I could hear building up in the background.  Thommy must have taken a picture at this moment, which I didn’t see until later, but perfectly captured the internal pep-talk.

And then he asked for a picture, grinning.  I tried to smile back.

  Then, as my nurse administered the normal dose of Benadryl, none of the twilight-like sedation that had blissfully overcome me during the first infusion took hold.  It might as well have been saline.  Again, the tears swelled up from my gut to the edges of my eyes – but I blinked them back down and just let the crashing wave of disappointment and frustration wash over me.  All my senses and emotions were so heightened that it felt more like drowning than washing, but I didn’t want to give up on the day so early in the process.

The day marched on.  Thommy did some work and I mostly stared ahead at the wall, or occasionally at my phone, but mostly I just looked at the IV.  A little blood had started to flow back into the tubing, a hazy mixture of red blood and opaque medicine creating a pink swirl in the line.  I don’t know why it was mesmerizing.  Something about blood leaving my body was calming; it was just the smallest amount, really, but it was beautiful.  It didn’t even scare me that I wished it was coming faster, or that the tubing wasn’t there, or that the earlier moments of “washing disappointment” turned to a wistful hope that the droplets of blood would turn to tiny streams, then currents.  Visions of crimson liquid on pale skin lulled me.  It wasn’t the meds but this vision that acted like the Klonopin I hadn’t been able to take earlier, and my eyes closed.  Thommy must have looked up from his laptop shortly after this and captured with his phone what must have seemed to him like a momentary respite from the struggle and a rare moment of calm.  It was.  But for all the wrong reasons.

***

As we hit the mark in time where I had experienced a reaction during the first infusion, I was ecstatic to realize I wasn’t having one this time.  I stubbornly decided (as one does when they think they can control everything around them) that I was NOT going to have a reaction this time and we were going to get out of there on time, beat the Durham rush hour and be back home after “only” 12 hours.  It was not to be.  30 minutes later when they once again bumped up the infusion rate, I started to get the faintest tingle around my ears and the outline of my face.  Then a little on my neck. I tried not to think about it; I certainly tried not to touch it.  I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself while surrounded my hawk-eye nurses and an even more attentive husband, who for reasons that entirely escape me, seems to actually like looking at my face.  I again tried to convince myself the increasingly hard to ignore burning was simply a matter of psychosomatic manifestation.  No allergic reaction to see here.  Maybe if I pretend to sleep, no one will look at me.

Then I coughed.  Just once.  But Thommy looked up.  I shook my head nonchalantly: “I’m fine, just a tickle, it’s fine.”

Then another cough, deeper this time: “I’m fine,” I laughed, “seriously, go back to work.” Then 3 more in quick succession, harder and rumbling, ones that forced my body upwards in the chair.

Fuck.  Me.

After 2 minutes of “Should We Get the Nurse” ping-pong, he poked is head above the nursing station.  I could hear the mumbling and I shot Thommy the coldest death stare I could muster and like a mother scolding an insubordinate child, I mouthed “SIT. DOWN.”

“Never mind, she’s ok.” Thommy said with a sheepish chuckle.  It was his turn to try to laugh it off.  But it was too late and here she came, arms crossed, smiling.  It wasn’t my nurse (she was on lunch), but one that had remembered me from last time and had come over to say hi when we first got there.  “Good to see you again,” she had said.  She was young and very pretty.   It’s strange, but even after just two visits, they seem like a family to me.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I laughed, waving my hand in an attempt to shoo off the inevitable.  I try to act like the smartest person in the room when in medical settings, like it simultaneously makes everyone up their own game and also allows me the upper-hand.  I do it because pretending I’m in control is the only way I’ve found to survive all this shit.

I don’t remember exactly who said what, but among the three of us, words like “itching”, “just a little irritation”, “cough”, and “I really am fine,” got tossed around.  No dice.  In quick succession, 3 nurses and the PA who oversees the floor and is probably the sweetest person I’ve ever met in a medical office were standing and sitting around me.  Then I started to fucking cry.  Not sobbing, not hysterically, but a stifled stream of tears finally made their way out of my eyes and down my already red and itching face.  The nurses and Thommy tried to console me, thinking what, I’m not sure.  The darker part of my nature thought maybe they believed I was weak – easily rattled – being a brat.

I doubt anyone actually thought that but those were the assumptions pounding against my skull as I tried to explain that I was only crying because I didn’t want to stop the infusion, I just wanted to get through it like (seemingly) everyone else did and go HOME. I wanted them to understand that my body does not know any other mode than “self-sabotage.” It is a betrayer.  It lies and it breaks and it defies logic.  I wanted them to ignore what they were seeing, go against all ethical and practical guides of medicine and just let me have my reaction in peace and get the fuck out of there.  As I explained that, minus the expletives, the PA sat down next to me and placed her hand on my knee that was huddled up next to me as I did my best to place myself in the fetal position in the chair.  Her eyes were the warmest shade of brown, and empathy and sympathy shot out of them like laser beams set to a better frequency than mine.  Excitedly she said, “we won’t stop like last time!! No, no…” she comforted, “we will just stop the drip while we give you more Benadryl, more Pepcid and some Allegra, and then I promise you we’ll start right back up.”  There were some hesitant, doubting looks on the faces of the nurses surrounding her.  The PA must have noticed that too because she added – “I’ll start it back up myself if I have too.”  I agreed, but kept crying.

They all started shuffling around doing what had to be done and within a few minutes, my own nurse was back.  They explained to her what had happened.  They tried to explain why I was upset.  I started to defend myself, but she stopped me.

“Of course you’re crying.  You’re tough and happy for as long as you can and you do what you have to do and then all it ever takes is one final thing, the straw that breaks the camels back, to put you over.  It’s not pain, you can handle that; it’s just frustration at one more thing not working out the way it should and you just have enough.  You’re ok.”

I cried harder.  She actually fucking got it.  I’ve known her for a total of maybe 18 hours in my life and she completely understood the secret language of my tears in that moment.

They infused more meds and I watched the clock tick.  And then, when my time was up, and every nurse was with another patient, the PA (who works in administration and oversees the floor, and who was wearing high heels, a skirt and a blouse, but who had promised me that this little setback wouldn’t get me off track to go home on time), found gloves and started my drip back up herself.

The state of medical care of this country is currently broken.  I know this because I am a professional patient.  But the level of care I’ve received at my infusion center, and especially at the hands of this PA at that moment, healed so many fractures for me.

I still had well over an hour to go when my nurse left for the day.  She came over to say goodbye and that she’d see me in 6 months.  She said a few things, all so genuinely sweet that I wanted to cry again.  Then she said “it was truly a pleasure being with you today.”  I could only nod.  When she left, Thommy turned and said, “she loves you.”

“Yeah,” I said, thinking about all the times doctors and nurses would fawn over Memere, even as she experienced the worst that hospitals have to offer.  “I learned that from Memere.”

***

In my ongoing commitment to showing how “real” complicated and ongoing illness and disability can be, I allowed Thommy to post a picture he took of me crying to Facebook.  We try to document as much of our lives as possible, and while most people who know me know that I’m incredibly open and honest about what all the colors of life look like, there are lines I try to draw.  I’m struggling with that right now as I’m drafting my Renfrew piece, because despite the trigger warnings and the explicit language I’ll use to shy away people who shouldn’t be looking at it, I know if they’re anything like me they’ll be compelled to do so anyway, and so I haven’t decided if I’ll use pictures to help illustrate what my personal weight and health struggles have looked like over the last 18 or so years.

When we finally got home last night, I kept looking at that picture.  I really had to fight the urge to take it down.  I still think displaying vulnerability, depression, anxiety and self-harm are ways that help me fight against them.  I know not everybody feels that way and I do worry maybe it’s too triggering for people.  And maybe I’m delusional, but I do feel that if someone is battling their own demons in secrecy, and maybe feels like no one else understands, that they might see one of my pictures or posts and realize that weakness does not have to equal defeat or inadequacy or failure.  Sometimes – hell, most times – weakness is permission to feel vulnerable, hurt or broken while simultaneously seeing the strength that all those feelings require.  It is permission to be human, and to let others know that not everything they see or read from people they consider “strong” is the whole story.  Strength requires too much energy sometimes; it needs its’ counterparts to be whole.  When someone tells me I’m strong, I want them to know that, while it’s often misquoted and not used in accordance with the original source material from “A Farewell to Arms”: we are all broken, that’s how the light get’s in.

So today, as I sit here, I am bloated from the steroids and terrified about how much worse it’s going to get in the coming weeks. I am in incredible amounts of pain radiating from all over, and both legs are numb.  I am starving, but I won’t eat.  My face is broken out in hives (as are my neck, chest and shoulders), and I am dizzy and nauseous from all the medicines.  I am worried about money because our car just needed $1,100 worth of repairs.  I am feeling like a horrible friend and daughter because there are things I’m supposed to be doing for my friends and family that I just can’t.  I feel like the “World’s Worst Wife” (a title I bestow on myself often) because Thommy is stressed and anxious and I can’t be as attentive or patient as I should be.

I am feeling my humanness today: hard.  I am still crying.  But I’m urged to remind you that while it’s not necessarily fair to feel this way, we are okay.  And if you need to reach out, reach out.  And if you want to share your struggles with social media but worry people might think you’re being “dramatic,” tell that voice to shut up and share what you want.  You have no idea who it might help.  Or how it might help you.

What’s the point of being strong if you can’t define strength on your own terms?

What’s the point of struggling in silence because you’re worried about what other’s might think? People who would turn their backs on you deserve to be walking away.

What do you need today?  Ask yourself – then ask for help if you need it.

If you’re doing OK today – ask someone else what you can do to help them.

Results may vary.  You may make someone’s day.

Or you may save it.

  In strength and solidarity,

Rhea

    In Defense of Weakness As I delve a little into what happened yesterday during my second half infusion of Ocrevus, I want to be very clear that "weakness" is not at all meant to be a taken as derogatory, or a stand-in for failure.