#like the only work i’d be taking home as a dental nurse would be my coursework to get the qualification and that’s not at all the same thing
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( Im just gonna do sort of an update post, because I was gearing up to try and be more active here again. Working on drabbles and trying to get new rp’s started as well as get more in character again. Buuut, some shit happened, lol. I still would like to, I’ve just been putting my focus elsewhere for the past couple weeks.
I’m gonna put more details under the cut because this might be triggering to some people and its a little graphic. Long story short though, my kitten was attacked by a dog but he’s had surgery and he’s fine now, happy and healing. Put some pics of him under the cut as well.
Me and my boyfriend had been panning a weekend trip to Seattle for a while now, we were going at the end of September and had everything booked and taken care of. I entrusted my new roommate and their girlfriend to watch Possum for me while we were away.
We spent almost the first two days in Seattle, got to d a bunch of things and were having a good time. Everything was going great until we pulled up just outside this restaurant I’d made a reservation for like a month prior.
All of a sudden I get several text messages from my roommate and some image files and when I open our conversation I see three pictures immediately -Still kinda upset about this, and don’t understand why they needed to send the extra two pics of just blood and one of his Canines on the floor- of my baby bleeding from his mouth and one of his eyes. :’ )
I Immediately panicked, It looked really fucking bad. And the messages were just telling me the dog attacked him while they left the room for 30 seconds, but their girlfriend was still present. I showed my boyfriend and we immediately left, canceled the reservation, went back to our hotel and got all our shit and started driving the three hours back.
I told my roommate I wanted them to take him to the Vet immediately and we would meet them there. It was pretty late in the evening so the only place that was open was an hour from our house but I told them I didn’t care and to take him there.
It was 3 hours of stress and anxiety, the nurse called me once to basically tell me he was stable at that moment and of course asking for my card info. Other than that I didn’t hear anything else until we got to the vet 3 hours later. So I was just assuming the worst based on the pictures the whole time. There was a lot of waiting even after we got there, and I was holding it together until this other girl came in sobbing and frantic with her dog that had to be put down. I felt so bad for her and kept thinking there was a very real possibility I might have to put my baby down.
When we finally did get into a room, I wasn't sure if id even be able to see him because I didn’t know what state he was in, I didn’t know if they would need to keep him overnight or not either if he was gonna survive.
They brought him in to me to my surprise and relief. He looked pretty bad... but it could have also been so much worse. He was alert and present, cuddled with me once he realized it was me. They did a bunch of x rays and tests and basically told us his eye was fine, it was very swollen but there was no real damage to it and it would heal and he would still be able to see out of it and everything.
His mouth was the worst part, based on how she had grabbed him, it was both very unlucky and extremally lucky at the same time?? They couldn’t really see all the damage exactly but they just told us that we’d need to get him into a dental specialist to see what exactly he’d need done. I Knew one of his canines had been ripped out, and that when she was looking in his mouth another tooth came out.
We got him meds from the ER and finally got him home at like 2am. We were tired, confused an angry but also just so very grateful he was alive and till with us. We’ve made up with my roommate, it was just a very tense situation but it wasn’t their fault.
My boyfriend managed to get him an appointment just two days later, which turned out to be a damn miracle. A lot of surgeons were out of town at the same time for some convention apparently -horrible idea in my opinion for them to all be gone at once, but you know...- There was one place that still had their surgeon. It was a pricier place but they had amazing reviews and and I wasn’t gonna let my baby suffer any longer than he needed to.
I’m so fucking glad that we brought him in, they had said they would determine how quickly they needed to make an appointment for surgery after looking at him. Thankfully they had extra time that day because the vet said they wanted to do surgery right then.
Basically when she grabbed him, it was in such a way that she crushed the bone right under his eye and part of the jaw. It’s hard to describe but they said the upper side of his jaw and that row of teeth just needed to go. It was full of dead tissue and bone. They told me it would be a very delicate surgery and they weren’t sure what the range of motion in his eye would be after, but that it wouldn’t effect his vision. The vet was a little bit confused as to why the ER didn't do more or try to patch it up a little because it was essentially a hole. I was a bit upset about that, but just happy it was being fixed.
We kinda just hung around town while he had surgery and hoped for the best.
When they were done, we took him home and he was immediately acting 10 times better. Before he had been lethargic and very obviously painful. Sure, he was high out of his mind after the surgery but he was so happy, purring and rubbing against us and wanting constant pets and affection. ;w; Even after the medicine had worn off he was already trying to play.
Its been a few weeks and he’s doing amazing he just had his checkup for his mouth and they said everything is healing perfectly. He can have his toys again and hard food and run around and be a kitten.
His third eyelid on the one eye is staying partially out, and they said it may always be that way, but I’m just so glad he can still see. I’m so glad he’s still here and he’s acting like himself. He’s even more cuddly now than he was before and very needy, and I don’t mind at all. He seems very happy to be alive too.
I will say, I don’t blame the dog at all for any of this, she’s an animal. My roommate did tell me in their messages that the dog was no longer welcome and my friend would be coming to pick her up the next day. Its kind of confusing but the dog actually belongs to a friend but she couldn’t take the dog with her when she moved, so she was staying with us. She is a wonderful, sweet, older dog and we’ve since found out she had a pretty bad ear infection that could have led to this. There’s a lot of extra drama with my roommate and my friend about them not taking proper care of her, but she’s gotten the treatment she needs and is better now. They are just trying to find her a new home and I hope they can, because she deserves it.
I’m adding a couple pics of him I took like two days ago. He’s such a sweet, loving boy. he looks like a little bull dog now and I think it’s adorable. ;w; I can’t even express how grateful I am that he’s okay. <3 )
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ok.... hear me out.... evgeni having to get his wisdom teeth taken out and being scared for the procedure and jackson comofrting him (also evgeni on anesthetics afterwards because I feel like that would be really funny)
(also I love your writing so much you're just amazing thx bye)
omg anon! I got so excited when I saw this prompt, I shared it with the whole SW discord server. Such a fantastic idea, and I hope I do it justice! I’m so glad you enjoy my writing, you’re so sweet! Hope you enjoy this fic xx
credit to @lumosinlove for the SW world and of course Nado & Zhenya
if you’d like to check out my other nuny fics, here are the links:
- Cuddles with Love
- Remus finds out
- A New Dream Come True
- I’ve Got You
- The Same Brainwaves
- All You Need
cw: anesthesia, talking about medicine and dental work
***
“Zhenya, you’ve gotta get out of the car.” Nado said, his head resting on the steering wheel. The only answer he received was a lot of grumbled Russian that he didn’t understand.
They had been sitting outside the oral surgeon’s office for 20 minutes. Luckily Jackson had planned in advance, getting them there an hour early. He knew Zhenya was nervous, it had been obvious since he made the appointment a month ago. Jackson could see the slight tremble in his boyfriend’s hands as he gripped at the sleeves of his hoodie.
Jackson reached over, resting a hand over Zhenya’s, “Baby, it’s going to be okay.” He murmured softly, rubbing his thumb over the frayed sleeve edge that covered Zhenya’s knuckles.
“Don’t want to go to sleep,” Zhenya whispered, turning his hand over to intertwine their fingers together. He had been putting it off for awhile now but the pain was getting too bad, struggling to sleep some nights.
Squeezing his hand, Jackson leaned over and resting his head on the taller man’s shoulder, “I know, babe. But it’ll be quick, they’ll sedate you and then when you wake up, it’ll all be over with and we can go home.”
Zhenya took a deep breath as he looked out the window, “Ok, let’s go. Before I lose confidence.” He said, quickly unbuckling his seatbelt and jumping out of the car. Jackson scrambled to follow him, grabbing his keys and phone before running to catch up to Zhenya who had already made it to the door.
After getting checked in, they sat down in the waiting room. The only sounds were Zhenya’s foot tapping nervously on the floor and the quiet music that played over the speaker. Jackson was thankful for that. If there were any type of dentist machine noises, Zhenya would’ve probably booked it right back out to the car.
Less than fifteen minutes later, a doctor came out the door, “Evgeni?” Zhenya’s hand tensed on the arm of the chair before he nodded.
“It’ll be okay, Zhenya. I’ll be waiting.” Jackson murmured, squeezing his hand before letting him go. He watched as Zhenya followed the doctor back, glancing back before the door closed behind them.
And then he waited.
Around half an hour later, a nurse came out, “Hi, are you here for Evgeni?” She asked, glancing down at her clipboard.
Jackson was up and walking over to her before she finished, “Yeah, that’s me. Is everything okay? Is he okay?”
“Of course. Everything went very smoothly. He should be ready to go within the next couple minutes. We should get back there, he was already asking for you.” She explained, leading him back to one of the rooms.
Before she opened the door, Jackson could already hear Zhenya talking. He couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face.
The nurse opened the door, “Evgeni, I found your Nado for you, hun.” She said, leading Jackson into the room.
Zhenya turned from where he had been rambling to the doctor in a wheelchair, his chubby cheeked face lighting up, “Котенок! You’re here.” He said. Or at least that’s what Jackson thought he said. He had ice packs strapped to either side of his face, gauze filling his mouth. And fuck, Jackson still thought he was cute as hell.
“Of course I’m here, Zhenya. Told you I’d be waiting for you.” Jackson said with a smile.
Zhenya smiled, his head flopping slightly to look at the doctor, “видеть? я говорил тебе. I told you. He’s so good.”
Chuckling softly, the doctor nodded, “Yes, I believe you, Evgeni.” He replied before looking at Nado. “I’ve prescribed him ibuprofen and Vicodin, which you can get from the pharmacy before you go. He can have one of each right away together, but after that it’s one pill of Motrin every six hours and one pill of Vicodin every 4 hours. It’s okay if you don’t remember all this, it’ll be on the bottles and the paperwork. Give us a call if he has any problems, okay?”
“Sounds good. Thanks so much for taking care of him.” Jackson said, shaking the doctor’s hand before he began pushing Zhenya down the hall.
Zhenya stared up at him the whole time, which was fairly comical as he couldn’t close his mouth, but he was still smiling, “Котенок. Hi.” Zhenya mumbled around the gauze.
Running a gentle hand through his hair, Jackson smiled as he made his way to the pharmacy, “Hi babe. You doing okay?”
“So good. Took nap, now I see you. So good.” Zhenya said with a shrug, his head lolling to the side. Once they got to the pharmacy, Jackson parked Zhenya next to one of the chairs. A hand grabbed his wrist before he could walk away though.
Jackson turned to see Zhenya’s pouting face staring back at him, “I need to go get your medicine, Zhenya.”
To Jackson’s horror, tears started welling up in his boyfriend’s eyes, “You go? You leave me?” Zhenya said, his grip falling from Jackson’s arm.
Squatting down in front of Zhenya, Jackson took his boyfriend’s hand in his, “Hey, don’t cry, babe. I’m right here. Not going anywhere. I’ll bring you with, okay? Please don’t cry.” He blurted out, pressing a kiss to Zhenya’s knuckles.
Zhenya sniffled, his free hand coming to rub at his eyes, “Promise?”
“Of course, I promise. I got you, Zhenya.” Jackson said quietly. He pushed the wheelchair up with him to the Pharmacy pick-up desk, parking Zhenya right behind him so he could get the medicine.
Just as he was about to hand the pharmacist his card, a large hand grabbed at his butt, making him let out what could only be called a squeak. Quickly whipping his head around, he gave Zhenya a dirty look, “Really?!”
Zhenya looked completely nonplussed as he leaned back into his wheelchair with the approximate of what Jackson would call a smirk if his face wasn’t so swollen, “What? You put it in my face, how can I not?”
Letting out a sigh, Jackson handed the card to the pharmacist who was now trying to hide their smile. They handed over the bag and finally they were off towards the door, “Do you think you can walk to the car? Or do you want to use the chair?”
“Can I walk? Of course I can walk.” Zhenya said with a huff, carefully pushing himself off the chair. His legs wobbled a bit but after a second, he got his balance, giving Jackson a wide grin. “See? I’m strong. I did so good.”
Chuckling softly, Jackson put the chair back before wrapping an arm around Zhenya’s waist to lead him out, just in case, “Yeah, Zhenya. You did great.”
Zhenya seemed to take Jackson’s arm around his waist as a come-on because the other man felt a hand slowly creeping its way down to the back pocket of his jeans.
“Zhenya, not while we’re trying to walk.” Jackson said with a laugh, squeezing the taller man’s side.
Humming to himself, Zhenya rested his head on top of Jackson’s, “Nutty taught me word for this. Cake. You have nice cake.” He punctuated his statement with another squeeze.
At this point, Jackson was just trying to get them into the car, “Thanks, babe. That’s very nice of you to say.” He said, opening the passenger side door before helping Zhenya in, getting him buckled in. He quickly got in on the drivers side and they were finally heading home.
Zhenya’s hand made its way over to Jackson’s leg as he drove, his fingers drawing shapes into the material of his pants, “I love you, you know, Котенок?”
A soft smile spread on Jackson’s face as he glanced over at his boyfriend, reaching down to squeeze his hand, “Yeah, Zhenya, I know. I love you too.”
The giant soppy grin was back on Zhenya’s face as he leaned onto the headrest, “I’m cuddle you when we get home. All day.”
Well. How could Jackson argue with that?
#nuny#jackson nadeau#evgeni kuznetsov#zhenya#nado#lumosinlove#sweater weather#mentioned: leo knut#fluff#wisdom teeth removal#tw: dentist work#nuny love#soft boys#fic writing#anon ask#ask box#anon prompt
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maybe? 👉👈 steve taking a really long time with college (like on one year and off one yours year, on, off, on, off) and he still doesn't really know what he wants to do and he gets really frustrated bc billy just did college all in one go and steve is taking forever and he feels down on himself? idk im feeling the whump rn???
Steve had left high school having no idea what he wanted from the rest of his life.
That’s not true, he had some idea.
He knew he wanted to leave Hawkins, follow Billy wherever he was going. He knew he wanted to be with Billy for the rest of his life, he knew he wanted to leave the past behind and make new friends, people who were kind, and fun, and didn’t bat an eye when Billy pulled him into his lap.
But that’s about it.
So when Billy graduates high school, and gets a full ride to UC Berkeley, and they move into a cheap apartment in downtown Oakland, Steve is so happy that he got out.
He gets a job waiting tables at a restaurant down the street, pays half the rent and buys the groceries while Billy’s in class.
But then two years pass, and Billy’s soaring through college, working to his degrees, plural, because he just couldn’t decide between studying English Literature or Biology with a focus in research.
So he’s majoring in both and getting a minor in Italian because then I’ll know what you’re sayin’ when you start horny babblin’.
And Steve was at the same restaurant.
True, he was assistant manager now, and it came with a pretty okay raise, and he even gets dental insurance, but he feels so stuck.
So he enrolls in community college.
He starts with some general classes, still completely unsure of what he wants to study.
Billy said it was okay to just rule out things you don’t want to study, to nearly fail a math course and know that accounting is not for you.
So when Steve finishes his first year, he at least knows what he doesn’t want to pursue.
Meanwhile Billy has an internship at a lab through Kaiser Permanente. And he can read and write Italian than Steve can.
Steve is walking home from his job at the restaurant when it happens. He’s crossing the street, and gets hit by a car.
He’s taken to the hospital, where he’s informed of a fractured spine and another concussion.
He’s told his injury could’ve been much more severe, that he will not experience paralysis, but he needs physical therapy and walking will be difficult for a while.
Their finances take a big hit.
Billy’s internship doesn’t pay super well, and with Steve being unable to work for the foreseeable future, he’s fired.
Billy has insurance through the school, but because on paper, he and Steve have no real relation, Steve’s medical bills come out of pocket.
So Steve is bedridden for months. He can’t work or get groceries, or do fucking anything but lay there.
They can’t afford physical therapy.
But Billy has a friend studying to be a PT, and she comes over every Saturday, and practices her technique on him in exchange for ten bucks and a few beers.
And so the money Steve tucked away for school is rapidly diminishing.
By the time Billy graduates, Steve is a year into recovery. He still gets dizzy at odd intervals, and his back gets stiff when it rains, but Billy gets a job right away, doing research on flu vaccines.
And Steve goes back to work.
He gets a desk job, something he won’t have to be on his feet all day for. He works reception for a message therapist, which comes with free massages, which work wonders on his back.
So in the fall, he decides to give his education another shot.
He learns that history is not for him, and that his nutrition course was fine until they began looking into how the body processes nutrients, and he was fucking lost. He takes a few business classes, thinking, hoping genetics would take over and this is something he could do.
But his dad was right to take away the job opportunity at his own firm. Steve was not cut out for this.
After a year of research, Billy is promoted three times. He ends up working on some extremely important study that Steve does not understand for the fucking life of him.
But he sits and listens every time Billy explains what he did that day, even though Steve gets so sad when Billy mentions having to kill the lab mice to study their bodies.
So Steve is two years into community college, five years into living in Oakland with Billy, and he still is lost.
He takes a semester off, working more hours, trying to save up some money.
Because Billy is beginning to think about grad school, and that shit’s not cheap.
But Billy decides to postpone that, work for a few more years, and besides, he’s caught between studying something to put him in a research field, or just straight up going to medical school to study infectious disease.
Because Billy could. He’s smart enough for medical school, smart enough to research and be a doctor.
And Steve has a smushy spine and half a degree in nothing.
A semester off turns into a year.
A year and a semester.
Two years.
They’ve been in California for seven years, and Billy gets into grad school in San Diego. They move south and Billy spends late nights pursuing a Masters in Immunology.
And Steve works the front desk at a pediatrician’s office.
He’s flipping through a course catalog from the San Diego Community College when Billy comes home from his new job, the position he got after applying to only three labs.
He kissed the top of Steve’s head, moving to grab himself a beer from the fridge.
“You thinkin’ of going back?”
“I don’t know.” Steve slid the catalog closed. “Is it even worth it?”
“That’s something you have to decide.” Billy sat down, sliding the catalog towards him. Steve had crossed off the classes he had already taken, the ones he new he wouldn’t like. “And you know, going to school isn’t the only option. You could get an apprenticeship, master a trade.”
“I can’t do anything where I need to bend over for really any length of time. So that rules out plumber, and car mechanic, and anything physical like construction, or landscaping or even general contracting is right out.”
Steve could feel the old shame, the doubt and the self hatred crawling up his spine.
“I have nothing to offer. I have no discerning skills, and in seven years I’ve only made it through two years of goddamn community college, and here you are, ripping through grad school like a fourth degree is easy.”
“Stevie, you’ve got a lot to offer. We just gotta find something that suits you.” He took Steve’s pen, turning to the back page of the catalog. “Okay, we’re gonna write down all of you strengths, and think of career paths that could fit those. I’ll go first, you’re extremely caring. You’d be good at any career where you care for people.”
“But I can’t study nursing or something, I barely understood my biology 101 course. Plus, nurses are strong. I can’t lift more than like, thirty pounds.”
“There’re way more caring fields than nursing, Pretty Boy. Although I would love if you were my nurse.” Billy smirked at him, leaning in to plant a sloppy kiss to Steve’s cheek as he rolled his eyes. “Another strength: your emotional intelligence is through the fucking roof.” He wrote it down. “Okay, I’ve said tow, so you say one.”
���Um, I think that I’m good at making people laugh?”
“Yes! You are. Perfect.” Billy scribbled it down. “You’re a good leader.”
“I’m pretty good at reading people.” Billy wrote Intuitive, can smell a douchebag from a mile away.
“You’re good under pressure.”
“Sometimes.”
“Every time I’ve seen. You’re good at keeping calm and keeping others calm.”
“I guess.”
“Nah, Stevie. Positives only. Say a strength.”
“I’m, uh, I’m good at, bilingual?” Billy stared at him. “Like, I’m bilingual.”
“Are you sure? I don’t think that was English, even.” Steve slapped his chest, Billy laughed. “I’m joking. You are bilingual. You’re also really good at making others feel safe.”
“I was always pretty alright at public speaking.”
“You’ve got a great eye for detail.”
“I’m good at teamwork, and delegating.”
“You’re really compassionate, too.” Billy drew a line under the strengths side. “Okay, so now we’ve got some of your strengths, think about what you’d want in a job, and we can match everything up and think about some careers that could fit.” Steve nodded, racking his brain.
“Um, I would want to work with kind people, I would kind of like to do something, you know, worthwhile. I’d like to be in charge of something. Like it’s fine if I have a boss to answer to, but I’d like to be fairly independent.”
“I already have so many ideas.”
“Lay ‘em on me.” Steve sat back, closing his eyes to try and picture everything Billy threw out.
“I’ve actually always thought you’d be a really good teacher. Especially if you did like, kindergarten. Just got to be around little kids all day.” Steve could actually see it. “I also think you’d be a could social worker, like to work with Child Protective Services, or something. Um, you’d be good at even planning. Or I think you’d be really good working at a nonprofit of some kind. Maybe you could be the event planner for a nonprofit.”
And Steve was sitting there, and suddenly, he had four career paths, just sitting right in front of him. Four super attainable career paths.
“Wait, wait those make sense.” Billy beamed at him.
“Yeah, that’s because I know you, Pretty Boy.” Billy opened the catalog. “So, I think if you choose to enroll, you should pick a few classes, like, Intro to Social Work, Early Childhood Education 100, and maybe like, Sociology, and see from there.”
Steve stared at the course descriptions for what Billy circled.
“Thank you for helping me. I’m sorry this has taken me so long.”
“It’s okay. Everyone is on a different timeline. And it’s not like you got to explore options in high school. You were told business until your dad decided that nevermind. So it’s understandable that this took you a minute. Plus, you went through hell with your back.”
Steve sat up straight, stretching out his back.
“But, I mean, the back thing kinda happened to you too, and you still made it through all your schooling.”
“Sure, I watched you go through it, but I was not in the pain you were. And like, emotionally, it fucking sucked to watch the love of my goddamn life go through something, and I couldn’t even afford therapy. Like, I felt so helpless, but that’s nothing to what you went through literally experiencing it.” Steve took Billy’s hand, linking their fingers together, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
“You did the best you could. Everything was shit for like, that whole year.”
“I cannot telly you how many times I would go into an individual study room in the library and just like, sob for a while.And then I’d get so mad at myself, thinking of you at home, hurting and not even able to get yourself out of bed, and I’d race home feeling like shit.”
Steve scrubbed his fingers through Billy’s hair. He had cut it a while ago, kept it short these days.
“You were doing everything you could for me. I would just sit in bed all day, and think about how amazing you are. Like I would just think about all the good times we’ve had together, and how much I love you.”
“That explains why we didn’t fight for like, that whole year.” Steve laughed. Billy leaned to kiss him softly.
“And you know, even now we’ve done this, there’s still no rush on you. You don’t have to go back to school this year, of this decade, or anytime until you’re ready. Until you want to.”
“Well now, I feel like there’s a fucking light at the end of the tunnel. I’m almost, excited. Is this how you feel? Excited to go to school?”
“Welcome to the nerd life, Sweet Thing.” Billy drained the last of his beer. “You wanna go out tonight? Celebrate?”
“Like, go out to dinner, or go out?”
“Oh, just like dinner. Be home by eight thirty, in bed by nine, missionary with the lights off, and asleep by nine fifteen.”
“Sign me the fuck up.”
#billy is based a lot on my sister in this#and steve is based on her best friend#any life path is valid#there's kind of a lot of set up but yeah#also i live for them settling down and becoming a totally boring mundane couple but they're just SO HAPPY toghether that's my shit#yikes writes#steve harrington#billy hargrove#steve harrington x billy hargrove#billy hargrove x steve harrington#harringrove#harringrive#harringrove fic#harringrove ficlet#harringrove drabble
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Wise Up
by: mldrgrl
Rating: PG
Summary: Scully needs someone to take her home after dental surgery. Pre-Millennium.
He came back from getting coffee to find her mid-conversation with her mother. She gave him a glance over her shoulder when he put the to-go cup quietly on her table and then lowered her chin so that her hair obscured her face. She switched her cell phone from one hand to the other and he shuffled to his own desk pretending to give her privacy.
“It’s fine, Mom,” she said. “I promise. I’ll just try to get it rescheduled until after the new year. No, I...no, I don’t need...Mom, it’s fine.”
He sipped his coffee and opened a file, but kept his gaze higher than necessary to keep her in his periphery. She pinched the bridge of her nose in silence for the next ten seconds and then she finally lifted her head.
“Mom,” she stated. “I have to go, I need to finish a report. I’ll reschedule for January. As for Thursday, don’t worry about it, you just feel better. I know. I know. I love you too. Bye.”
Scully disconnected her call with a deep sigh that Mulder pretended not to notice. He was burning with curiosity, however, and it was only a matter of time before he would ask. He just had to wait for the right opportunity.
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
He nodded as she stood and rubbed the back of her jaw a little. He’d noticed she’d been doing that a lot lately, but hadn’t said anything about it. She left without her coffee, her jacket, or her satchel, so he assumed she was headed to the ladies’ room.
Only minutes later, she was back, and he was sipping his coffee and reading email. She stayed standing, lifting the lid of her own coffee and blowing across the top. He gave her a sideways glance as she paced in front of his desk with a pensive expression.
“Thanks for the coffee,” she said.
“A few dozen more and I might make a dent in what I owe you.”
“Mm.” The left corner of her mouth twitched into a half-smile.
He thought he might have an opening. “Everything alright?”
“Fine.”
He thought wrong. He nodded and clicked open another email advising an early release tomorrow for administrative personnel due to the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. He’d be surprised if he saw anyone but his own shadow at work tomorrow. Even Scully had taken the day off.
By the time he opened and deleted three other emails, she was still pacing by his desk, so he tried again. “How’s your mom?”
“She’s…”
“Fine?”
“She has the flu, actually. She called to tell me that she didn’t think she’d be up for Thanksgiving this year.”
“Oh.” Mulder sat back in his chair. Now he was the one pulling a pensive expression.
“It’s fine,” she said, quickly. “I wasn’t actually…”
He raised his brows in question and she shook her head dismissively. He swiveled from side to side in his chair and tapped a pencil against his chin as he looked at her, which he knew made her nervous. It worked. She shifted her feet and suddenly couldn’t decide if she might speak or drink her coffee. Her exasperation was palpable.
“I have a dentist appointment tomorrow,” she blurted. “Well, I was supposed to, but now I have to cancel.”
“Why?”
“I’m having a wisdom tooth removed and Mom was supposed to take me. I was going to use the long weekend to recover. She has the flu now, so…” She shrugged and finally took a sip of her coffee and then rubbed her lips together. “They don’t let you leave on your own after anesthesia. So, I have to reschedule.”
“I can take you.”
“No, Mulder, I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering. I can take you.”
“I don’t know…”
“It’s not like I’d be getting much done here by myself anyway.”
“I thought you always accomplished so much with me out of your hair.”
He smiled at her. “I just tell you that so you don’t feel guilty about leaving me on my own.”
She snorted softly.
“So, what time do I pick you up?” he asked.
“Don’t you have plans for Thanksgiving, Mulder?”
He got up out of his seat and walked over to her, extending his hand. “Fox Mulder,” he said. “We’ve obviously never met before.”
She bashfully lowered her head a little and hesitated for a few beats. “I need to be there by 9:15,” she finally said. “It’s only about ten minutes away from my apartment.”
“The Skinman’s gonna have a heart attack when I submit my request for time off.”
And that’s how he ended up sitting in a dental surgeon’s office splitting his attention between vintage copies of Reader’s Digest and anxiously checking his watch every five minutes. Occasionally, he would get up and inspect an elaborate fish tank taking up half the wall in the waiting room to watch the yellow tangs and clownfish pass from side to side.
It was nearly noon when the nurse came out to collect Mulder. “Your wife is ready for you,” she told him.
“Oh, um…” He tossed the Reader’s Digest aside and decided it wasn’t worth it to explain his relationship to Scully. Instead, he followed her to a tiny, all-white recovery room at the back of the office where his partner was curled up on a cot with her eyes closed.
“Miss Scully,” the nurse said, shaking her gently on the shoulder. “Your husband is here to take you home.”
Scully opened her eyes and stared blankly at the woman standing above her. She sat up slowly with the nurse’s help and then Mulder crouched down and put a hand on her knee. Her right cheek was puffed up, full of cotton swabs that poked out of the corner of his mouth. The size of her pupils caught him off guard, so dilated her eyes almost looked black.
“Muller,” Scully murmured. “My mowf ish mishing.”
“Your mouth is missing?” He chuckled softly and rubbed her knee. “Certainly not the whole mouth.”
“She might be a little loopy until the anesthesia wears off,” the nurse said. “The tooth was impacted and took some work.”
The thought of it made Mulder cringe. He helped Scully into her jacket and then to her feet and she swayed into him, leaned against him for support. The nurse handed him a small white bag with painkillers and instructions, which she rattled off to him as he escorted his partner slowly down the hall.
“Take the gauze out when you get home,” she said. “Don’t let her prod the jaw or use mouthwash for at least a week. She’ll probably want to sleep for a few more hours, but by the time she wakes up, she’ll be in a fair amount of pain. Give her one of the painkillers immediately, and then as needed, but no more than four in 24 hours. Ice packs will help with the swelling and the pain. She might feel lightheaded or woozy the next couple of days and that’s normal. No exercise for the next week, no drinking through a straw, and no eating or drinking at all for the next two hours. And then soft foods and room temperature liquids are fine. The pamphlet there has all the information you need.”
Mulder nodded along, suddenly nervous about the responsibility he’d volunteered for. He’d never had dental surgery and had no idea the amount of recovery involved. Maybe he should have let her reschedule the appointment so her mom could take care of her, but then again, he struggled to imagine Scully’s mom, as slight as she was, getting her daughter out of the office when Mulder was practically carrying her down the hall to the door.
It took some time, but he managed to get Scully into the car and buckled in. She turned her head towards him when he got in and gazed at him like she had just awakened from a pleasant dream.
“You’re susha good driver,” she said.
“Well, thank you,” he answered, latching his seatbelt.
“Even whener losh and dunno whereer at.”
“Lucky for you, there’s no chance I’ll get lost from here to the apartment.”
“Are we goin’ to your parparmen, Muller?”
“I’m taking you home.”
“Mm home.”
Mulder started the car and that was the last thing Scully said until they arrived in front of her building. He would look over at her at red lights and she was still turned towards him, her eyes half-open, blinking slowly. When he parked the car, she turned her head and her brows came together with a deep frown. He helped her out of the car and she took baby steps across the lawn, leaving footprints in the thin layer of snow that covered the green.
Her face contorted as though she was in great pain and he stopped with her at the foot of the stairs up to her front door. “Muller,” she whined. “Thish isna wherer coush lives.”
“No, it’s where your couch lives.”
“I can’d shleep on my coush.”
“Good thing you have a bed. Come on, almost there.”
It was slow-going up the stairs. She took them one at a time, making sure both feet were planted securely before moving forward. By the time he got her through the door, she was sagging against him again and he considered just picking her up and carrying her the rest of the way.
“Home sweet home,” he said, unlocking her apartment door.
“Where’sh the dog?” she asked, blinking up at him.
“What dog?”
“My dog.”
“Queegqueg? He uh…” Mulder paused. It probably wasn’t the best idea to let her know her dog had been eaten by a lake monster three years ago. “Queegqueg isn’t here right now.”
“Queegqueg. Thash a weird word, Muller. Queeeeeeequeeeeeeeeeeeg. Queegquegqueegquegqueegqueg.”
He put the bag of painkillers and nurse’s instructions on the table in her kitchen while she tried to wrap her head around the odd word. “Yeah, I always thought it was a weird name for a dog, too.”
“What dog?”
“Your dog.”
“I dun have a dog.”
Mulder raised his brows. “Okay, let’s get you to bed.”
Scully sighed a little and let Mulder lead her towards the bedroom. He sat her down on the bed and then knelt in front of her to unlace her tennis shoes. He wondered if he should try to coax her into getting into some pajamas, but figured it might be more trouble than it was worth. Jeans and a sweater should be comfortable enough. He got both shoes off her feet and then remembered the gauze needed to come out of her mouth.
“Can you…?” He gestured to her mouth and she followed the wag of his finger until she turned cross-eyed. “We need to get those cotton balls or whatever it is out of your mouth.”
She opened her mouth for him and tipped her head back a little. If he didn’t know she was drugged up before, he definitely knew it now. A sober Scully would’ve insisted on gloves and sterilizing and sanitizing the entire room before letting him near her mouth. A sober Scully would’ve insisted she was fine and could do it herself. Gingerly, he plucked out the saliva and blood-soaked pieces of cotton from the inside of her cheek, trying not to let his squeamishness show too much or get in the way. It wasn’t lost on him that if the tables were turned, she would do the same for him, and more.
When he was sure he’d removed all the gauze, he took it into the bathroom to dispose of, not looking at the little pile of gore in his hand. He shivered and then washed his hands with the soap that Scully had been smelling of lately, which he definitely wasn’t going to complain about because it made her smell so good. It made the night he’d ‘taught’ her how to play baseball even more memorable. He thought it might have been a new lotion or bath gel, but it turned out it was hand soap the whole time. Or maybe she had a whole set of it lurking in the bathroom. He dried his hands and peered at the bottle. It was simply called: Almond. He would buy her another bottle or a dozen for Christmas. He liked it.
Back in Scully’s room, he found her poking at her cheek with the pads of her fingers and he took her hand away from her face to stop her. “You can’t do that,” he said.
“Can’t feel anything.”
“It’ll wear off soon enough. Let’s get your coat off and into bed.”
“We can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“Go to bed.”
“I don’t see why not.” He started to unbutton her coat. “You have the day off, tomorrow’s a holiday, and then you-”
“It’s against the rules.”
“I’m not familiar with any rules that prohibit adults from taking post-surgery naps.”
“The FBI says so.”
“I haven’t read the handbook in awhile, but I don’t think this’ll warrant an official reprimand in your permanent record. If it does, I’ve got your back.” He struggled to get her arms free from the jacket and she was no help. Just looked solemnly up at him while pouting her bottom lip slightly. He finally pulled the jacket loose and then reached behind her to turn down the bed. “Time to break some imaginary rules,” he said.
“I want to,” she whispered. “I really want to. But…” She winced and then reached up to cup her jaw.
“Hurting?”
“Kind of.”
“Okay, stay put.” He turned to leave, but was stopped by a pull on his back pocket.
“Where’re you going?”
“To get you an ice pack.”
“You’ll come back?”
“I promise.”
“Promise, promise?”
He traced an ‘x’ against his chest. She let go of his pocket and raised her hand up to him, all her fingers folded down except for the pinkie, which was crooked slightly.
“Pinkie swear?” she asked.
He chuckled and then hooked his pinkie finger with hers and gave it a shake. “Lay down,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Afraid she might try to stop him again, he hurried out of her room for the kitchen. While there, he read over the instruction pamphlet on the table and checked her fridge and cupboards to see if she had any soft, bland foods, in case he might need to call out for delivery later or run to the store. He found some yogurt and cans of soup and figured that would be sufficient. What he couldn’t find, however, was an ice pack. He searched her freezer high and low, but found nothing. He decided to make do with a package of frozen corn wrapped in a tea towel.
He’d hoped to find her asleep when he came back to her room, but she was still awake, albeit drowsily staring up at the ceiling and rubbing at her jaw.
“You have to stop doing that,” he said, taking her hand away from her face. He gently placed the makeshift icepack against her cheek and sat down next to her to hold it in place.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He squeezed her hand. She turned her head slightly and then closed her eyes and sniffed a little. She looked up at him.
“You used my soap,” she said.
“Had to wash my hands earlier.”
“You like it don’t you?”
“It smells nice.”
“I noticed that you’ve been breathing me in lately.”
“If I have, I’m-”
“So, I went back to the shop I got the soap from and bought the lotion and the shower gel as well.”
“Oh.” The first thing he thought was that he was right. She did have a whole set lurking in her bathroom. The second thought he had was that she’d just admitted she was wearing it for him. Heat flooded his chest and tightened it, followed by a flutter low in his abdomen.
“You okay, Mulder?”
“Sorry, Scully, maybe I’m coming down with something?”
She struggled for a moment to sit up and the icepack slipped out of his hand and from her face, landing in the space between them on the bed. She grabbed his head with both hands and pulled his towards her.
“Scully, wha-?”
“Checking for fever,” she murmured, resting her left cheek against his brow. “You are a little warm, but I think you’re fine.”
“Not very scientific.”
“Some things are better than science.”
“I’m going to need you to repeat that when you’re no longer under the influence.”
“I haven’t been drinking.”
“You’re not exactly sober.”
She let him go and laid back down. He retrieved the icepack and rewrapped it in the towel that came loose. She waved him away when he tried to put it back on her cheek so he reached over to set it on her nightstand.
“I want to break the rules with you,” she said.
“Finally succumbing to my bad influence, are you?”
“I’m afraid though, Mulder.”
“What’re you afraid of?”
“The end of the world.”
“You don’t need to worry about that. We’re gonna save the world together. I promise.”
She shook her head. “Our world, Mulder. The world of you and me.”
“You’re gonna be stuck with me for a long, long time, Scully.” He chuckled and raised his hand up, folding his fingers down and keeping his pinkie up. “Pinkie swear.”
She grabbed his finger loosely with her own. “I’m sorry I’m so sleepy.”
“You’re drugged up, partner.”
“Oh.” She rubbed at one eye with the back of her hand. “You won’t go, right?”
“I’ll hang with you until you kick me out. You’ve got HBO, don’t you?”
“Even if we can’t go to bed?”
“What?”
“You said you wanted to take me to bed.”
“Oh. Oh.” He almost laughed. Now her talk of rules made sense. Except, what she said, what she’d been saying, was that she wanted to break those rules. With him. “Scully…”
Her eyes closed lazily and she took a deep, slow breath, exhaling with a sigh. “I love you, Mulder.”
“Oh brother,” he whispered. He sat absolutely still for the next few moments as that warm, fluttery feeling washed over him again. He touched her shoulder and then leaned closer to her, watched her breathe slowly and evenly. “You’re the only one I want to break the rules with too, Scully.”
Even though she was caught in sedated slumber, he was pretty sure she knew how he felt. And he was definitely going to get her that almond soap for Christmas.
The End
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Love Her (Part 10)
Summary: With the reader now technically on her own, things seem to be going okay until Dean makes a comment that rubs the reader the wrong way and when the reader starts school again, she runs into an old friend...
Masterlist
Pairing: Doctor!Dean x foster daughter!reader
Word Count: 5,200ish
Warnings: language, mentions of death, medical situation
______
“Dean?” you asked after you brought in the mail the next day. “What is all this stuff in my name?”
“Uh,” he said as he took the stack from you. “Health insurance offer. Dental insurance offer. More health, a vision, health. It’s fun grown-up stuff, sweetheart.”
“I don’t have health insurance?” you asked.
“You’re covered through the month on the old,” said Dean. “I can’t put you on mine cause you’re technically not a dependent anymore. We’ll get you on a single plan and I’ll pay. Don’t worry about this stuff. I’ll take care of it.”
“It’d be easier if you adopted me though, wouldn’t it?” you asked. He glanced down and set the mail on the counter, slowly raising his head.
“I’ll only say this once, sweetheart,” he said. “I think we both know where I stand on wanting to adopt you. But this isn’t something I want you to do because you feel you have to or for insurance. Someday, if you want it, you tell me. I’ll do it in a heartbeat. But only if you want it for the right reasons. If you don’t ever want to, that is completely okay. You’re still my kid. Always.”
“Maybe someday,” you said.
“Maybe someday,” he said with a smile. “But today, you get to learn about choosing health insurance.”
“No,” you groaned. “I have a concussion. No. Owie. No words good.”
“Y/N,” he said, tilting his head. “Part of being an adult means you have to learn these things.”
“Weren’t you just saying the other day you want me to have my childhood back?” you asked.
“Alright, alright. I’ll pick it out,” he said. “If you come to the twins soccer games tomorrow.”
“Sucker. I was going to go to those anyways,” you said, heading back for your room.
“Where are you going now?” he asked.
“Nap. I do have a little headache actually.”
“Alright. Try not to get too used to them. You have to go back to school next week,” he said.
“Do I have to?” you asked with a whine.
“Yes.”
“Can’t I just drop out and get me GED?” you asked.
“No. You are far too smart to not get a diploma and go to college. You need the interaction,” he said as he headed back for the kitchen.
“Interaction?”
“You need friends,” he said as he started to dig through the mail. “I can’t be your only friend, Y/N.”
You swallowed and glared at him, Dean pausing after a moment and looking up at you.
“I didn’t mean-“
“Just forget it,” you said, going to your room. You heard a knock after a minute but you ignored it, grateful he left you alone for once.
“I brought you some pizza,” said Ana around dinner time that evening. The door opened and you sat up, spotting her walk in with a slice on a plate.
“Thanks,” you said, rolling your eyes when you saw Dean come in behind her.
“Dean would like to say something,” she said, bumping his arm.
“I’m sorry for being inconsiderate,” said Dean, Ana nudging him again. “And not thinking about how you view relationships differently than maybe I do.”
“He’s sorry for being a dumbass,” said Ana.
“It’s fine. I know I don’t have friends,” you said.
“I don’t have friends,” said Ana, your gaze flickering to her. “Most of my friends are Dean’s. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I don’t have any. There’s a difference,” you said.
“Y/N, you’ll make friends at school or college or work or wherever. I’m sorry I said that. You should focus on yourself right now,” said Dean.
“It’s fine,” you said again.
“Dean. Give us a minute,” said Ana. Dean left and she took a seat on the bed. “For all he’s been through, he doesn’t understand this part of it. Friends have been a constant in his life.”
“I was the quiet girl when I went to this school before. I didn’t fit in,” you said. “I had old clothes at first and-”
“Oh. You don’t realize...I guess you haven’t been paying attention to the twins outfits in the morning. They wear a uniform, to their private school,” said Ana.
“Private school?”
“It’s not the fanciest thing but the twins were a bit advanced for their grade at their old school. They also faced some of those same problems apparently. They were starting to get in trouble and get closed off. Some kids got a bit mean after you left. Dean decided to move them into a private school. It’s not full of stuck up kids. I’m sure there are some but there’s always some. Maybe this school will be better for you,” she said.
“Maybe. Dean just…” you said. Ana lay back on the bedspread, turning her head in your direction.
“You two have come a long way in just a week. He rushed a little fast on that whole friend comment,” she said. “Take quality over quantity. It’s no competition. He doesn’t quite understand that you, unlike a stereotypical teenager, you want to be home with your family most of the time. I didn’t really make friends until college and even now, there’s only one I still talk to. Dean’s my best friend and that’s very okay with me.”
“You were never adopted, right?” you asked.
“No. I was a pretty bad kid. Not crime bad but I was nasty,” she said. You raised an eyebrow and she laughed. “You’re a saint compared to me. I wound up living out of my car for a little while and realized how much that sucked. I figured I’d go to nursing school. Everyone always needs a nurse. But I was pretty good at the medicine stuff and applied to med school and I sort of buried myself in that until I met my first husband. The time after Dan died and before I met Dean was probably the hardest.”
“I overreacted,” you said. “Earlier with Dean.”
“Probably. But he probably deserved it too,” she said. “I tell him he has to take this slow. You’re not going to suddenly be like every other teenager.”
You nodded and she sat up, leaning over and giving you a hug.
“You should have been adopted,” you said.
“I didn’t have someone like Dean around,” she said. “But I get him now. Plus he’s so much fun to make out with.”
“Ew! Nope. Moment gone,” you said, Ana laughing. Dean stuck his head in the room and she got to her feet, giving him a pat on the chest.
“You’re mostly in the clear,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said as she left. “I can get the ice cream and grovel more if I need to.”
“No. We’re good. It felt like you were saying there was something wrong with me for a second and I already have enough issues so-”
“Sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with you. I’m sorry if I made you feel like that. I just...I want you to feel like you can have friends or go hang out with other people that aren’t me or…” he said as he sat on the bed. “I just want you to be happy, that’s all.”
“I understand,” you said. “Maybe I’ll make some at my next school.”
“The only thing I’ve ever asked you to do is try,” he said. “But I will try to think about what I’m saying next time too. Deal?”
You nodded and he took a bite of your pizza, your jaw dropping.
“Well if you aren’t gonna eat it I am,” he said.
“I was waiting until you were done talking,” you said. “They’re better be more left.”
“If you come out of your room there is,” he said. You got up from your bed and went out to the kitchen, finding more pizza in the box and practically getting tackled by Rae.
“Hey,” you said. “Care-“
“I thought you left again,” she said.
“Rae. I’m not leaving,” you said. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
“Is there any good pizza left?” you asked her.
“Dad put one in the oven to keep it warm for you,” she said.
“Then why did you think I was gone, silly?” you asked, picking her up with a huff and setting her on top of the counter. “So how was school today?”
Monday Afternoon
“Hey guys,” said Dean when he picked you up from school. “First day go alright?”
“Yeah,” you said, getting a wave from a guy as he headed towards the student parking. You smiled and returned it, turning your head when you felt Dean’s gaze on you.
“Really?”
“What? You said to make friends,” you said.
“Better stay as just friends,” he mumbled.
“He’s my partner in AP Physics. AP Physics, Dean,” you said.
“I can deal with nightmares and vomiting at three in the morning and a whole bunch of stuff. Boys? Uh uh. Nope,” he said.
“I’m not looking for a boyfriend, Dean,” you said. “I got enough going on without trying to deal with that.”
“Good. I think we all do.”
“Hey, Y/N,” said Lewis the next day after Physics as you were heading for your locker. “You want to hang out after school?”
“I sort of have to watch my brother and sister after school until my…” you trailed off. “I just have to watch them until like five.”
“Oh. Yeah, I get it,” he said. “I’ll see you around then.”
“Lewis,” you said as he started to walk away. “I would. I…”
“I get it. It’s cool, Y/N,” he said.
“You could come over,” you said. “If you don’t mind hanging out with a pair of seven year olds.”
“Won’t your dad get pissed?” he asked.
“He’s…” you trailed off, closing your eyes. “It’s complicated.”
“So he didn’t give me a dirty look yesterday?” he asked.
“No. He did. He’s...he’s not my dad. It’s just…” you said.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked as he leaned back against the lockers. You titled your head and he smiled. “I was a lot shorter back then. Kind of a shrimp.”
“Lewis Nelson,” you said with a smile, Lewis laughing. You gave him a hug and he hummed.
“I was waiting for you to figure it out,” he said. “Never thought I’d see you again.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of the other kids we were ever with. You were at our first foster house,” you said.
“I ran into one other kid once in a different house but yeah,” he said. “My parents-”
The bell rang and you frowned.
“Come over after school and we’ll hang out,” you said, taking your pen from your notebook and jotting down the address in his open one. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Hey, you still with the twins?”
“Yeah. We’re still together. Complicated but together,” you said.
“Good. I’ll see you later then.”
“Who are you?” asked Ryan not two seconds after you’d let Lewis in.
“This is Lewis. He’s my friend from school and when you and Rae were little babies, Lewis was also a foster kid in the first home we stayed in,” you said.
“I don’t remember,” said Ryan, giving you a side eye.
“Well you were about two months old so yeah, not surprising,” you said. You showed him in and to the kitchen, pulling out Rae and Ryan’s after school snacks before you sent them off to the playroom.
“Those two got big,” he said as you found a bag of chips and some dip for the two of you.
“Very,” you said as you took a seat on the counter.
“How long were you in for?” he asked.
“Last thursday,” you said.
“You’ve only been adopted like a week?” he asked. You shook your head. “Complicated?”
“Yeah. What about you?” you asked.
“Maybe a few months after I left the house we were both at my parents fostered me and then adopted me a little while after that. They’re both engineers. It’s only us three but it’s nice. They’re good people,” he said. “So what exactly does complicated mean?”
“We bounced a lot and then two years ago, we wound up here with Dean. He wanted to adopt us all but he couldn’t adopt me because of reasons and I ended up getting sent to a different home. The twins got adopted and have been here and then about a week and a half ago when I turned 18, Dean came to get me,” you said.
“So you’re like, on your own?” he asked. You nodded and took a handful of chips from the bag. “But Dean isn’t your foster dad?”
“No. I just live here. He’s not really anything to me,” you said. You popped some chips in your mouth when you caught movement in the hall, your eyes catching sight of Dean’s. He looked away quickly and ducked into his office, leaving with a file. He didn’t say anything as he started to head back towards the foyer. You hopped off the counter and jogged to catch up with him, Dean sighing when you grabbed his arm.
“Forget some paperwork. I have to get back to work,” he said.
“Hey, that wasn’t...you mean something to me, Dean. You know that, right?” you asked. He sighed and you saw Lewis appear, giving Dean a smile. “Dean this is Lewis. Lewis was in my first foster home.”
“Oh,” said Dean, cocking his head. “What are the odds of that?”
“We were catching up. He was just asking if you’re my foster dad and…” you trailed off, Dean giving you a smile as you saw him relax. “Dean’s just my Dean right now.”
“I really got to run,” he said. “But you’re welcome over anytime, Lewis.”
Dean took off after that and you locked up behind him, Lewis scratching his head.
“Wait so, he seems a lot nicer now…” he said.
“Dean gets a little protective of me,” you laughed. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a big softy deep down.”
“Hey,” you said, knocking on the door to Dean and Ana’s room around ten that night. Dean was reading in bed, Ana watching something on her computer beside him. “Earlier...are we okay?”
“I’d like a heads up of when you bring friends over in the future while you’re still in high school but Lewis was very nice at dinner. I think it’s good that you have a friend that understands how you grew up some,” said Dean.
“I meant that part of the conversation that sounded really bad,” you said.
“It’s fine,” he said.
“Dean.”
“It hurt my feelings for two seconds but you’re right. I’m just Dean and if that’s how you want to explain it to friends, that is more than okay with me,” he said.
“Okay,” you said, biting your bottom lip.
“Yes?”
“Um, so...I also may have also thrown up like five minutes ago in my bathroom,” you said with a wince.
“Alright,” he said, climbing out of bed and leaving his book behind. He walked over to the door and shook his head and wrinkled his nose. “Sweetheart, did you throw up on yourself at all?”
“A little on my shirt,” you said as you glanced down. “Just a little.”
“Okay,” he said, pausing as he started to walk you back down the hall. “Wait here.”
He left and was back a second later with Ana, the two of them walking back to your room and into the bathroom.
“This is the cleanest mess we’ve ever…” trailed off Dean when he looked at you in the light. “Well the bathroom is pretty decent but she needs a shower and fresh clothes.”
“Why don’t you wash up in our bathroom and we’ll clean up in here for you,” said Ana.
“Go with her. She looks a little pale,” said Dean. You turned to go when he caught your arm. He spun you around and narrowed his eyes, staring at your side. “An. Does her side look…”
“Does your right side hurt at all?” asked Ana. “Can I look?”
“I’m fine,” you said as she lifted up your shirt a little.
“She’s bloated,” said Ana. “Severely.”
“I got my period today,” you said.
“Do you have any pain?” asked Dean.
“Cramps but that’s normal,” you said. He glanced at Ana and put a few fingers on your side before he pressed down.
It felt like someone had stabbed you and your hand caught the sink counter, Dean immediately pulling away..
“Appy,” they both said.
“Huh?” you said as he jogged out of the room, back a second later in his sneakers. He picked you up and you hissed.
“Sorry,” he said, Ana already gone and opening the front door. “Keys.”
She grabbed the spare set from the front table and followed you both outside, opening the passenger seat door. Dean set you down and buckled you up before he shut the door, taking the keys from Ana and jogging around the car. He hopped in the drivers seat and took off, your hand gripping the center console.
“Fuck, Dean. Slow down,” you said.
“When did the pain start?” he asked.
“I don’t know. This morning. It felt like cramps was all,” you said, peeling up your shirt. “I think you guys are overreacting.”
“Did you go to med school?” he asked.
“I always get bloated on my first day,” you said.
“If we’re wrong, which we’re not, but if I am, you can tell me I told you so,” he said. “Tell me what else.”
“What?”
“Symptoms. What else besides the pain and the bloating and the throwing up?” he asked.
“I’m kinda cold,” you said.
“Feverish?” he asked.
“I guess?”
“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart but you have a bad appendix,” said Dean.
“I don’t need that one, right?”
“No,” he said, a small laugh in his voice. “You don’t need it. Yours is going bad a little faster than is typical is all so we have to get it out of you quick.”
“Why?” you asked. He frowned when he got stuck at a red light, giving you a quick glance. “Why?”
“You’re getting more pale,” he said, putting the back of his hand to your forehead. “And sweaty.”
He looked both ways and went before the light turned green, the car behind him honking.
“Don’t ever do that,” he said.
“I gonna die or something?” you asked. He shook his head and moved his hand to the top of your head.
“No. You can get very sick if it bursts before they can get it out and we want to avoid that,” said Dean.
“Dean. I’m not a kid,” you said.
“....It gets very dangerous if that happens,” said Dean. “Appendix removal is a common procedure. It’s very safe. They’ll make three little cuts most likely and you’ll be up running around in a few days.”
“I’ll take your excessive speeding and breaking of traffic laws as a reason not to worry then,” you deadpanned.
“Hey, how about next week, we have no drama. Just a nice quiet week, hm? That’d be nice for a change,” he said.
“If you can get the universe to cooperate, I’m all ears,” you said. You shivered and he ran his hand up and down your arm.
“We’re almost there,” he said. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”
Three minutes later he was pulled into the ER, picking you up and carrying you inside. You barely had time to look around before you were sat down on a stretcher and being pushed into a room.
“Dean,” said Dr. Novak as you lifted your head, several hands pushing you back down. “Y/N. I wish I wasn’t-”
“Her appendix is going,” said Dean. Cas quickly pulled on a pair of gloves and moved to your side, pressing a gentle hand to it.
“Alright. Call up to the OR. Emergency appendectomy. I want her in surgery asap,” said Cas, giving you a smile. “Pretty routine for us around here, Y/N. No need to worry.”
“That’s what I’ve heard apparently,” you said.
“They want to bring her up now,” said a nurse on a phone.
“Alright, let’s send her up then,” said Cas. Your stretcher started to move down the hall and you saw Dean go with you before he was getting stopped at the elevators.
“Cas.”
“You’re not-”
“I want to be in there,” he said.
“You’re technically not-”
“Cas. That’s my kid,” said Dean, glancing back at you. “Please.”
“Fine. If you can convince them to let you in, you can go,” said Cas.
“Thank you,” he said, jogging past him and ducking in the elevator with you.
Ten minutes later you were in a special gown, felt like you had fifteen things hooked up to you and you were watching people walk around you in scrubs in the operating room.
“Hey, sweetheart,” said Dean as he walked inside, giving you a smile. “Feeling okay?”
“Yeah,” you said, the door opening again, a man walking in with a smile.
“Hello, Y/N. I’m Dr. Ketch. Sounds like you’re having a little problem tonight,” he said, taking a seat on a stool and sitting down next to you. “Normally I would tell you everything we’re going to do but we’re a little crunched for time and I know Dean understands the procedure front and back so if you’re ready, we’re gonna get started.”
“Okay,” you said with a nod.
“Thatta girl,” he said, standing back up. “Dean you can stay up top once she’s under.”
“Thanks Ketch,” said Dean, looking down at you. “Ketch is a little cocky but he’s a really good surgeon. You’ll be just fine.”
“Dean. Relax,” you said.
“Okay,” he chuckled, moving aside for a moment. “When you wake up you’ll feel a lot better. I promise.”
You wearily opened your eyes and found yourself in a recovery bay with several other sleeping people. Dean was resting his head in his arms on the bed, lightly snoring. He was still in scrubs and you yawned when you spotted Dr. Ketch head over towards you.
“Hi, Y/N. How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Tired,” you said, closing your eyes for a moment.
“That’s probably the anesthesia wearing off. Surgery went well. Your appendix was removed before it could rupture and the procedure was done with only a few small incisions so you shouldn’t be in too much pain. I’m pretty sure Dr. Winchester was more worried than you were,” he said.
“Dean’s always been a worrier,” you said.
“You should have seen him in med school. Cool as a cucumber until we had exams. Then he’d just-”
“Shut up, Ketch,” mumbled Dean as he lifted his head and blinked open his eyes. “You are not talking about my college days to her.”
“Party animal too,” said Ketch with a laugh. “For the first year at least. Then he toned it down.”
“Arthur,” said Dean lowly.
“Why don’t you take it easy and head back to sleep, Y/N. It’s about three in the morning. Sleep a few more hours. We’ll get you squared away in a room until you’re ready to go home,” said Ketch. “That goes for dad too.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “You mind staying a second while I go change?”
“Yeah, I got it, Winchester,” he said. Dean ruffled your hair before he left, Ketch taking a seat in his chair with a sigh. “Remind me to never let him in my OR again. Talk about backseat surgeon.”
“Thanks. I know he was scared,” you said.
“Go on back to sleep,” he said as you shut your eyes again. “I’ll take care of Dean. You just rest now.”
Three Days Later
“Hi Rae,” you said when she came into your room late Friday night. “What’s…”
“Something’s wrong with dad,” she said. You eased yourself out of bed and followed her out of your room, following her down the hall and to his room. You poked your head in his room and she looked up at you. You grabbed her hand and sent her back to bed, saying he was fine. After she headed up you went back, knocking on the doorframe.
“Dean,” you said, his back to you on the bed.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” he breathed out.
“You need anything?”
“No. You should rest. You’re still recovering,” he said. You nodded and left, going to your room and digging around in your closet for a moment before you were back in his room, walking around his bed. You sat down on the edge and he sighed, sitting up and giving you a long look but still you saw his red eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Ana has to work late tonight and you’ve been quiet,” you said. “I know what today is.”
“One of the worst days of my life,” he said. “It’s been nine years. This day…”
“I know,” you said. You grabbed his hand and pulled it into your lap. You slipped the bracelet you’d made earlier in the week on his wrist, Dean’s face blank when you set his hand back in his lap. “That was supposed to be a Christmas present but you look like you could use it today.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“I made you a bracelet from the twin’s arts and crafts stuff while everyone was at work and school,” you said. “I thought…”
“Thought what, sweetheart?” he asked quietly.
“I thought you might like it,” you said.
“It’s like the one I gave you,” he said.
“It’s supposed to be,” you said with a shrug. “It was stupid.”
You got up quickly, Dean grabbing your hand and tugging you to sit back down.
“You can tell me anything, Y/N. You know that,” he said. “Why’d you make this for me?”
“You gave me yours and I know what it means to you to have done that. I just…” you trailed off. He tucked your hair behind your ear and you let out a deep breath. “It means a lot for me to give this to you too.”
You bit your bottom lip, Dean nodding as he ran his thumb over the band on his wrist.
“I love it,” he said, pulling you into a hug. “Thank you, sweetheart. I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” you said.
You swore you felt him squeeze you tighter and a small laugh escape him.
“Thank you,” he said. “Today’s not so bad after all.”
“Hey,” said Ana, both of you turning towards the door. “Everything okay?”
“Mhm,” hummed Dean, smushing his cheek against yours.
“Dean,” you groaned.
“Alright. You’re relieved of duty,” said Dean. You nodded and got up, getting a quick goodnight from Ana as you left the room. You paused outside the door when you heard him hum.
“Sorry I had to work late today of all days,” you heard Ana say.
“S’okay, honey,” said Dean.
“Y/N take care of you for me while I was gone?” she asked.
“She made me this,” said Dean. It was quiet for a moment and you thought about leaving when you heard a laugh. “She told me she loved me for the first time too. She loves me, Ana.”
“Of course she loves you, Dean,” she said. “You loved her and you gave her that. You went and got her. You’re the first person in a very long time to stick up for her. Baby, she’s loved you since she came back to this house, probably before then. I just don’t think she wanted to admit it.”
“I just...I never thought she would. I’d be okay if she didn’t,” he said. “But she does. She gave me this. She did that today and she knows what today is.”
“Because she doesn’t like to see you hurt,” said Ana. “None of us do. But we both know how much you care about her. I remember when I met Rae and Ryan for the first time and you told me you had another daughter but she wouldn’t be home for awhile. She feels that love you give her, Dean. The fact that she wants you to feel it back is amazing, baby.”
“A part of me always thought she’d resent me, for not getting her back sooner. She could walk out that door and there’s nothing I can do to stop her. She’s not a baby, Ana. But she’s not just here for the twins,” he said.
“She’s here for her, Dean. I would have killed to have someone like you when I was a kid. She knows how lucky she got with you. It’s just going to be harder for her to say things like I love you out loud. But every time she comes and checks on you or asks if you’re okay, remember that she is saying that she loves you.”
“I’ll try,” said Dean. “She just...she made me so happy tonight. More than happy. I don’t…”
“Remember falling in love?” she asked. “That pit inside wasn’t so deep anymore?”
“My pit was pretty deep,” he said, taking a deep breath. “It’s not so bad anymore. I’m okay. Honestly.”
“I know,” she said. “Love you, De.”
You smiled and headed quietly back to your room, crawling into your bed staring up at the ceiling for a moment, rolling to your side and falling asleep with a smile on your face.
______
A/N: Read Part 11 here!
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Jersey on my mind (part 32)
From the front door of the building to the elevator there were fifteen steps. Fifteen steps that passed a counter and an orienteering board over the more than ten floor Brooklyn building.
Just as every morning, Mila counted the steps. It had become a habit, just as she, before entering the elevator, began to unbutton her jacket. Inside the elevator she let out a lioness-que yawn as she parked herself against the back wall. Thankfully it had been a calm morning. Jim was already gone when her alarm yelled at her to ‘get her ass out of the bed’. Juri was already awake and parked in front of the tv, watching Clifford the Big Red Dog in his pajamas, which meant that Mila could take a shower before preparing his breakfast. While Juri ate his oatmeal with honey under a blanket on the couch, eyes glued to the tv screen and the happy, big red monster dog, Mila got dressed. Forty-five minutes later she dropped Juri at daycare, kissed him on the cheek and hurried off to work.
The elevator stops with a soft thud and she steps out on the ninth floor and heads for the glass doors to the clinic. She’s let in by the receptionists and is welcomed by the constant scent of fresh cut flowers on the reception desk.
”Good morning, Saif. Morning Vanessa.” Mila greets the always happy receptionist couple, lovebirds in real life, behind the counter as she passes through the empty reception.
The dressing room is empty when she enters. Mila removes her workwear, the slightly fancier than nurses-scrubs in a sophisticated shade of grey, from her locker. She leaves the white coat on its hook (it’s way too formal) and drops the bright pink Adidas trainers on the floor with a thud before starting to undress. They switch between the grey scrubs and plain white every other week; head dentist and dental practice owner Said Kadeem thought it would be a ‘edgy, yet fun way to brand themselves as a fun clinic’. In reality he just couldn’t decide which color he thought looked best. It’s the same with his morning-, lunch- and afternoon coffee; with or without milk? He can stand in front of the machine for hours it seems, with his forehead wrinkled together in concentration to make his mind up.
I’d die for a cup of plain, as black as fucking possible-coffee right now, Mila thinks as she pulls the grey pants over her hot pink thongs, reminding herself to do the laundry when she gets home. Putting milk into a cup of coffee is a crime if anything. She steps into the trainers and pulls the top over her head. She gives herself a last look in the mirror and adjusts her ponytail, before leaving the changing room, entering the break room. It’s not a luxurious clinic; no celebrity clients wearing bigger than their face-sunglasses or heavy politicians with a tail of bodyguards, but it’s one of the best private dental clinics in the area, which makes the staff spaces and benefits really generous.
Gotta get some luxury treatment for making it through university with a toddler at home, Mila thinks to herself and steers toward the coffee machine. She greets her colleagues, who are already parked at the table with coffee mugs in front of them, everybody except Lauryn, who’s entire face is hidden behind a huge Starbucks blonde vanilla latte with extra vanilla and coffee plus caramel.
”Rough night?” Mila asks.
”Never turn thirty.” Lauryn Cassidy groans and puts down the ginormous drink on the table. The bags under her eyes scream ’we need to rest you fucker’. ”Why am I even here today?”
”You’re thirty and responsible.” Kristian Shaffer responds. ”I’m impressed.”
Lauryn groans again.
”I liked myself better two days ago, when I was twenty-nine and carefree.”
”Remind me to take the day off after my thirtieth birthday then.” Sarah Preston says and pours a pack of raw brown sugar into her coffee mug.
”Gosh, I’m glad I’ve been there, done that.” Riley Palmer sighs and leans back into his chair. He puts his hands behind his head and flexes his biceps. ”Trust me, thirty is the new twenty.”
”My god such bullcrap!” sterile nurse Ava Cooper rolls her eyes at Riley’s remark. ”It’s almost as bad as that ugly ’carpe diem’ tattoo.”
”What?” Riley looks at Ava, then at his biceps, where ’carpe diem’ is imprinted on his skin with black ink, in a barely readable font. ”What’s wrong with that? It’s inspiring. Like, a mental note that-”
”Ey, we know what it means.” Mila interrupts him. ”And it’s ugly.”
Riley doesn’t get a chance to reply. Kadeem enters the room and a glued-on, convivial atmosphere settles across the table in the blink of an eye. It’s for the best not to quarrel in front of the boss.
”Preston-” Kadeem announces and points with his whole arm at Sarah. “Hallie Reynolds called and cancelled Phillips’ appointment this afternoon.”
”Is Phillip the one with the ears?” Lauryn looks at Aaisha to get answers, but the angelic Aaisha only bursts into a muffled giggle.
”No, that’s Lennox. You know, Dumbo.”
”Christ sake, Riley, stop giving my patients names.” Sarah gives Riley the evil eye and slaps him on his upper arm.
”Sergeyevna, you’re on your own this morning, I need to borrow Aaisha for some drilling.”
Mila and Aaisha look at each other. Kadeem loves his job, but most of all he loves a good drilling. Well, there goes that calm morning; making eye contact over the patients, joking around, singing along to the radio and Aaisha’s regular 11 am stretch, combined with: ”I’m gonna go down to the juice bar, you want anything?”
”Fine.” Mila replies to her superior in white.
”And please, tone down that bluntness today, will you?” Kadeem pleats. ”We can’t have more body builders leaving the clinic crying. Everyone is bad at dental health and everybody knows it, you don’t have to tell them.”
”I thought that was my job?”
”Our job is to dig around their mouths, smile and tell them to floss properly. And charge for doing so.” Kadeem turns to the coffee machine, which is the start of his first, dreadful choice of the day; milk, or no milk. ”Frankly, I don’t know how you seem to get them to come back every 6 months.”
”Witchcraft.”
”Really?” Kristian puts his head to his side and grins at her. ”Thought it was your radiant, bubbly personality?”
“Nope, that’s Cooper and Cassidy.” Kadeem says, without taking his eyes off the coffee machine. “Sergeyevna is like me. It’s in our culture.”
Yeah, the much well known, yet tremendously rare Moscow-Russian and Shiraz-Iranian-culture. Mila smiles a little. As soon as it became clear to Kadeem during her first interview that she was a relatively fresh immigrant, he became overjoyed and felt an almost unreasonable bond with her. Sure, they are both honest and forthright, but that’s more likely a personal trait. Otherwise they are like night and day. But she likes him, he’s a good boss. And his wife makes a hell of a baklava, not to speak of the kletcha.
As the clock strikes nine they simultaneously leave the break room and heads for their offices and treatment rooms. Mila turns on the lights, cranks up the radio and looks out of the window with her cup of coffee steadily in her hand. Another workday. She puts the mug down at the counter as she hears steps approaching. In the next moment, Vanessa appears in the door, followed by her first patient of the morning, Mr. Hardin.
“Mr. Hardin, nice to see you again.” Mila gives her patient a bright smile and takes his hand, gives it a firm shake. “How are you doing?”
She makes a gesture to offer him to sit down in the actually quite comfy dentist chair. She has taken quite a few naps in them after her lunch break since she started working at the clinic.
“Same old, same old.” The man with thinning hair sits down and shrugs at her. “At least I got the health.”
“I’m glad to hear.” Mila replies. “How’s Irene? Must be busy times now?”
“Yeah she’s got her ass full- sorry.”
“No worries. I bet.” Mila takes a seat in her rolling, saddle chair and rolls up to the computer, where she starts to fill in the patient file. ’Hardin, Mark. Regular checkup. Tartar removal’. Same old, same old. “So, just a checkup today.”
“Correct.” mr. Hardin says. ”How’s the kid? Juri, wasn’t it?”
“Yup, indeed.” Mila replies as she takes two pale blue rubber gloves from its box. “He’s doing well.”
“Is he walking yet?”
”More like running.” Mila focuses on the framed photography on the wall, picturing a tropical beach with clear blue turquoise water. Holy crap, he’s growing up so fast, she thinks as she pulls the gloves over her hands. “He’s been on the run for awhile now. Just as I was apparently.”
“They grow fast.” Mr. Hardin shakes his head, as if he can’t believe the basic biology of humans, and leans back in the chair. “But you’re young and healthy. That’s good. This virus, huh?”
“Yeah it’s really strange- Scoot, please.” Mila instructs her patient before continuing to check the tray on her cart, making sure all of her tools are in place. “Great.”
“Both New York Presbyterian and Mount Sinai West are soon overrun. I mean, if that doesn’t sound serious I don’t know what does. Irene’s working double shifts at Langone here in Brooklyn and they still seem to get more and more deaths each day. I think the death toll was, about 70 yesterday, and that’s just Langone. Must be like, 300 in New York alone.”
“Mhm, it’s horrible.” Mila replies monotonously, while scrolling through the x-ray of Mr. Hardin’s lower row of teeth from his appointment the year prior. She’s been trying her best to live life as normal as possible despite the deadly virus. Life has to continue, somehow. “Do you have any issues with sensitivity? Pain?”
“No, just tartar. Like, a lot. Irene found these small pieces in the sink-“
“We’ll fix that today.” Mila says quickly and gives her patient a radiant smile. She doesn’t need, or want, to hear what poor Irene Hardin found in the sink. She’s got a pretty good clue. “You’ve quit smoking yet?”
She turns and looks at Mr. Hardin, who’s shoulder goes up to his ears. He transforms from his regular, very accountant-self (because that’s what he is) to an ashamed puppy in the clinical chair. Mila shakes her head at him, smacking with her tongue. Mila turns to the radio and increases the volume of Angus Young’s voice wailin “You’ve been thunderstruck” to the more than famous guitar tapping.
”Ah. This is why I like going here.” Mr. Hardin says with a smile and points at the radio. ”I listen to NYC Rock in the car, every day.”
“Okay mr. Hardin, let’s rock and roll.” Mila pulls the sterile face mask over her nose. It smells clinical and plastic. She grabs the probe and the mirror and smiles with her eyes at mr. Hardin from underneath the mask.
She starts to work. It’s a regular day. Not too hot, not too cold. The sun is shining into the office and Angus Young continues to blast out that they’ve been struck by thunder, about a billion times. The only thing that looks like its’ been struck by something is her patient's teeth. What on god’s earth is he doing during the nights? Chewing bricks?
”Mr. Hardin, are you tense?” Mila asks.
”Howch do choo do chiiit?!” Mr. Hardin manages to utter, with both wide eyes and wide open mouth. ”Schee, chish isch wchy I gcho cher! Ycho are likche a cheraphchist-”
Mila sighs and removes the tools from his mouth.
”No, Mr. Hardin. You grind your teeth, bad. They look awful. Stop it or you won’t have teeth left.”
”Oh.” He replies and swallows, then bursts into a smile again. ”But you see, this is why I go to you and not that crappy Family smile clinic down in Brownsville, that Irene goes to. Honesty, blunt honesty. I like that.”
”Good to know.” Mila says and signs at him to open his mouth again, to let her continue working on that tartar. ”Not everybody does. I once made one of those body builder’s cry because I scolded him for not brushing his teeth right.”
Yeah she was pretty hard on that poor guy, but honestly, his gums looked like minced meat. Mr. Hardin smiles as best as he can with his mouth wide open.
The next song is by The Hellacopters, which makes her smile once again underneath the mask. She saw them perform, one of their last appearances, with Darya a couple of years ago. But suddenly, in the middle of ”-hey boy, you understand. Say your prayers, or you'll be damned-” the song’s interrupted by the breaking news-jingle.
”We’re interrupting with some disturbing news from downtown Manhattan, where chaos has erupted outside Mount Sinai’s hospital.”
Mila pauses in a movement and glances at the radio.
”Police have been called to the morgue where the-”newscaster seems to be groping for words, as if he himself does not believe what to say. “The dead seem to have woken up.”
It is only thanks to the slightly sticky gloves, which hug around the tools, that Mila doesn’t drop them in Mr. Hardin's mouth, at that proclamation.
”Police began firing shots as the bodies- patients, began to attack civilians and medical staff.”
Mila returns to the tartar, but she can’t focus entirely on Mr. Hardin’s hardcore tartar infestation, even though it’s an astonishing collection; if Aaisha hadn’t been asked to help Kadeem out, she’d been sitting on the opposite side of Mila, and her big brown eyes would have been bigger than usual by excitement. It’s surely a dentist thing only, being excited by tartar. Mila tries her best to stay focused, but her mind drifts off to the radio and the rise of the living dead, where the ’on the spot’-broadcaster now interviews a doctor from Mount Sinai.
“-at least ten former patients, declared dead during the week, escaped the morgue and attacked people on the street. Dr. Berkowitz, head of ICU, can you explain what just happened?”
”I don’t know.”
“Were the patients in a coma?”
“No.”
”Dr. Berkowitz, did you or any of your staff, by any chance, make a mistake?”
”No, as I said, they were deceased. Dead.”
”You’re sure?”
”Yes, ofcourse.”
Mr. Hardin makes a gesture with his hand and Mila removes the tools from his mouth.
”Turn up the volume.” He says and rises on his elbows.
Mila obeys, reaches for the radio and turns the volume wheel up a notch.
“How do you explain the situation, then?” the interviewer asks, now louder than before. He sounds more and more irritated, or afraid, Mila can’t really know the difference. “Dead patients suddenly... awakes?”
“I can’t.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Berkowitz, we have to- We get disturbing breaking news from Weill Cornell Medical Center that- what!?” The interviewer exclaims, as if he can’t comprehend what he’s hearing from the third party in his ear. ”Okay, ehrm- we get news that a similar incident occurs right now at Weill Cornell. I repeat, Weill Cornell. Police have been dispatched to the spot and civilians on the street have taken shelter in nearby shops and restaurants. It’s been confirmed that eight- no, nine, people have been injured and a woman has deceased, by severe blood loss. I repeat, one woman is dead and lying in the street. According to eyewitnesses- Neil, you sure about that?” The interviewer asks. “Sorry. Eye witnesses claim that the woman, and I’m sorry about this, is being eaten by the deceased. If you’re in the neighborhood, do not go outside, I repeat; do not-”
Both Mila and Mr. Hardin stare at the radio under complete dead silence. The tools are frozen in her hands and her heart beats hard inside the grey scrubs.
“I gotta-” Mr. Hardin swallows. “I- I need to call Irene.”
“Yeah..” Mila replies. A rush of sickness runs over her. Is the room suddenly swaying, or is she just, overwhelmed? Is this real? She casts a glance at Mr. Hardin, who climbs out of the leaned back chair, still with the pale blue plastic sheet around his neck. “Yeah, go ahead.”
He leaves the room. Mila hears him talk on his phone outside the door. Should she call someone? Her mind wanders to Juri and mama first. With trembling hands Mila picks up the phone from her pocket, unlocks it and goes into the messages. She changes the alphabet to cyrillic starts dictating a text message to mama. In order not to worry her beloved mama more than necessary, she simply writes: ‘Good morning mamochka. How are you today? Love you.’
She presses ‘send’ and then finds her way to the contacts, where she quickly finds ‘Jim’. Signals are heard. She spins in her chair, faces the window. He picks up the phone at the fourth dial.
“Cricket.” Jim greets her. His warm, amazing smile is felt through the phone and instantly calms her soul.
“Thank goodness.” Mila sighs and massages her forehead. “Hi.”
Jim chuckles on the other end. She can see him clearly in front of her. Black suit and white shirt. He’s just had a haircut and said bye bye to the ponytail. Tall, handsome beyond comparison. Probably with his tenth cup of coffee of the day in his hand. It’s a miracle he can keep his cool with that much caffeine in his system.
“Hi.” He replies softly. “What a pleasant surprise. Does milady want to hire a personal security guard?”
She can’t help but smile like an idiot.
“I can offer a very favorable package price.” Jim continues. “Annually. How about ... ten years? Initially.”
“Yeah, I’ll think about it.”
Through the phone, she can really picture how one of Jim’s eyebrows starts to go up, towards his forehead. Usually she plays along with his shenanigans and jokes, but she can’t. Not now.
“You’re on speaker or something?” He asks.
“No. No, sorry. I’m not.” Mila replies and sighs. “Have you heard?”
“Nope. Or, depends on what I’ve missed. What's the talk of the town?”
“You’re nearby a tv or a computer?”
“I’m in the office. Hold on.” Jim starts tapping on the computer. Mila hears the rustle of the buttons in the background. “Oh. That’s-” Jim pauses and reads. “All of them died of the virus?”
“Apparently.”
“I’d say it was a mistake by the hospital, if not- but...” he pauses. “‘New York Times reports that it’s more than twenty patients. Could be more.’ What the-”
“What’s happening?” Mila asks, can’t conceal her feel of discomfort.
“Dunno.” Jim says. “Hey, I can get off work by-” he pauses, as to looking at his watch. “I’ll pick Juri up earlier, in about two hours. I’m sure he’s fine but, just in case. We’ll fix dinner.”
What have I done to deserve this guy, Mila thinks inside her head.
“I love you.”
“You love me for my incredible mashed potatoes.” Jim grins through the phone. “Love you Cricket. It’s gonna be fine.”
.
.
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Dear Diary...
Over recent years, I have become a bit of a couch potato - the brutal truth. I'm no longer flexible and I get aches and pains associated with the nature of my job (I'm a Dental Nurse).
I am always very aware of my posture while I'm working, but proper ergonomics aren't always possible. For example, if a patient cannot lay back in the chair or can only go back partially.
A Dentist that I used to work with and admire greatly, used to frequently take part in yoga or do light weights either at the gym or at home, as she had two small children. She used to talk about the importance of weightlifting as a woman and the benefits it has, especially as you grow older.
My mum is into yoga and I even used to take part once a week at school but those years are long gone. I've always thought that I'd like to get into it and make it a part of my daily routine. So yesterday, when my boyfriend left for work, I pulled up a video on YouTube and did a small session in the kitchen on my own.
I had been hesitant to start for many reasons that could be viewed as excuses, but once I got into it, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I was able to reconnect with my body in ways I hadn't done since I was a dancer. The mind-muscle connection slowly awakening. Managing the breath and sending it to areas of tension. Oh how glorious it was to spend 20-30 mintues completely focused on myself.
Towards the end of the session, I noticed I had received a message from a very dear friend that I have been out of contact with for some time now. It was a short greeting, but she had reached out nonetheless. During the remainder of the session, I felt very in touch with my emotions. I would often think about this friend with whom I'd know since I was a child. How our friendship had grown and blossomed over the years. How we had come through so much together. Our many different phases and how we were now living completely separate lives. I felt saddened that I hadn't been in touch sooner. Felt guilty for being a bad friend.
Once the yoga session had come to its end, I sat for a while and let the sad emotions wash all over me. I took some time before replying to her, as I suddenly felt overwhelmed but I am incredibly grateful to have connected with myself in such a powerful way during that session and to have finally been able to have broken that invisible barrier that been unconsciously built between myself and my lifelong friend.
One of my biggest problems in this lifetime, is letting my ego get the better of me and I need to learn that there is more to life than being stubborn.
#journalling#writing#diary entry#dear diary#darcidual#yoga#feelings#emotions#personal#venting#positive#grateful
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part ten to this
***
Hiei can’t sleep. His pillow is too loud.
The nurse says, “If you delay your medical exam any longer, you will be disqualified from the round.”
“I already told you!” Kuwabara shouts. “We have an injured team member and it ain’t me. Just--please.” He smooths back Hiei’s hair with a shaking hand. “Can’t you see to him first?” Hiei’s mouth is so dry. The forked tongue does nothing to wet his lips.
The nurse glances at Hiei. There’s a speck of pity in her eyes. “I have to examine you in the order of the charts I’ve been given.” What a load of horse shit. Somewhat more sincerely, she says, “I’m sorry.”
The Masked Fighter sighs. “Obviously, this is meant to take us out of the fight for as long as possible. The sooner we get these so called ‘check ups’ out of the way, the sooner we can help our team.”
A line of fire dances along the length of Kuwabara’s neck. He’s so furious he can barely keep his power in check. Hiei strains to get closer to his heat. “Fine!” Kuwabara growls. “Why not? Hey, nurse, I’d like to schedule my dental cleaning while we’re at it.” He gently sets Hiei down in the grass. “I’ll be back soon, okay? You’re going to be fine.” No. Kuwabara needs to stay.
The talons have already turned back into his useless fingers. He doesn’t have the strength to keep Kuwabara from leaving. Hiei watches helplessly as the Masked Fighter and Kuwabara enter the medical tent. It’s a trap.
The nurse gives each of them a cursory once over. “I recommend that you both sit out this round.”
Kuwabara nearly starts breathing fire. “On what grounds? I barely have a scratch on me!”
The Masked Fighter says nothing. She used up a lot of her energy utilizing the Spirit Wave.
A barrier goes up around the tent. “If you refuse to follow medical advice, then I’ll just have to keep you here--nurse’s orders.”
Kuwabara breaks the exam table in two. “You’re lucky I don’t hit women,” he says, and throws each half of the table against the barrier. They bounce off without doing any damage.
The nurse laughs. “I might not have much in the way of offense, but I make a mean barrier. You’re going to have to do way better than that if you want to break out of here.”
Yusuke slams his fist against his palm. “Dirty fucking cheaters! I’ll take all of Team Masho on if I have to!” He’s just as angry as Kuwabara is.
Kurama squeezes Yusuke’s shoulder. “Let me fight. I’ll win as many matches as I can. Should I fall, it’ll be up to you to finish the round.”
“No way, Kurama! You’re the only one who might be able to help Hiei--at least until we can catch a breather and make Doctor Fucking Asshole over there fix him.”
Ryo and Kai keep Ichigaki firmly pinned between them. “Don’t worry,” Mitamura says. “We’ll make sure he doesn’t slip away.”
Kurama shakes his head. “There’s nothing I can do for him except my part to ensure our victory.” He kneels by Hiei’s side. “Remember the reasons you have to live and hold on to each and every one of them,” Kurama urges. “We still need you, Hiei. Don’t even think about dying.”
***
His reasons for living:
Yukina, always. His sister has been his whole world since the day they were born. He doesn’t want to know the person he would be without her. They have the same eyes, just like their mother’s. Not even his grandmother could deny it, and she denied him everything.
Who is this?
Long, brown hair. Cigarette smoke. A sudden ice storm.
The woman I love.
And him?
A green uniform that doesn’t belong to their middle school. A house key and an offer to crash at his place any time: my mom is never home, man. She’s always out drinking. Your little sister can stay, too.
My best friend.
The voice continues flipping through his memories. The redhead. No, not that one. We’ll save him for later.
Roses. Algebra homework, his math scores improving a whole letter grade. Compassion and ruthlessness, intertwined.
My other friend. I don’t have many.
More than you think.
Yukina said you were looking for work. We need an extra server for the lunch crowd on the weekends. That’s right. My family owns the restaurant just outside the neighborhood. You’re friends with Yusuke, right?
My best friend’s girlfriend. My friend, too.
And there are still more friends.
Faded pink hair and the high score on a dozen arcade games. A ferryman’s oar and a briefcase full of gadgets.
What’s your point?
One more--why does he preoccupy so many of your thoughts?
Determination, loneliness. Demons don’t cry but this one does. A mulberry tree. A sword, his fists. The sister he protects from the shadows. Fire. Ice. Abandoned. My, my, my--
I don’t know. I don’t know.
Liar.
I don’t know.
The voice lets him get away with it. Lots of reasons to live, little human boy.
Lots of reasons for you to shut the hell up, chatty dragon bastard.
We’ll get along very well together, you and I.
***
Hiei swims back to consciousness. Kurama wins two matches and is pummeled half to death in the third.
Yusuke exacts justice on Bakken. Jin dissipates his rage and they get along like a house on fire. The Tournament Committee cheats them again and calls the fourth match a double loss. There is no one left to fight Risho.
Kuwabara pounds his fists against the barrier. “Let me out! I can still fight! Let me out!”
Yusuke looks around the stadium, hears the chants from the crowd calling for the deaths of his team. It drowns out the decent man in his heart.
“Why not?” His energy spikes, temporarily silencing the audience’s jeers. “They were never gonna give us a fair shake at this thing, so why the hell not?”
The dragon in Hiei approves.
“Because you’re better than them!”
It’s because they’re better than them that they have the right--
“No! Listen to me,” Kuwabara yells. “It’s not about what they deserve! They’re cheating scumbags. They don’t deserve anything! It’s about what you deserve! And you deserve to be able to live with yourself.” He looks Yusuke in the eye and pleads, “You deserve to be a good man.”
Yusuke’s awful rage peters out. He turns to Hiei and with one, swift shake of his head announces his decision. “Kuwabara’s right. Whatever happens--we have to live with it.”
Risho says to Koto, “Call the match already.”
Hiei stands. He tastes the dragon’s fire on his tongue as he steps into the ring. “Yes, call the match.” He grins at Risho. “I’m ready to begin.”
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[we love a good take two moment for aizawa x reader where this time its the readers turn for a wisdom tooth removal! I think this will be incredible whole some and adorable and maybe even a bit to much for Shouta to handle on his own! Hahah]
“She’ll be fine, it’s just an in and out little procedure. Well give her a little local anesthetic through an IV, numb her up a bit and she’ll be out of here in two hours, no problems”
That was two and a half hours ago. Worry now settling into his chest, Aizawa gave a ragged sigh, eyes lazily casting towards the door that seperated the pristine white dental rooms from the small crowded waiting area, cluster with toys and out dated magazines. What was taking so long? While the rationality of his brain worked to synthesize logical explanations for the increase in procedure time, his heart worked viciously against his mind turning his reason into worry. While his brain knew nothing was wrong, his heart was still relieved when the nurse popped her head through the divider, her eyes still casted down on her clip board. “Mr . Aizawa? Your wife is all done.”
Giving a hum he stood to his feet, gathering your belongings into his arms arms before approaching the half opened door, slithering himself inside as he followed the dental assistant. She gave him a painted smile, her voice a soft whisper as she opened the door to the room that kept you prisoner. “So shes going to be a little out of it for a bit. The procedure went well, but we did run into a minor complication. Nothing bad! It just seemed during the procedure you’re wife was just a bit giggly from her anesthesia.“
Your lovers eyes rolled over your currently unconscious body, a brow raising as he moved to brush his lanky fingers through your hair. Pulling your hair back from your eyes, he tucked it behind your ears his voice a low mumble “giggly? I’m not surprised. That sounds exactly like the kind of thing I’d expect from her. Other than that, i assume everything else went fine?” He asked, the corners of his lips pulling up gently. It was a subtle smile but it was present none the less. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought thst you would put him through all the worry in the world, just because you couldn’t stop laughing.
The hygienist gave a hum and flipped through the chart in her hands, thoroughly making sure she didn’t miss any information. “Other than her laughter slowing the procedure down just a bit, everything else seemed to go as the doctor would have hoped, she was an a model patient” she grinned setting the clip board down. “Now the anesthetic may take a little longer than usual to wear off. Because she was so giggly we did have to give her a little more sedation. She’ll probably be pretty loopy for the rest of the night as well as in a bit of discomfort, try to keep her relaxed for the night.”
Giving a firm and understanding nod, your husband let his fingers gently move to your shoulder, he applying a bit of force as he shook your body slightly. Your body started to come back to life as your eyes began to flutter open, your lips struggling to pull their way into a grin, the novicane seeming to hold them numbly in place. You were happy to see that the first face you saw was your husbands. Most people didn’t share the same feelings of joy and excitement when they looked into those tired and uncaring eyes of his, but to you there was no better sight. Struggling to control your body, your limbs feeling as if each one of them weight about sixty pounds, you barely made your way to your feet. Had the pro hero not been as stealthy and swift as he was, your face would have been met with the cold disgusting linoleum of the dentist floor. “Be careful please, we’ve spent all morning at the dentist, I’m not entirely keen on spending the rest of the day in emergency services if you crack your head open.” He sighed, his arms effortlessly moving to guide your body into his side, he guiding you forward and out of the room.
You couldn’t help but giggle, you snorting every so often as you did. You couldn’t help but smile through the numbness, the sensation making you all but laugh more. “Why did you have other things in mind for us when we get home, lover boy!” you all but attempted to seductively slur out. The minor dribble of blood mixed with saliva that slithered down your chin also seemed to deter your husbands arousal, he shaking his head in response. As you stood gawking at your lover with a set of sultry eyes, your legs began to wobble, all of your body weight crumbling against the unsuspecting hero.
Thinking fast, he steadied his body and held his arms out, catching your numbed body with a grunt. Lord help him, he could tell you were going to be a handful tonight. The hygienist gave a soft laugh of her own watching as your husband effortlessly scooped you up bridal style, he responding to her with a set of eyes that were far from amused. “You said she’ll be like this all night?”
The nursing assistant nodded her head causing you to laugh, though in honesty laughing seemed to be the only thing you could do. Head collapsing under its own weight, you let your temple knock a bit roughly into the others chest as your heavy eyelids began to close once more. What was he going to do with you. While he was expecting you to come back needing a bit of assistance, he wasn’t expecting you to come back stoned out of your mind. Carrying you out of the office, he sighed and settled your body into the car. Glancing in your direction as his ears heard your failed “psssts”, they coming out more spit than whispers, his brow rose as he hummed in response to your attempt to capture his attention, “what?”
You couldn’t help but snicker, shoulders swaying side to side as you built up your momentum, throwing your body closer to his, the top of your head now moving to brush against his shoulder. “You’re really cute...” you giggled “when we get home, I’m gonna suck your-“
“NO. There is absolutely no way that is what’s happening when we get home. I shouldn’t have to point out the obvious, but you’ve just had oral surgery. While I’m not a dentist I don’t think oral sex is the best idea when it comes to after care. Not to mention the fact you can’t even hold your own body up.”
Even with your mind as clouded as it was, you could still hear the flustered tone of his voice and see the hints of pink that spread across his typically grey cheeks. Giggling you let your face hide in his shoulder, before pressing a sloppy kiss to others shirt. Settling yourself back into the passenger seat you could feel you’re body growing heavy as your eyes began to shut. It wasn’t long until you were left unconscious again, Shouta sighing in relief. He didn’t anticipate things this bad, tonight was going to test his patience.
-
When you’re eyes had finally managed to pry themselves open you were home, laying alone in your bed. Displeased by this, you attempted to roll your way to your feet admittedly falling out of the bed with a thud. You couldn’t help but snort and laugh, your body far to numb to even care you hit the ground. Through your laughter you desperately tried to make your way to your feet, but sadly the closest you got was sitting up against the bed...and even that was short lived as you soon fell back to your side with uncontrollable giggles.
Concerned with all the ruccus, the door to your bedroom popped open, a very annoyed Aizawa standing in your presence. You couldn’t help but grin up at him, body shaking as you pressed your lips together in an attempt to hold back your laughter “i fell out of the bed...” you snorted out, the laughter bursting past your lips like water bursting from a pipe. “I fell out of the beeeeeeed”
Pressing his fingers roughly into his temples, Shouta let out a very exasperated sigh, he moving to gather you from the floor “why did you try to leave the bed?”
Fighting against him as he worked to place you back on to the mattress, you gave a grunt, wiggling around in his arms. Your body floundered as you tried to hold your grounds, head shaking as you tried to push away from your lovers arms “cause I want to come out in the living room and sit with you duuuuh! I missed you’re cute handsome face and i love you so muuuuuch”
He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the edges of his mouth. While he was happy to know you loved him, he’d preferred if you stayed in bed. When you’re struggle became more persistent, you absolutely refusing to rest any longer, your far to tired lover gave in and allowed you to sit out in the living quarter with him. He followed behind you cautiously as you bumped your way across every wall and corner on your way, “you’re going to be the death of both of us tonight.” He huffed, watching as in an instance you darted your way towards the couch, arms pulled far behind your back as you leant yourself forward.
Wrapping his scarf around your body, he gently yanked you into his hold, pressing your back against his front. A shiver ran down your spine as you felt the others lips press a kiss to the top of your ear, his warm breath beating against your ear as he whispered, “You’re driving me crazy tonight. I love you but if you do not sit on this couch and relax QUIETLY I’m going to loose my patience.”
A pout played on your lips, you wriggling to turn around as your eyes threatening to spill with tears. “Are you mad at me baby...”
He couldn’t take the sad look you responded with, he closing his eyes as he took in a deep breath releasing you from his capture weapons hold. It wasn’t fair for him to snap at you, it’s not like any of your behavior was intentional. Letting his lips press to your temple he gently lead you to the couch, sitting himself down before helping to lower your body carefully on to his own. “No I’m not mad at you, i just wish you would take it easy. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself. You’re not thinking rationally, I’m just...worried about you.”
Wiping your hand across your mouth to collect the drool that seeped past the corners, you sniffled and rested your head against his chest. It brought your mind back to reality, just for a second. You snuggled your way closer to him as your lips pressed to the underside of his chin. “Can we watch a movie?”
At ease with your much more relaxed behavior, the typically uninterested and detached lover of yours leant in and pressed a small kiss at the edges of your lips, humming in response. “One movie.”
Content with this, you reached your arms out for the remote, your fingers struggling to grip the object as you scrolled through the movies you two had available to watch. It didn’t take you long to find something you wanted to watch, the two of you deciding a Disney movie would do. Well you decided this, Shouta wasn’t a fan of musicals or animated movies, but for you he’d suffer through it. Though, not even the big bad erasure hero himself could deny he didn’t thoroughly enjoy watching the movie with you, even if through out the entirety of the movie all you did was sing terribly off key with every song that came on. It was all fun and games until you began to attempt danciny along with some scenes. It was when you nearly broke the coffee table, you were back to being restrained on your husbands lap. It was a tiring and trying two hours for the both of you, but by the time the movie had ended you had managed to burn off all the energy that was left in your system. Still humming some of the songs from the movie well after it had ended, your eyes closed, body curling in on itself as you tucked away in the others side. Happy to see you’ve finally calmed down, he brushed a hand over your head and pressed a loving kiss against your forehead. “Let’s change the gauze in your mouth and then go to bed.”
Body now to tired and weak to fight him, you gave a single nod of agreement, glad when the other decided to lift your body instead of making you walk. Moving to curl your arms around his neck, you gave a yawn and nuzzled your nose against his jaw. “Shouta?....”
Without looking down, your husband answered with a tired yawn of his own. “Yes?”
Smiling at the soft tone in his voice, driven by his desire to sleep, you kissed his cheek before letting your body lay limply in his arms. “I love you....I know you’ll disgareee but I think you’re the best husband in the world and I’m so glad you love me back enough to put up with my crazy dumb stupid-“
Shaking his head he gently pressed his mouth to yours, stopping your ramble right there. “You’re not crazy,dumb, stupid, or any of the other remaining bad things you had to say about yourself. You do sometimes test my patience, but I love it. I love you too.”
Content to hear his words you let your body melt in his arms. You managed to push eyes open just long enough for him to care for the bandages in your mouth before the two of you made your way to bed. It wasn’t long after your body had hit the mattress that you fell asleep right against the others body. He waited himself a few moments longer to make sure you were truly passed out before falling asleep himself. He loved you, and while today was a trying test of his patience, he’d gladly do it again if you needed him to. You were right, he didn’t believe what you’d said about him being the best husband, but he was happy knowing you thought of him that way.
#aizawa shouta#aizawa x reader#my hero academia#toshinori x reader#toshinori yagi#hizashi x reader#yamada hizashi#bnha requests#eraserhead#bnha aizawa
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The Story So Far
When I was a boy I’d run around the house with swords. The backyard was a narrow path to journey. My incomplete tree house with no roof was a beacon to my future. My front yard was a vast field to hold my final battle. My swords would spin, twirl, and clash with the great villain in front of me. Their silver armor draped in white cloth flowing in the soft breeze. My imaginary self in form fitted black.
I can remember that I would try and try again to defeat the villain. It always took me so many tries. So many times being beaten down before I would awake some internal magical power. Whether I imagined controlling fire, or using some dark black powerful smoke. In the end five year old me would vanquish my foe, and I’d smile so wide before pretending to die myself. A fitting end to my story. That is what I always thought when I was five.
Walking through my childhood home was nothing special. It had rotted wood floors that let you see the dirt below. We had pipes that led to nowhere. Water would come in, but our sinks would just drip into buckets that my mother would pour out in the street. My parents made decent money. My father painted custom cars, and my mother was a dental nurse. Our floor eventually became nice tile, and pipes were put in. Our home was small, but it was cozy and a home.
For my sixth birthday my family and I went to Mexico. I remember getting my very first sunburn, and riding a horse. I remember almost drowning on the beach for maybe the fourth time. What I remember most though was going home. I watched my father be pulled away and put in chains for smuggling drugs over the border. He wasn’t some drug lord, or a mule for some vast syndicate. My father was just a simple user of substance. In memory I sometimes forget what him being pulled away looked like. I forget the way that my mother panicked in the airport halls. I for some reason can never forget the officer that pulled me aside, asked me if I enjoyed magic, and did a simple quarter trick where he flicked it up and made it light on fire before catching it. He was a man in a black uniform showing some confused kid some magic to distract him, and I simply can’t forget him.
Flashing through the following years they blend together like the chocolate blended into a shake. I can remember my parents being divorced around my sixth birthday. The harsh weeks or just weekends with him sleeping in stolen cars. The time coming home with lice. Grown men falling on top of me alongside the glass from broken bottles in an intoxicated fight. Being parked outside a club as my father did lines, while I slept on a strangers couch. The time I was forgotten in a meth lab using trash as a bed for days. I remember getting scabies from that same trash. Most of all I remember my father being taken by the police over and over again till I lost count. Every time being dropped off at one of my sisters houses, because he never wanted my mother to know. Yet she always did.
Around the age of eight or nine my mother found a new husband. All the times my father tore my childhood down my mother always tried to build it up. Taking me to Disney World, blasting music to dance to in the house. Why wouldn’t this new husband be the same? My mother and I traveled to San Diego in southern California from our home in Portland Oregon on repeated occasions to see him. He was a taller man. Strong good looking face with a muscular build. His name was Eli. He was always nice every visit, and would take us to wonderful places. Eventually my mother and I finally packed up and moved in with him officially. We kept our home in Oregon just for when we’d visit the rest of the family. Once in San Diego he changed. It started with him coming out in a white karate uniform and putting on Bruce Lee films. It started with him taking us to the beach all the time. Smiling in his white t-shirt as he’d tell us he loved us. Then in no time the fairytale dissipated.
Eli would grab my mother and beat her in front of me. He’d drag her down the halls to our new house by her hair. He’d beat her more if she couldn’t cover her bruises well enough in public as it made him look bad. I cried one night hard enough that my mother must have heard me and woken up. She crept into my room and told me it would be okay. She told me that it would be fine. I was so broken up inside that I was too small to help. I could only watch every day as he broke her down. Eventually the day came where one of my younger cousins, age three at the time came to visit from back home. Him and I watched SpongeBob while Eli beat my mother in their bedroom. I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I picked up my younger cousin Phoenix and carried him on my back, down the trellis from the second floor we were on. I grabbed my pre programmed phone from out of my pocket and called the police. Unable to tell what my address was, and unable to tell them anything of use. All I could do was tell them the situation. When the police arrived they burst down the front door and rushed in to find my mother unconscious with his hands gripped around her neck. We were leaving San Diego.
The next few years consisted of me cutting off my father, and living solely with my mother. My mother went back to working two jobs; she was a dental nurse by day and a bartender by night. I got into countless fights at school. Mainly from being bullied for having long braids, but this wasn’t new. Come sixth grade flowing through eighth I cut off my hair to my shoulders, gained your average teen attitude, and watched my mother drink more like my father. I got to hear my mother say that she hates who I am as she’d walk out of the house in her white night out jacket. I never wanted to be home. I would walk around the city at night and see how far my legs would take me. I would pick up whatever girl I could tell thought I was cute. My mothers friends would call me names such as Young Heff. It began to become a part of my identity. Anger, sleaziness, and a black wardrobe. Just like every other teen.
Half way through eighth grade my mother had fallen in love with another man and he wanted her to move in with him. He couldn’t move to us because then he’d lose the ability to see his seven year old daughter Jessica. My mother asked my opinion about moving. All I could think of was what had happened last time. My mother was so happy that I couldn’t help but say yes. We packed up our bags and moved down under to Australia. In the city of Sydney I found a new life. More or less. I had no friends, and I had no real family aside from my mother, her new husband, and my new sister Jess. I couldn’t go to school because I wasn’t a citizen yet. I found my only solace in playing video games or read books like I did when I was a small child just to escape reality. The reality of loneliness, the reality that my only friends were on a computer screen on over an Xbox microphone, the reality that my father had achieved a five year prison sentence while I was away. Eventually my mind couldn’t escape and I wrote endless poetry. Words melted to page like a candle to flame.
Just like a Greek tragedy though this marriage that I dressed in white for was not meant to last. After four years of being together my mother was being suffocated by his jealousy. Being timed on visits to the store out of his fear of her leaving him. So one morning that’s what we did. We fled back to Oregon. Leaving behind the lack of friends I had made. Starting my social life all over again. Back home my mother started her drinking again, and her temper got worse as I could never perform in academics. Not for a lack of intellect, but a lack of care. Which only made her attitude worse to me. I’d watch her go out at night in her white jackets, and white dresses as I’d stay at home and hide away in my room in a black shirt and jeans.
In reality since then nothing has changed, except that I am years older. Yet everything is different. I see myself wearing white jackets, and white shirts. My swords are mounted on the walls. I realize myself finishing bottles in a day. I watch myself grabbing a girl by her throat taking her air. My life hasn’t changed since I was four, five, nine, or fifteen. I’m still just trying to be the man in black, even though I know that means just waiting to die. “ ; ”
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Island Hopper (Jimjeran Book 2)- Chapter 14 : Ache
Claire continues to work on the Field Ship and finds herself getting to know John better and missing Jamie...
Previously on Island Hopper
To the Table of Contents
At breakfast the next morning, I found myself at the same table as Dr. Saul. We smiled at each other across the table as we attempted to fuel ourselves for the day with a breakfast of rice, fish, and breadfruit. I found myself longing for a bowl of Jamie’s steel cut oatmeal—what he called ‘porridge’—chewy and satisfying especially when topped with brown sugar and powdered milk. Thinking of him made me feel even emptier than I already did.
“It’s a shame that there’s not time for follow-ups,” the kindly doctor remarked, his brown eyes a contrast to his stark white hair. “Some of the teeth I had to pull yesterday could actually have been saved if I had time to do a crown. But with such a short time to visit, if a cavity goes deep enough and can’t be fixed with an amalgam filling the tooth has to go.”
“I feel the same way,” I replied, pushing the dry roasted breadfruit around my plate. As much as I tried to tell myself it was just a starch like potatoes and that despite its name it wasn’t supposed to taste like either bread or fruit, I couldn’t bring myself to eat it if it wasn’t drenched in oil and salt. “I guess Arno is lucky to have a nurse practitioner there, though we don’t have a dentist… speaking of which, Dr. Saul, do you think I might be able to observe an extraction? A toothache is one of the things that makes people miserable, and I’d like to be able to at least help them if they’ve got a horribly abscessed tooth. I don’t want to make it worse for them by cracking a tooth off in their jaws.”
Dr. Saul smiled. “You’ve got to become a jack of all trades out on these islands, don’t you?” He looked at me curiously. “My wife was a nurse before we retired. I’ve tended to come on these adventures without her, but I keep on wishing she would be willing, for a short time if not several months, to serve out on one of these islands.” He smiled. “Then I’d finally have time to do dental work the way I’d like to, and she could be my assistant if she wasn’t otherwise occupied.”
All too soon it was time for us to take our dishes to the galley, call out “kommool tata” to the cook, and head to our respective stations.
We had docked on Jabor, the islet with the largest population on Jaluit. I was surprised to see how westernized the little town was, like a miniature Majuro. Instead of palm trees radiating out from the dock, there were some paved roads and some coral gravel roads, houses, a couple of small stores, and a school. It seemed like every spare inch of space was covered with either a building or road.
The ship still had a large delivery of boxes to offload and copra to pick up, but it was obvious that the residents had less need of the medical services we provided. Dr. Saul, however was quite busy, so during my patient breaks he was able to coach me through several extractions. He showed me how to grip the tooth and rock it back and forth in its socket to loosen the bone and detach the ligament before removing the tooth. Preparation, he said, was extremely important and would prevent the tooth splintering on removal.
He also demonstrated what to do if a tooth cracked on its way out—how to flush the cavity and make sure to extract the other pieces, to close the opening with a few stitches, as well as giving the patient instructions to rinse their mouths with salt water until fully healed.
John had a bit of a weak stomach, so he was quite grateful to relinquish the assistant spot to me, and instead manned the fort in the clinic to come get me if I had a patient and handed out toothbrushes and toothpaste to curious children peering into the dental operatory.
Because Jabor was so well-supplied and urbanized, the ship only spent half the day there. At our lunch break, the boat left the dock and pressed north to another island in the atoll a 45-minute journey away.
After we’d filled our plates, John and I found a shady spot on the upper deck to eat, as far away as possible from the bags of copra piled high on the main deck so that the rancid odor no longer overpowered us. It was getting worse as the trip progressed and the supply of smoked coconut increased, though if we ever got a breeze at night, it seemed to blow the smell away. However, in the past few days the ocean had been remarkably still and currently the only disturbance on the water was the white “v” of our wake.
“Where are we going now?” I asked John.
“Imiej,” he replied. “It was where the Japanese were based during World War II here.” John pointed ahead to the far end of the long green island parallel to our course. “There are ruins of barracks and an old Shinto shrine there, as well as wrecks of boats and airplanes that divers come to see.”
“I knew that Guam was held by the Japanese during World War II,” I nodded. “I hadn’t realized that the Marshall Islands were, too.”
“It’s taken a while for us to travel toward independence,” John smiled. “In the 1880s during the imperialism rush, Germany claimed the Marshall Islands. They put in a trading post here on Jaluit. After World War I, Germany lost the territory and we were given to Japan.”
“As if your nation was something that could belong to anyone other than her people?”
John inspected his fish and selected the perfect bite to pair with his rice. John was handsome, refined, and distinguished, and yet he looked just as at home eating coconut rice and barbecued fish with his fingers as if he was using utensils in a fine dining establishment.
“Well, Claire,” he said, smiling patiently, “Though a small nation does not have much control of her destiny, what can be accomplished viewing history with bitterness? Our histories make us who we are. During that time, we gained Japanese immigrants, and although many were repatriated to Japan after the war, if they’d intermarried, they were allowed to stay here.”
“I was thinking Ogawa sounded very Asian,” I responded. “Our general store out on Arno is owned by an Ogawa. And a few of Jamie’s students have a blend of Marshall and Japanese features.”
John nodded.
“A lot of late World War II was fought in the Pacific, as I recall,” I said. “The US liberated Guam from the Japanese before the war ended.”
“The Japanese base here on Jaluit was bombed during World War II. The US took the Marshalls in early 1944, and the war didn’t end until a year and a half later. After the war we became part of the Trust Territories of the Pacific Islands.”
“Forgive my ignorance,” I said. “But are the Marshall Islands still a territory of the US? Guam is.”
“No, we gained our independence in 1986,” John said with a smile. “Thirty-two years ago. We might still be considered a protectorate of the US—they provide defense for us, and the US postal system delivers mail here as if we were a territory or state. Considering that we only have 55,000 people in the entire nation, we aren’t any sort of superpower.”
I set down my plate and leaned forward toward John. “I’m missing my husband,” I said. “Tell me how you met.”
John’s face brightened. “I think it was my first day of College Writing,” he said. “I like to do well in school, so I was one of the few people sitting toward the front of the classroom. The next thing I know a very large ri-palle with bright red hair sat down by me. Sorry,” he said, “Ri-pālle means…”
“No need to translate,” I said. “That’s Jamie’s name for me half the time.”
John looked amused. “He calls you Ri-pālle?”
“Aet,” I nodded. “As in ‘itōk Ri-pālle.’”
He shook his head in amusement. “That Jamie… always kakūtōtōik—teasing. Sometimes,” John said, “the teasing hides a deep hurt… He has mentioned his family, of course.”
I nodded.
“The loss of his father in particular,” said John. He started to ask me a question, then stopped himself. “Has he mentioned me?”
I shook my head slowly. “But John,” I explained, “I have only known him a little over two months.”
John stared at the wake of the boat. “Jamie was just the opposite of everything I’d seen every day since I was a kid. Red hair instead of black; curly instead of straight. Tall instead of short. Big instead of petite. You can see I’m bigger than the average Marshallese because I’m half white. And having never met my father, I was drawn to Jamie. It was like I was seeing the other half of myself, the other half of my identity.” He paused. “And I was coming to grips with another part of my identity as well, deciding whether it was safe, whether I was ready to come out of the closet.”
“It’s a big decision,” I responded. “My best friend Joe is gay. Coming out to his mom was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Of course, she gave him a big ol’ hug and said, ‘Honey, I’ve known forever. I just wondered when you were going to figure it out.’” I remembered the glassy look of tears in Joe’s eyes when he’d told me that story, when he’d shared how freeing it was to be able to be real with his momma.
“Sometimes it’s hard to stay home and make that change,” I said. “Joe moved across the country for college, and he’s settled in Colorado.”
John looked straight at me. “At times I feel certain that moving away is what I need to do to really be able to be myself. But I’m tied to this place. I just haven’t been able to leave.”
The peaceful camaraderie of our boat journey quickly came to an end when we docked at Imiej and soon the staff of all the offices were back to work. By the end of our second work day, I had reached a level of efficiency that reminded me of my days in the ER, funneling patients through as quickly as possible, assessing their needs and providing care in a prompt manner. I missed the relaxed, communal nature of my practice on Arno but it was also stimulating to rush again. There was a part of me that recognized that sensation of stress and responded by shutting down the social part of my brain and triggering the professional part.
But after dinner, when the field ship was heading across the still sea toward our next destination, the atoll of Ailinglaplap; the part of my heart that longed for connection couldn’t help but ache. I crept up to the top deck again and sat by the railing, gazing out toward the east, opposite the final rays of the setting sun. Somewhere over those black, still waters lay the island of Majuro. And beyond that was Arno and Jamie. I hugged my knees to my chest and closed my eyes.
I’d been homesick at camp before. I’d had that baby ache when I longed to be a mother. And I’d missed Frank when I first came out to Arno. But missing Jamie hurt all over. I pictured him coming home to me, his face beaming at the sight of me, imagined him after a morning jog, entering our apartment with a smile on his face, sweaty and hungry for breakfast and me, and the look on his face as he determined which to have first. I thought of him getting dressed in the morning standing by the closet in boxer briefs—how just the sight of him: damp curls around his ears and neck, the lines of his back and visible tone of his muscles could draw me to him as if nothing else existed, unsatisfied until I had seduced him, until I had tasted him fresh with the scent of soap, until I had made him moan and say my name, gasp and blink his eyes in awe and then chuckle, speechless on our bed.
I thought of being held—in that bed, on the couch, in the hammock, standing in the kitchen doing the dishes with him hugging me from behind, his breath in my hair, his body a solid wall of security behind me. I thought of talking in our bed in the darkness of night, the pleasure of telling stories of our childhoods and discussing things that mattered to us. There was continued joy in the discovery of who Jamie was, and with each new revelation of his thoughtful character, I thanked providence for bringing us together.
Someone cleared his throat behind me, and I startled at the sound, at first concerned but then grateful to realize it was Dougal MacKenzie and not one of the deck hands who I occasionally found leering at me.
“Well, young lady,” he said, coming over by me and sitting down on a box. “Here you are, outside at night alone again.” He chuckled, so I began to think I wasn’t in trouble with him. “We havena had many opportunities to get acquainted, but I thought I might take a moment to check with you and see how you are doing.”
I was grateful I hadn’t succumbed to the impulse I was feeling right before he arrived which was to start crying. It was probably good to be distracted.
“I’m definitely keeping busy, Mr. MacKenzie,” I said. “I’ve seen so many skin ailments and infections galore and given out at least a third of the boil prevention kits I brought along with me.”
“Indeed? That’s good….” We sat in silence for a moment before he began again. “So you and Jamie have been married a month now?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I responded. “It was our anniversary when you radioed us.”
I could barely see his face with the sunset fading behind him, but I had a sense that he was smiling.
“Miss Beauchamp,” he started. “I mean, Mrs. Fraser. There are moments when I regret not speaking out against your marriage. It was a sudden decision, and I have wondered whether by not forbidding it, I allowed the two of you to move forward with a life choice that will prove painful to both of you. I hope it wasn’t a mistake.”
“Oh, no, it wasn’t a mistake, Mr. MacKenzie,” I insisted. “As much as it seemed sudden, Jamie and I had a connection from our first meeting.”
“Truly?” Mr. MacKenzie asked.
“I love him, sir,” I said. “I was just sitting here thinking of him. It may have been being reprimanded for my behavior and realizing what it would mean to lose him that was the catalyst, but I believe that we would have ended up dating and marrying if life had continued as it was. I was falling in love with him, and he said he wanted me from the beginning.”
“So I don’t need to second guess my decision to let you be married? I often consider my sister Ellen when I think of the lad. When she died and then Brian left, I knew I needed to provide for him. He needed a man, an example, to get him back on the right path. And though I think I’ve been firm with him and demanded much, I hope it has not worked for ill in his life.”
“Jamie is a very hard worker, sir,” I said. “And yet gentle and kind too.”
“Well, I canna take any credit for the gentle and kind part,” Dougal laughed. “Nor do I think that it was all Ellen’s doing, as sweet as she could sometimes be. I think it was his father, Brian. Though I don’t know what sort of tenderhearted person would leave his son and daughter when they were still grieving their mother and brother.” He faded into silence.
“Jamie was lucky to have you, sir,” I responded quietly. “And I’m grateful to you, too.”
He pushed himself up from the box. “I promised Jamie I would keep you safe. So you’d better come down with me and get settled in your stateroom for the night. And in the future, if you wish to have time alone after dark, perhaps you could knock on my door and mention it to me. I can stand guard at the stairs.”
Before the man could move away, I hugged him. “You’re family now, Mr. MacKenzie,” I explained. “Thanks for trying to take care of me.”
He patted me awkwardly on the back, and I followed him downstairs, smiling as I entered my room. The hug hadn’t been from Jamie, but it would do.
On to Chapter 15: Hugs and Kisses
The days drag on and on, but the ship is heading back toward Jamie…
#jimjeran#island hopper#jamie x claire#outlander fanfic#alternate universe#canon divergent#book 2#kinda boring#but sweet
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Pandemic Thoughts
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Strange times. Strange thoughts.
Assorted and unstructured. Updated as needed.
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2020-04-23
I spent a lifetime in the service industry, and I’m still very emotionally invested in it. A lot of restaurants will not survive the pandemic. Period. Pick a few favourites and support the hell out of them, as regularly as you can, if you want them to still be around a few months from now. Preferably independent ones that enrich your community.
For those using third-party delivery services to bring you dinner, be aware: for every $10 a restaurant receives through Skip the Dishes sales, $3 of that sale goes to these delivery services (only $7 goes to the eatery). The pub/restaurant where I worked all those years wouldn't have lasted long with those margins. (link)
I've been hammering on about this for a while, and I'll probably continue doing so. If you're in a position to support local independent restaurants, go to the effort of calling them yourself and collecting your own order. Many offer their own delivery service, so use that when needed. Avoid using a third-party service unless necessary.
I still speak to local restauranteurs and pals in the service industry. They concur: these third-party delivery services are not about supporting local eateries. They were primarily useful for supplementing, not replacing, dine-in business. Overall, they are about convenience - and they are now crippling the businesses trapped into using them.
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2020-04-27
Before I left the service industry, I fully expected to spend the rest of my life as a publican, performer, and venue operator. Had my fortunes been different and that proved possible, the current situation would have destroyed whatever I had built to this point. This will likewise be the case for countless others worldwide right now, including established successful ones. (link)
I have no idea what will remain after this - when we reach a point that public gatherings are an option again. Will there be anywhere left to gather? Will there be any venues left where performers and audiences can safely meet? Safely rehearse? Safely travel?
Have I played my last concert? Have we all? Not a clue.
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2020-04-28
I chipped a couple teeth some time in the last month. Thanks to PPE mask shortages and general public health concerns, I’m unable to get an appointment with my dentist of 20+ years. As a result, two relatively minor procedures are likely to spiral into major dental issues before they can be addressed. Probably much more expensive ones too. With a persistent jaw ache to keep me company in the interim.
About two months ago, I wiped-out badly on slippery ground whilst entering my workplace, and I’m pretty certain I either fractured or broke my tailbone in the fall. It’s made sitting fairly painful, and resuming standing agonizing. Only time and avoiding sitting can really help mend it, so I’ve been trying to alternate between walking, sitting, and lying down whenever possible. Two months later, it’s only marginally better. No point bothering trying to get an x-ray these days. Same goes for the non-essential blood work a different doctor requested.
The pandemic is causing major interruptions and interference in many different areas of life, and might cause a variety of completely unrelated health issues in the process. People will die (and have died) just from the massive disruptions all this has caused. Please keep things like this in mind if your primary complaint is being bored at home, or that you’re being oppressed.
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2020-05-19
I was finally able to get into my dentist’s office today to fix my chipped teeth from a few months ago. Spent the appointment listening to a staff meeting with telephone earbuds, and trying to hear how COVID-World is affecting operations. This is modern life now: work from everywhere, go nowhere, remain active whilst being passive (possibly as your skull is drilled out), and do your best not to catch the plague in the process. Tough times, and tight days ahead.
Keeping busy. The weather’s finally stable enough to allow my wife to start working on her new garden. After a long winter and countless weeks delay, this will be very healthful for her. I’m taking any available radio shifts, workshopping various music ideas of my own, mixing songs for The Bolt Actions album when there’s time, and working with my daughter on her remote schooling. We’re also spending a lot of time learning math by playing cribbage, and trying to take walks when the weather’s agreeable. She misses her school friends and teacher. This is a bizarre time to be anybody, but it must be particularly strange to be a child right now.
Temperament-wise, this period hasn’t been as difficult for us as it has been for so many others. I can spend long periods indoors without irritation or issue, but motivation and action are sluggish as inertia reigns. I should be reading books like mad in the evenings, but I don’t remember the last time I felt like picking one up. As time grinds into a homogenous paste, weeks disappear. This has made keeping up with friends and correspondence far tardier than I intended. The atmosphere has been very good at dispelling impulse activity, though. I don’t remember my last drive-through hamburger or vending-machine soda. Nevertheless, it remains troubling to see so many businesses and friends struggling with the very real feeling that they won’t survive these times, and that what will follow might be unrecognizable.
I hope you’re coping ok.
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2020-05-28
Keeping occupied during isolation. I’ve been listening to a lot of vinyl records, and I’ve also been enjoying my long-neglected CD collection now that I have the remote radio kit linked to my stereo.
I’m going through recordings at a pretty heavy clip presently. Keeping track of what I’ve listened to is bogging down my phone with photographs and notes. Decided to change how I’m sharing this information. My posts on zedair.net are a bit clunky and overlooked, and I don’t want to bog-down my own personal Instagram profile with music posts.
So, I’ve started a new Instagram to better document the Zibliothek. Not ideal, but it’ll keep things orderly and more people are likely to see and/or enjoy it there than they do here. It’ll save me some extra cross-posting time too. Feel free to give it a follow if you like album art, books, films, and other cultural artifacts.
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2020-08-13
I’ve now been tested twice now for COVID. Negative results both times, I’m relieved to say.
In Edmonton, most folks are being directed to the same facility in Mill Woods on the city’s south side - walking distance from the neighbourhood where I grew up. The building used to be a Grant MacEwan campus, but has since been converted to some kind of Covenant Health facility. The tests occur in the building’s gymnasium.
I keep hearing that the tests are quick, but both times I've gone there have been 400-500 people in a line snaking around a field. Off days, I'm told, but luckily both had beautiful weather. Each time I got inside, I asked if something was amiss to cause such a backup, and the nurses (who are working like crazy just trying to keep up) can only apologize for the delay. I would never give them a hard time about it, but I still don't know why some days there's a quad filled with bodies waiting to enter, and other days where one can get in and out in under 30 mins.
The first time I went, I had an appointment for 10:30am. Not knowing what to expect, I arrived at 10:30 and found two long lines of people. The left line is for people with appointments. The right line is for drop-in testing. Finding it a bit perplexing, I asked a random person in middle of the left line if she have an appointment, and for when. Like me, her appointment was for 10:30, and she was a good 200 people ahead of my place at the back of the line. I have no idea if the people in front or behind had the same appointment times. You just joined the back of the line regardless of appointment, and waited for everyone before you to finish. I'm not certain what making an appointment actually accomplishes, but it seems to get you access to the faster-moving line once it actually starts moving. The actual time of the appointment seems meaningless. The appointment line was stationary until around 11:15 with zero movement, but then began moving gradually, slow and steady. I didn't notice much movement in the drop-in line. On that occasion, I was finished by 12:15.
My second test occurred yesterday. The second time, I decided to try the drop-in. Hindsight has taught me that, though this line is much shorter than the appointment line, it moves far slower. I recognized several people from the appointment line who arrived hours after I had, who were tested and leaving before I'd advanced 50 feet. Lesson learned: always make an appointment, but never for earlier than 11:30am.
I seem to be a beacon to people with questions in situations like this. Behind me in the drop-in line was a very talkative, but friendly woman who was about to fly to Egypt with her husband. They required COVID clearance to be allowed to fly. Anyway, after the first hour she bailed to go collect her husband, who'd been waiting in the car due to mobility issues. I promised I'd hold her spot. They parked far away, so it was nearly another hour before they returned to the line. I enjoyed the quiet interim.
Husband didn't seem to like her talking with a strange man, but eventually decided I was harmless and struck up a separate conversation with me. Given that the line was moving super slowly, and that I'm chronically friendly when there's a language barrier, it made for a long slog when he led with "So, do you think this whole Corona hype is a media invention?" Especially when I'd already said that my profession is in radio.
I don't know whether it was a constructive conversation, but we parted friendly, and they will hopefully have clearance to fly to Cairo in a few days time.
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A Depressed Rant
So I’m not sure this is a blog so much as it is a rant but hey if you’d like to read it, I’d appreciate that.
So the last month has been kinda nuts. My uncle got so sick he had to go to hospital, he’s ok and out now but he was sick enough he could have died. For the time that he was in hospital, we looked after his 9 month old puppy. You can imagine how that went.
About 10 days later, my sister and her husband went on holidays for a few days maybe a week. I didn’t exactly count the days. While they were gone, we also looked after their dog.
So at one point we had my uncle’s dog, my sister and brother-in-law’s dog as well as our dog. So three dogs. That was kinda nuts.
The after they went home I got sick. Stupid flu or something in Summer no less -_-
So that took like 10 days for me to get better. Mainly for me to stop endlessly coughing. It was something like 3 weeks of insanity. During that time, I was suppose to start a new antidepressant. To say that was the last thing on my mind was an understatement.
Thankfully I was able to get some extra time on my medical certificate exemption from my mutual obligations which will allow me adjustment time.
At this point, I’m at day 2 of having started. It’s a 20mg dose of Lovan which is fairly low and my first 2 doses I broke the tablet in two and took them separately. I’ll take the full tablet for my third dose. Not really expecting much. I’ve had Lovan before.
That said, I can’t decide if it’s just bad timing or if the Lovan is the cause but I’ve felt extra crap today. I feel like a walking emotionally numb zombie. I feel like I don’t care about anything and I feel like I’m disengaged from life.
I’ve also had thoughts of self-harm. Namely my brain....or perhaps the depression tried to convince me earlier that picking up some scissors in my hand and stabbing myself through the leg would be a good idea.
I think it was more the depression saying that since I know my own brain fairly well. It tries to convince me that fast food makes logical sense, it hasn’t tried to convince me to hurt myself before to the best of my knowledge.
Normally my bad days go from ok to feeling crap, have a good cry and feel like I’m the worst person in the world before I go to numb and then back to ok. Then rinse and repeat. Because I cycle like that I learn to push through to the not so shit times and to run with the good times to get stuff done. Yet today doesn’t feel like a regular bad day which is why I can’t help but wonder if the Lovan has anything to do with it.
I don’t feel good, I know this and what’s worse is I know I have the energy and motivation to act on some of my bad thoughts if I’m not careful.
I can barely focus. I just feel like what’s the point? I don’t care. It’s like a switch flicked in my brain overnight and now nothing has value or meaning for me. Not even life itself.
What future do I have? I have no education higher than year 12, I have barely any work experience, the only references I have are still from school, 8 years ago. I can’t hold a job down. I know within weeks of starting I would crack from the additional pressure.
My health isn’t ideal, my dental health is almost akin to an apocalypse. I can’t afford to get my own place, family stress me out worse than you could know. There is also history between my family and me that is not good.
The impression I get from the government is complete and utter contempt and hate. 1) because I’m unemployed, 2) because I’m poor and 3) because I’d like to be a game developer. Thanks to this Liberal/National Party Government, their ideology tells them all 3 groups are detestable along with disabled, old people, public service workers, refugees, asylum seekers, families, others on welfare and just about anyone who isn’t a rich person or a corporation it seems.
I hardly eat, partly because I don’t feel like it but partly because I can barely afford it sometimes. I rarely eat meat because of its cost.
I’m not even sure a lot of this makes sense. That’s another thing, on bad days, I struggle to form proper sentences or more likely I’ll only form half a sentence and then I’ll begin speaking or typing it only to have to stop because the other half was never formed. On a good day, if I form half a sentence, by the time I get to the end of that half, I will have formed the other half so it will come out as once complete sentence but on bad days I really struggle to form proper sentences. I suppose considering this is typed that I’d be able to edit it as I’m going so you may not see the mistakes because I fixed them.
My family doesn’t accept my depression. It ranges from you’re an embarrassment to us/you can get over it - to - depression doesn’t exist. As a result I don’t tell my family anything. Unfortunately, my family are also nurses which means they work at the local hospital.
As a result of that, I can’t really go to the hospital because my sister might be working on triage at the emergency room. Showing up with no physical issues and having to explain I’m having self-harm/suicidal thoughts is hardly going to go over well. On top of that, the last time I went to a hospital, the nurse just told me I was attention seeking and to get over it. She also labelled me as manipulative.
To have that said about you only makes you question why should you even bother if they’re not going to take you seriously. For the most part, I don’t hold back. I don’t see the point. My family has always been the notable exception to the rule.
After trying 5 different antidepressants(4 at least haven’t worked. Never really got to give the 5th a proper go), speaking to multiple psychologists and psychiatrists, having being hospitalized multiple times and having tried to commit suicide twice and STILL being depressed for over a decade. I’m starting to wonder whether I will be like this for the rest of my life.
I don’t want to be but I feel like nothing has helped, nothing has ever given me any help. The closest I’ve managed to get to “help” was sleeping. I feel like no one takes anything I say seriously except when I say I’m having thoughts of self-harm or suicide. I say how bad I feel and all I get is a referral to a doctor or a script for another medication.
How many times do you repeat the cycle until you just give up from failure? I’ve mentioned countless times to countless people about my sleep issues but no one considers it serious. It just gets lumped as a side effect of depression despite the fact I had sleep issues before I was depressed.
At what point do you just stop mentioning things? At what point do you just stop asking for help? I can’t help but think it would be better if I just checked out of life, out of reality and just vanished from society. I’ve thought about that before.
Well it’s 8.05pm now so I guess at some point int he next few hours I’ll pass out and sleep. That’s at least something of a mercy to look forward to. I can only pray tomorrow is better.
I wasn’t raised with any religion or anything so pretty much everything in the bible is new to me. Coming at it from a logical, non-religious perspective I’ve found fascinating. It started as a quest to try and find hope again. Just it became a bit more than just finding hope.
As a result, one of the first books I read was Ecclesiastes. I found the author, probably King Solomon relate-able. Especially when he talks about things being meaningless because that’s how I feel. I understand he found a way to see life as not meaningless by the end. I wish I knew how. I’d be willing to try anything to have some hope again. To have a spark of light when I am my most depressed. To have an anchor to life when I want to kill myself.
I don’t think I have anything else I want to rant about. If I do, depending on whether it’s big or small, I might just appended it here, do a short tweet thread or start a whole new post. But anyway I guess I’m done here.
#blog#rant#depression#self-harn#suicide#welfare#politics#government#ideology#conservative#religion#purpose#emotions#feelings#medications#antidepressants#family#stress
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Scars, Surgery, and Sensation: @pomrania’s Story
Hey all! Today’s post is a guest post by the lovely @pomrania, who was kind enough to submit a story about their experiences with scars and scar reduction. It’s a good read, and I hope you like it!
Thanks so much to Pomrania for sending it in, and if you’d like to share your own stories of medical mishap and mayhem, [submit a guest post].
Take it away, Pomrania!
xoxo, Aunt Scripty
[disclaimer]
Let’s just say that I made a lot of bad decisions as a teenager. None of them left me with a chemical dependency or a criminal record, but I did end up with a large scar on my upper arm. Due to the circumstances surrounding it, I didn’t get it looked at or cared for by anyone but my non-medical self.
It didn’t heal quite properly. It was reddish, and wide, and raised. (Years later I found that the term was “hypertrophic”.) Unless I was wearing a sweater, or multiple layers, I could feel that scar through my sleeve, when I touched my arm. What I couldn’t feel, was any touch on the scar. I’d thought there was maybe nerve damage there.
Fast forward a couple years. I can’t remember really what train of thought led me to decide that I wanted that scar dealt with, but I went to my family doctor and asked her about scar reduction (I’d learned earlier that it wasn’t “removal”) surgery. That was when I found out it’s called scar reconstruction; maybe it’s a newer term, maybe just more accurate, I don’t know. Anyways, it ended with her referring me to a doctor in the nearby city, half an hour’s drive away. Four months later, I actually got my appointment booked with that specialist. (No idea why it took so long. This wasn’t about waiting for when the doctor was available, just for finding out when it would be.) Two or three months after that came the actual appointment.
Things I learned, in no particular order:
the 90-9-1 rule: surgery makes the scar look better / less noticeable in 90% of the cases, look the same in 9%, and look worse in 1%
scar reconstruction is only covered by OHIP (Ontario health insurance) if it negatively affects movement/function, or is on the face
at least over here, surgery on the hand is done by the same people who do scar reconstruction, as those both involve really fine detail work
the majority of that doctor’s patients were either older people having carpal tunnel surgery, or younger people with scars from bad decisions
after tax, the total cost was around a thousand dollars; this included the doctor’s time and work, supplies I presume, and also the use of an operating room at one of the nearby hospitals
I told the doctor that I wanted to think about it for a bit, but I had already made my decision back when I first made an appointment with my family doctor to discuss the idea.
I had been given a sheet to fill out by the nurse, when I was waiting for the specialist to come see me. One of the fields on there asked about any reactions to general or local anaesthetics. I made very sure to be clear about something I have. For me, along with my mother, local anaesthetic takes a while to kick in (which is incredibly unfortunate when it’s your first day of kindergarten and you need three stitches in the back of your head and you can feel the needle going in each time and you’re screaming because it hurts but they think you’re just being bad, but I digress).
Once the surgery itself was booked and I knew the location, I planned how I would get there. Parking spaces by the hospital were, as expected, hard to get and also expensive. What I did instead was to leave the car at a parking lot elsewhere in the city, then take a bus to the hospital and back. I tested it the day before, as I wasn’t sure how well I would be thinking the day of, what with nerves and all. (I had, of course, checked that I would be able to drive after the surgery.)
There were three people in the room for the surgery; myself, the doctor, and a nurse. I don’t know whether it was because of what I’d said, or if it was their general practice, but they checked that the area was thoroughly numbed before starting anything. I had hoped to be able to watch. That did not end up happening. I had to have my head turned to the other side, to avoid breathing on anything and contaminating it.
Throughout the procedure I was lying on my back, with the relevant arm outstretched. I think my arm was placed between two rolled-up towels, to keep it still. It’s a weird sensation, to have people talking about and operating on your flesh, and hearing sounds of slicing, knowing that it’s happening, and to feel absolutely nothing. (I’d been sufficiently numbed before in other instances, but only for dental surgery; and not only was there pressure and immediate noise with that, but that is, by definition, literally in your face.) I had so many questions I wanted to ask – what are you doing now, what was that sound, what does it look like, what did that term mean that you just said – and they answered some of them, but they were busy.
I honestly do not remember what I was wearing for this. From the waist down, I’m almost certain it was the same clothing I’d arrived in; but aside from that, I don’t know if it was a t-shirt with the sleeve pushed up, or a hospital gown over my bra. I’m guessing it was the latter, because I remember being in a small room off to the side, and that would make most sense if it was for me to get changed in.
I have a mental image of the room being dimly lit, with bright lights off to the side. I don’t know if that’s what it was like during the surgery; it was years ago, and my memory is a bit odd at the best of times.
When they went to cauterize something, this is what I remember: the sound of tearing a packet open, a noise unlike what I’d been hearing, and a faint smell. I remember being surprised that that was it. I had expected it to hurt, for some stupid reason, but of course, if it had, and I had felt anything, that would have meant that somebody had really screwed up along the way.
After the surgery was done, I think I was told to not do anything strenuous with that arm. Me being me, I ended up not using that arm at all on the way home. (I’d done the same whenever I’d donated blood.)
The stitches were a kind that dissolved, so I wouldn’t have to come in again to get them removed.
That night, after the freezing wore off, it itched, horribly. As in, literally the worst itch that decade, maybe longer. I remember making up songs about how bad it itched, and singing them in a slightly maniacal tone. I went to bed with a legging pulled up over that arm. It kept me from scratching, and the pressure made it feel slightly better.
I saw my family doctor a few days later. Not sure if it was earlier booked, to check on how it was healing, or if it was just an appointment I made because of that itch. But anyways, turns out I had a reaction to the surgical tape. Maybe I hadn’t been scrubbing at it as much as I should have, or maybe my skin just hates me. Going off of the long list of things I get contact rashes from, I’m assuming the latter.
A couple months later, I went to see the specialist again for a follow-up. It took a lot less time than I had expected, which I only remember because I paid for an hour of parking but I was there for maybe ten minutes. He took a look at my arm, and said that there was nothing unusual going on there, no keloid formation, and it had healed nicely. Then I went to the nearby park and played on the swings and pet some dogs for 45 minutes; I’d already paid for the parking, and I was in no rush.
As for how the scar is now: my “nerve damage” idea was wrong, as I can feel all the area around it. (The old scar had just blocked off any sensitive areas from any stimulus, I assume.) It’s slightly paler than the rest of my (pale) skin, but not raised, and aside from its length, it looks like all my other (smaller) scars. I don’t know how noticeable it is to someone who isn’t looking for it, but I can’t feel the scar through my sleeve, so that’s enough for me.
I don’t have pictures available, for how it looked “before” and “after”. I mean, somewhere I have a school photo taken in a sleeveless shirt, but we’ve moved since, and it would take a lot of time to find it.
If there’s anything more that you’d want to know, I can try and answer it; just be aware that “I don’t remember” is a very possible response.
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