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agateshot · 4 years

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They say he's lucky to be alive.

Luck.

Perhaps there was some truth in that; he had been lucky that his father loved him despite the old man's poor memory, lucky that his mother was a kind woman with care in her hands. Lucky that all of them lived to see the city of Irithyll.

Lucky enough that his father lived long enough to see him become a page in the order of the Silver Knights.

On hard days, he can still remember what his father had told him that day. After the ceremony, in a moment of lucidity, his father had taken Petya into his arms, the sharp smell of mint and medicine invading his nose. Petya had hugged his father anyway, the old man so frail in his arms even then. His father called him by the name of his uncle-- but that was common for his father to do. Petya knows that his dad loved him as who he was, but just because he sees the image of his son in his mind, it's hard for his father to remember fresh names, even if Petya was old enough to become a page.

His father had told him that even in those moments were life seemed hopeless, to be thankful for the chance to breathe. As long as air flowed through your lungs, you never knew what kind of amazing things you would see.

His father's eyes, so much like his own, gold ringed with the insides banded like agate, were so clear when his father told him that he loved him. That he was so proud of his son, and thankful that he had gotten the chance to meet Petya.

His father died that night, old age finally claiming him. His mother died soon after, broken-hearted. She had tried to live for Petya, but the wound was too great for her to bear alone.

Some days Petya wonders if he had done the right thing, choosing his training over his grieving mother.

This…. Was definitely one of those days.

The battle for Irithyll had been tough on everyone, no knight wanted to fight each other, at least those who had supported Lord Gwyndolin; but their duty toward him meant that they must. These were their brothers and sisters at arms, even if they had chosen to turn on them. Bonds of family aren't so easily severed, and while the hoards were made up of wizards and monsters… nothing was more horrific than the Knights.

And yet… The invasion and coup was repulsed, Traitor Sulyvahn killed by their God Of Justice and Vengeance. It should have been over. Those that could be captured were, to face trial, and those that had been slain had been counted and noted.

There had been so many Knights slain or missing, horrible horrible unsure knowledge on who had been on what side, the carnage both physical and emotional. The order of knights had been left in shambles for a time, and he had been promoted to a lieutenant from his previous position as a general officer. While he was a good knight and a good man, he was often rash and quick tongued. He was respected by his fellow knights and supported by them, but he knew as well as anyone that his promotion came only because he was the most qualified long standing officer… and because all the others that would fill the position had defected.

He wasn't a young man anymore. By the time he had been promoted to lieutenant, he was nearly fifty. Gone were his thirties where he had taken to fighting off bears single handedly (and gaining a litany of scars for his idiocy), and had assumed that his halted rank had been permanent.

His fellow knights keep telling him that he's earned this, that this was something he had coming for his years of service, but he doesn't know if he can accept that. One of the people that had gone missing, the one person he felt desperate to talk to about all of this, what would Toby say?

Toby…

Tobias was the man he had replaced directly as lieutenant. He had hoped that what had happened to the man he had come to love not just as a brother-at-arms, but as a true brother, was that he had been one of the men that had been on their side, but turned to cinder by the horrible flames of the mages. It was a disgusting thing to wish for, but the alternative is that Tobais has betrayed not only Lord Gwyndolin; but more personally, had betrayed him.

It had turned out however, that Tobias had not died in the service of the Nameless Moon.

Petya had been leading a sweep of the Boreal Valley, trying to flush out the remaining insurgents of the assault, on orders from Lord Commander Lorain, when he had heard that familiar voice.

It was so faint, at first he didn't think that it was real. The Knights that had been with him hadn't heard it, so what was he supposed to assume? But he swears he had heard it.

Rash. He was always too rash.

He went to investigate, telling the men that if he wasn't back within five minutes to come after him.

It took only three minutes for Tobias to slide a knife into his back like his armor was so much hot butter. It must have been magic, because his body instantly went limp, collapsing into Tobias' arms like a ragged doll. It took the remaining two for Tobias to gloat about halting Petya's progress for so long, to reveal how he had always hated Petya, and how much of a fool Petya had been to assume he had ever had family after his parents had died.

Petya wasn't the only fool that day, too caught up in his hate, Tobias failed to see the blade that decapitated him glinting in the moon. Even then, within those ten seconds that his head still lived, Tobias had mouthed at Petya that even if he lived, he would never walk again.

He had blacked out after that, and when he had awakened, he had opened his eyes to the familiar sight of a hospital. His right hand had no problem coming up to rub at his eyes, but it seemed that his left had been restrained to keep him from moving. It was weird, tying him down on only one side, especially considering it was his dominant hand. Being left handed was something of a boon against single armed combatants, often he was able to break the guard of a right-handed opponent when they least expected it, with his own quick reflexes keeping his own guard up.

He can really only think of two times that he's felt so utterly defenseless against a person-- the most recent being Toby's betrayal. The first time had been at the Winter Solstice party, the first time he had been invited to one where Lord Gwyndolin had been in attendance. Part of his new rank he supposed. He had been on his best behaviour the whole evening.

Well.

Almost the whole evening.

"He's been standing there for ten minutes." He heard a lieutenant whispering to another, "Doesn't he know you're supposed to bring someone you know?"

He had turned to see who the "he" had been, and had seen a vision. The way the light reflected off of the green satin of his dress, complements the shade of gold that was his hair and beard, the bracelets on his arms jingling slightly as he nervously shakes them from time to time. Petya can't make out the color of his eyes from here, the man looking away to somewhere else, but he seemed to be around his age.

Ever rash, he takes a step forward, attracting the attention of the gossiping lieutenants. They gasp and giggle a bit, and he glances back at them.

"Go! Go!" They tell him, "He's waiting for you, if no one else. It is a party after all."

He crinkles his brow somewhat at that, but goes anyway. It's not until he arrives does he realize what the fuss was about.

Mistletoe. The man had been waiting for someone who wanted to kiss him. At this point, he was close enough to see the look in the man's eyes. Excited. Worried. Lonely. The excitement grows as he catches sight of Petya coming toward him, an obvious effort not to show it in his face-- one that failed, and hope joined the gold in his eyes.

Oh well… it was just a kiss. He's close now, finding he has about five inches on the man, though he's hardly short.

"Hi." Petya says.

"Hello," Says the man, trailing of before asking a question.

"Mistletoe?" Petya says for him.

The man nods.

"Well, all right. It is traditional after all."

The man smiles, relief creeping into his eyes, and he reaches up to take Petya's face. Unsure what to do, Petya places his hands on the man's sides, leaning in to let their mouths touch.

It's like sipping sparkling wine. At first the fizz isn't noticeable, but after a couple seconds, the tingling- tantalising- grows stronger. He finds himself leaning in for more, a hand finding its way to the bare skin on the stranger's back, feeling the raised lines of scars. The man seems more than eager to deepen the kiss, his beard soft as it rubs against Petya's shaven face. A tongue touches against his lips and--

Oh he's in public, he shouldn't be putting on a display like this--

Petya opens his mouth slightly, and the champagne turns to bursts of light across his vision, even when he closes his eyes. He's never felt anything like it, he's never imagined someone could feel like this. He-- oh it's too much?

He pulls back quickly, his left hand coming up to cover his mouth, the buzzing staying trapped in his skin.

"Thank you for coming over." The man says, golden eyes now considerably brighter. Petya can feel the way that gold eyes search agate, waiting for a response. Petya supposed that the man must have liked what he saw, because he smiled then. "Have a good winter solstice."

The man leaves then, and Petya, still staring after him, realizes he had never gotten his name.

He's still in shock when he returns to the other officers, seeing now that there had been quite a crowd that had gathered while he was gone. As he joins them again, they burst out into cheers for him, many people patting him on the back.

"You know," He says after a moment, the crowd pausing to listen to what he had to say, "I hadn't thought of it before, but I think that was my first kiss."

The moment dissolved into laughter.

Another round of congratulations was issued after someone spotted the man talking to Lord Gwyndolin himself, though Petya was awash in embarrassment as the man pointed directly at him and waved. He waved back, only to excuse himself very, very soon after.

Even now the memory makes him smile, the right corner of his mouth pulling up, the left hindered by an old scar. His right hand comes up to rub at his eyes again-- and a moment later, what feels like a paw hits his left side of his face. He's being attacked? He's quick to slap the object away, pinning it under his right hand. He turns his head to see what it was…

His left hand. Utterly devoid of feeling or sense, curled up into a claw.

Ah yes. Unless he were to lose himself in memories of the past, it seemed that Tobias had been right. He would never walk again, and even if he were to learn the skill, his hand would never grasp a sword again.

#v. resisting flames #anyway this is a side blog to halfofxerxes and I cannot remember how much work I did on this blog #rip

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sinsiriuslyemo · 7 years

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EPISODE 16

Nevada and OJ walked into the hotel and paid off the employee at the front desk for the master key to the rooms. Making their way down the hall, they pulled their guns out after Chibby called from outside in the SUV, letting them know he’d cut the surveillance feed.

“We take him alive for now, me entiendes?” Nevada mumbled to OJ, who nodded his head before they kicked the door in and went inside. The TV was on, the bed was unmade, but Matias was nowhere in sight.

“Jefe…” OJ gestured to the dresser where a room key had been left. “Think he’ll be back?” he asked.

“Probably not,” Nevada mused as he looked through the empty drawers. “Looks like he left in a hurry,” he added angrily.

“Damn,” OJ looked at a note and an envelope on the dresser and smirked a little. “Your father in law is a psycho.”

He handed both over to Nevada. The note was to him.

Looking forward to meeting the man who makes my baby girl so happy. They say a girl always marries her father. I can see in your case, this is true. Give this letter to my daughter for me.

“Come mierda,” Nevada mumbled. “Let’s get the fuck outta here. We’ll have Chibby check out the security footage from earlier, see who the fuck we gotta pay off,” he added, moving out of the room.

The men exited the room heading back to the car where Chibby sat in the back seat, furiously tapping away at his keyboard.

“Fearless leader returns empty handed which means that the cruel villain has once again escaped?” Chibby frowned. “How can Chibby help?”

“Check out the security footage from earlier today, see if you can figure out when he left,” Nevada replied, looking at his watch. “Vamos, the shipments gonna be here in twenty minutes, we gotta meet up with other guys.”

They nodded as OJ started the car.

----

Roxie had fallen asleep against Rafael’s chest, her breathing slow and calmed as Mowgli crawled onto his chest beside her, sitting right down and snorting at him. Petting the piglet briefly, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Izzy.

“Why are you still hanging out with homeless men?” he asked her in a soft voice so as not to wake his girlfriend.

“Okay, one, hi to you too and two, they are my friends.” She rolled her eyes, Rafael could practically hear the eye roll.

“Okay, one, there’s no need for sass, and two that doesn’t mean you should bringing them around Roxie’s bakery. That’s her business, Izzy, have some respect. No one is going to want to go a bakery where homeless people regularly come in and out looking for you,” he replied, mimicking her tone.

“Well your girlfriend seems to have neglected that they bought food and they know I go there because we have lunch there sometimes.”

“I don’t care, don’t bring them around there anymore. People don’t care that they bought food, they only care that they smell unpleasant,” he replied. “And it is her bakery, not yours.”

“She won't feed hungry people because they smell? Wow. I didn't realize you were dating such a snob.”

“Don’t talk about her that way,” he warned. “It’s a bakery, not a homeless shelter or a soup kitchen. I know you’re not heartless, just inconsiderate of others, so why would you want to drive customers away from her business by bringing homeless people into it?”

“They have money to spend. Their money is as good as everyone else's. Or does little miss London think she's too good to feed customers in a lower tax bracket?”

“You know what, Izzy? Stay the hell away from there if you think she’s so terrible. If I ever see you in her bakery again, we’re gonna have a serious problem,” he growled angrily.

“Oh yeah? Are you gonna turn me into the cops for eating at a public place? Jesus why are you being such a jerk?”

“It’s a privately owned establishment that can refuse service to anyone they want. That includes inconsiderate, thoughtless little brats, who are nice to the owner’s face, and then behind their back says awful things about them for no other reason except she always has to be right,” he replied.

Izzy hung up on him just as Roxie stirred, opening her eyes.

“What's all the noise?” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he said softly, sighing as he dropped his phone beside him. “I was on the phone with Izzy, trying to have an adult conversation. The keyword there being, trying.”

Roxie smiled a bit and nodded, snuggling closer.

“Be patient, she's never had someone who cares enough to fight with her.”

“My patience isn’t the best tonight,” he replied in a sigh, picking up his phone again and shooting Izzy a text.

I’ll be by to pick up my things tomorrow. If you let the homeless in there too, please do me the courtesy of not letting them into my room until I’ve gotten all my belongings out.

“I tried to ask her to stop bringing her homeless friends into your place of business and all she did was give me attitude about you being too ‘good’ to feed the homeless,” he spat, setting the phone down again. “Where does she get off being such a--”

The phone buzzed again.

Your stuff is in the hallway. Now it's a race. Will you get it? Or my dirty friends?

The text was followed with a picture of her giving him the middle finger.

“Bitch,” he hissed, moving to get up. “I have to go and pick up all my clothes from the fucking hallway now,” he growled. “Are you gonna be okay?” he asked as he put on his jacket and shoes.

“I don't know…” she said softly, looking a little panicked just as Rafael's phone buzzed again, this time it was Lila calling.

“What now? Is she setting everything I have on fucking fire?” he growled angrily, picking up the phone. “What? I’m on my way, okay!” he snarled.

“Don't use a tone with me, Rafael, I want no part in this idiocy. Your stuff is in a box in the living room. It will stay there and not in the hallway. You're welcome.”

“Fine, we’ll be right over to pick it up, and you might want to tell your wife to get herself a part time job to help you pay the mortgage. I’m moving out,” he replied harshly.

“Duly noted,” Lila said, clearly uninterested in being a part of a silly fight. “Come over whenever you'd like, it'll be here.”

“Oh thank you so much for the invitation to my own God damn apartment, Lila!” he yelled sarcastically, hanging up, and looking up at Roxie. “Come on, get dressed. I am sick and tired of coddling her. I’m done, if she’s gonna be a selfish little brat. I am done with her ‘boohoo, be there for me whenever I need, and I don’t give a shit about anybody else attitude.’”

Roxie rubbed his back. “Let's go tomorrow, it's not good for you to see her when you're like this. Rafael, you know it's not.”

His phone buzzed with a message from his realtor this time.

Got a great offer!

Roxie glanced and quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe you'll be kicking them out sooner than later.”

Rafael sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and dialing Izzy again.

“What?” she said sniffling.

“I sold the apartment, because Roxie and I are getting a place of our own. So you and Lila need to start packing your stuff up to move in here, to Roxie’s apartment,” he told her in a much calmer voice. “I didn’t want to tell you this way, but...we got an offer for the place, and we’ve already found a new one.”

“I know you have an offer, Lila just got off the phone with your realtor. I'm not giving up the only home I've ever known.”

“You’re not giving up your home, Izzy. You’re moving into a new one with your wife. And just where the hell did Lila get enough for that apartment? We were asking a million nine. I know she’s doing well, but she doesn’t have that kind of money, and with her only recently settling in one place, I doubt she has good enough credit for a loan,” he replied. “Besides I don’t want either of you staying there with these people knowing where I live. It’s too dangerous.”

“This is my home. I'm not moving. And you have no idea how much Lila makes. Her last album made tons of money and her record label gave her an advance on this one.”

“Oh good, well tell her to save it because I’m rejecting her offer,” he answered.

“Are you fucking joking?” she growled. “I love it here, this is my home and you don't get to move out just because you're tired of living with me!”

“I’m moving in with my girlfriend, Izzy. It has nothing to do with you,” he replied.

You don't get to kick me out of another home! I'm tired of moving! I finally felt like I had somewhere that felt safe and you're ripping it away from me?” She hung up on him again.

“Un-FUCKING-believable!” he growled, calling her again. “You hang up on me one more time Izzy, and I swear to God I will call the police right now! My name is on mortgage, not yours! What, am I supposed to live with my sister and her wife for the rest of my life? You need your space, I need my space. I do not want you staying in an apartment that may or may not be safe! Not everything is about you!” he shouted.

The other end of the line was silent and he took a breath, trying to calm himself down as Roxie rubbed his shoulders.

“What is it about this that you don’t understand, Iz? These people know where I live, do you have any idea how much it would kill me if anything happened to either one of you?” he asked.

“I'm not gonna do this,” she said softly. “I have to go.”

“Don’t you dare hang up on me, Isabella Barba. Be an adult and talk to me,” he said sternly.

“No.”

Rafael clenched his jaw. “I’m rejecting the offer, and that’s that.”

“I know.”

“How did she even know I was selling?”

“Because I looked it up. I called in to see you today and Carmen said you'd gone to look at a place with Roxie. It doesn't matter. It's fine.”

“Fine,” he mumbled, letting out another breath.

“Your stuff will be in your place. Lila and I are heading out.”

“Where are you going? Izzy, it’s ten o’clock at night, just stay there,” he replied.

“You really don't have a say in this Rafi. I'm so tired of this,” she sighed. “I'm tired of New York.”

He closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“Roxie was attacked in her bakery tonight,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I would rather not visit my sister in the hospital or the morgue. I’ve had quite enough scare as it is. If you still wanna leave in the morning, then fine, but don’t storm off in the middle of the night just because you want to get back at your brother.”

“We're coming over.” She hung up.

Dropping the phone on the bed, he rubbed circles over his temples, stretching his neck to one side to try and relieve some of the tension in his shoulders.

“Why does she have to make everything so fucking difficult?” he hissed. “And if I get angry, then she lays on a guilt trip, as though I have no right to feel any kind of natural human emotion.”

“I think she idolizes you, and seeing someone you idolize act...human, is sometimes very emotion-provoking.”

“I don’t need to be put up on a pedestal, I just wanna be treated with basic human respect. She can’t even do that,” he replied, rubbing over his face.

“I'm not sure she quite knows how to treat you. Have you considered that you're the only man in her life, other than Nevada, who hasn't done some kind of physical or psychological damage to her? I think she's just never encountered someone like you before. She sits around and draws at the bakery often, she draws your father, she draws Vincent. But any time she ever draws you, she draws herself beside you.”

“You would think after years of living with me, years of watching the way I talk to people, the way I treat others, that some of it would’ve rubbed off. Most of the time I just feel taken advantage of, even if I know that’s not her intention,” he said in a whisper, sighing heavily.

“She's a child, I don't care if she has a wedding ring or a college degree. She's a child. You do so much for her, but she may always pull away. That's what happens when you face that kind of damage. If she was one of the other victims you protect, reacting like this, would you treat her differently?”

“That’s different, the women I advocate for have a support system. All I do for them is help them have a voice in court. After the verdict, it’s up to them to help themselves heal with the support of their family or if they don’t have family, professionals. Izzy’s my sister, and she doesn’t seem to ever want my help or professional help, for that matter. She couldn't care less if I tried to help her, all that matters to her is what she wants in that moment. She has no concept of the real world, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

“I'm sure neither does she.”

There was a knock at the door.

“They got here rather quickly.”

He sighed, not moving from the bed as he rubbed over his face. He had never been more stressed in his life, not even when they’d had a dangerous fugitive escape custody that resulted in a two day manhunt.

“Will you get it? I just...need a second,” he whispered, still working to calm himself down.

She nodded going to the door and letting the girls in. Lila looked Roxie over before giving her a tight hug.

“You should have told me, Rox. Jesus, are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” she said gently.

Izzy hugged her next, smiling. “I'm glad you're okay.”

“Are you?” Rafael asked sarcastically from the bedroom. “I thought you said she was a snob, too good to feed hungry people,” he mused, still a little angry. “Oh, you know what, I forgot, now you’re here, so to her face, you’re gonna be her best friend.”

“He’s still a bit tense,” Roxie offered quietly.

Izzy said nothing, just looking down at her feet.

“You should go in and apologize to him,” Roxie mused softly, giving Izzy an encouraging smile.

Lila snorted, “Don't get involved Rox. These two are...a mess.”

“And you shouldn't let it continue. They’re siblings, they shouldn’t throw their relationship away over a silly row.

Izzy walked into the bedroom, “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I really truly am. You know I love you Rafi. I always will.” She shifted front one foot to the other for a moment before finally walking back out of the bedroom.

“Can you please do me the courtesy of coming in here and talking to me?” he called out.

She walked back in, arms crossed. “I already apologized, Rafi I just don't want to fight again.”

“I don’t want to fight either, but you won’t even give me a chance to say my peace. You just walked out, like it didn’t matter if I have anything to say,” he answered calmly.

She nodded and stood waiting.

“Why do you hate me so much?” he heard himself ask.

“If you think I hate you, then you never knew me.”

“I don’t understand why any time I ask something of you, unless it benefits you in some way, you always give me a hard time about it. Not just that, but you mock me, you mock my girlfriend. Why would anyone do that to someone they love?” he asked softly, looking up at her.

She shook her head and hugged herself tight. “You don't know what you're talking about,” she mumbled.

“No? I asked you to stop bringing homeless men to Roxie’s bakery because it drives away customers, which is a perfectly reasonable request, and your response was to mock her for not wanting them there. You didn’t seem to care that it’s her business, it’s not yours to treat however you want,” he answered.

“She doesn't get to come in here and change everything it's not okay! She tells me where I can and can't hang out, she talks to me sometimes like she's you! Asking when I'll be home and who I'll be out with.”

“Because she cares about you, Izzy,” he whispered. “And because she knows how much I care about you too.”

“And you're always with her! Now You're moving in with her too!” She glared. “Fine, whatever. I said I was sorry.”

“So that’s it? Whatever? That’s all I get?” he asked. “She knows how much you mean to me, and she loves me, Izzy. So it doesn’t surprise me that she worries about you,” he said, sighing heavily. “Do you just want her to go back to London? I can move back in and wait around for you to have time to spend with me? Because you’re married now, you’ll want to spend as much time with your wife as you can since she works a lot. I can just go to work, come home, be available for whenever you need me?” he inquired.

“You're supposed to love me!”

“I do love you,” he answered.

“You're supposed to be my best friend,” she sniffled.

“I am, Izzy--”

“You're supposed to take care of me, and love me.”

“And I’m not supposed to love anyone else. It’s not okay for me to be in love with someone, and have a life with them even if it doesn’t change how much I love you…” He swallowed tears back. “Is that right?”

She shook her head and sniffled, “No,” she whispered stubbornly. “Just me.”

“You can get married, have a life with the woman you love. But I’m not allowed to be happy with anyone.” He wasn’t asking, he was stating.

“Exactly.”

Nodding his head, he looked down at Mowgli.

“Okay,” he mumbled.

If he said any more he wouldn't be able to stop the tears. As it was everything except he and Roxie’s relationship had been seeming to fall apart right in front of him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, still not looking at her.

“For what?”

“For reminding me that I’m not meant to find love. It never works out, I’m...just meant to be alone.”

“Stop that,” she whispered. “You know it's not true.”

“It is true, you said it yourself, I can’t be in love. I can’t be happy with anyone because there’s no room for that in my life. My role is big brother, that’s all I’m meant to be,” he answered.

“You and Roxie are happy together,” she whispered. “Stop it, you're being insane,” she shook her head. “I just want you to be...my person.”

“I am.”

She shook her head and glared. “I don't like feeling like this. I didn't want to care this much about you or Dama or this stupid family!”

“I’m sorry I made you care.”

She started to cry, hugging her arms tight across her chest and looked away.

“Can I at least spend one more night with her before I’m...back in my room, living with a married couple...waiting to be needed?” he asked. He was hoping that making her see what a ridiculous thing she was asking of him would help her understand that just because they didn’t live together anymore didn’t mean he would disappear from her life.

She ran back into the living room, opened the door and rushed out of the apartment. She wasn't quite at the point of handling her emotions. She was getting closer everyday but Izzy wasn't equipped to deal with the guilt she felt. Rafael sighed heavily, taking his sister’s non answer as a no, and stood up.

“Take care of her, okay?” he mumbled to Mowgli before he went out into the living room, right to Roxie and kissed her lips. “I have to go,” he whispered to her.

He was willing to take this as far as Izzy would let him. With any luck, Lila, who he assumed was the more mature of the two would intervene and talk Izzy down before it went too far.

“I love you,” he mumbled, brushing some hair from Roxie’s face.

“You're leaving me alone?” she whispered in a panic. He shrugged, struggling to hold back tears as he gestured to the direction his sister had gone.

“Izzy needs me to be available at all times,” he answered. “I’ll call Carisi and ask him for a favor. He’ll keep you company, sleep on the couch.”

“Are you joking?” she asked in disbelief. “I was attacked, robbed and are you seriously going to leave?”

“She obviously doesn’t care about any of that, and she doesn’t care that I do. Isn’t that right, Lila?” he asked, hoping his sister in law would put a stop to all this. “She’s your wife. All of this is perfectly fine with you?”

“Rafael, I think what she's doing is insane. But I'm not being a part of this. She doesn't adjust to this kind of stuff, she doesn't get it.”

“She’s your wife, that’s your job, as a wife is to make her get it. You married into this, that was your decision, so you are a part of it, whether you want to be or not. You staying out it is you agreeing with her,” he answered. “Maybe getting married was a mistake if you don’t care to counsel your wife when she’s behaving irrationally.”

“Watch yourself Rafael, I like you but I'm not gonna take the shit you pull with her. I know she's being irrational. But I also watch her cry almost every night, I watch her panic that you'll become just another person that leaves her. I watch her tear herself to pieces because she can't seem to ask for help with the simplest of tasks. If you want me to pick a side, she's my wife, I'll always pick hers.”

“Hold on,” Roxie intervened. “You have a lot of nerve talking to him like that. He asked her to move in with him so that she could have a family, a real family. He has always been there for her when she’s needed him. I have watched him panic that she’s going to end up dead on the street somewhere. I have watch him tear himself apart with worry that she’ll never be able to move past her trauma and let herself be happy. I have watched him toss and turn in his sleep because he wonders whether she’ll sink deeper into a depression. So don’t you talk that way to him, Lila.”

“I know what he does, she tells me all the time how much he means to her, Roxie. Although I'd like to remind you, that he was just leaving you.”

“I think he was waiting for you to grow some balls and go after your wife, ask her why she’s putting herself before him when all he ever does is put her first!”

“I'm not her fucking keeper!”

“Yes you are, you married her!”

“If you want to ask her something, ask her!”

“Oh right then, it’s just that simple. Where is she then?” Roxie challenged, putting her hands on her hips.

“You think it's a picnic for me when I fight with her? No. But we handle things. She needs to calm down, if you keep pushing her and pushing her you will lose her. I know that she fucked up, and if it meant anything, I would apologize for her. But she's hurting, whether she's in the right or not. That's what matters to me.”

“That’s good then, indulge her wrong behavior so that she thinks it’s okay. Spouses are there to put you in check when you’re wrong,” Rafael offered. “So...what are you gonna do? Are you stand here and keep defending her wrong behavior, or are you going to find her and try to explain to her that just because I’m moving in with Roxie doesn’t mean that I love her any less? Are you going to be part of the problem, or are you going to try and help her realize that she’s being selfish?” he asked.

“She knows she's being selfish, of course she is. She knows what she's doing is wrong. That's why she left. And now I get the pleasure of searching the streets of New York for my wife. So thanks for that. I'll be sure to send you both a thank you note when I find her.”

“Oh so it’s my fault that she ran out of here,” Rafael countered.

Lila shook her head and dialed the phone. Tapping her foot impatiently. “Baby, I know you're upset but-” She sighed, “I told you I'm not getting involved. I don't want to play messenger-” Another sigh. “No, I'm already using a tone because you're pissing me off! Get back here and sort your own fucking shit. You think I wanna be here? No. Now fucking get over here. I'm not raising my voice, you are- YOU WANT TO FUCKING HEAR YELLING?! GET UP HERE!” She ended the call.

#nevada ramirez #rafael barba #trouble in the heights #law and order svu #cuba v dr

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berezina · 4 years

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When the United States acquired Puerto Rico after the Spanish-American War, an army surgeon named Dr. Ashford made a startling discovery: Many poor islanders thought to suffer from malaria were actually infected with hookworm. The son of a Methodist minister, Stiles had crisscrossed the South for years for the U.S. Public Health Service. Based on Ashford's work, he was seized by the wild surmise that the poor whites of the South—infamous in popular myth for their indolent, sluggish lives—might be suffering from hookworm. In September 1902, outfitted with just a microscope, Dr. Stiles journeyed through the South examining human feces, and, sure enough, he found hookworm eggs everywhere. It was an exhilarating discovery, since hookworm could be cured with fifty cents' worth of salts and thymol.

When Dr. Stiles reported these results at a Washington, D.C., medical convention that December, he stated that southerners long considered lazy were simply enervated by hookworm. His remarks were greeted with both profound outrage and mocking amusement. The next day, the New York Sun published the lecture under the whimsical headline, 'Germ of Laziness Found?' Stiles was aghast: He was being turned into a figure of fun, his great finding trivialized by interminable hookworm jokes. As a zoologist—and therefore presumed ignorant of the human body—he fared no better among physicians: Dr. William Osler went so far as to deny hookworm's existence in America. Few doctors were prepared to accept that the chronic anemia or continuous malaria commonly attributed to poor whites was, in fact, caused by hookworm, contracted by barefoot people through their soles.

For several years, Dr. Stiles persevered in his crusade to locate private money to apply his theory, and he found an unexpected champion in 1908 when President Roosevelt appointed him to a commission on country life. While touring the South that November, he told another member of the commission, Walter Hines Page, a North Carolina native, that a shuffling, misshapen man on a train platform was suffering from hookworm, not laziness or congenital idiocy. 'Fifty cents worth of drugs would make that man a useful citizen in a few weeks,' he said flatly. He explained to Page that thymol pried the hookworms loose from the intestine walls—some victims harbored up to five thousand in their systems—and then epsom salts flushed them from the body. As a board member of the Rockefeller Institute, Page was the perfect ambassador to bring Stiles to Rockefeller's attention.

At the end of their tour, Stiles and Page stopped at Cornell University for a reception, where Stiles met a round, jovial man who had already been briefed by Page: Wallace Buttrick. The two men went back to Buttrick's hotel room and 'talked hookworm almost all night.' After years of useless speeches, Stiles was now dazed by the dreamlike speed of events. Back in Washington, he got a telegram summoning him to a New York meeting with Gates and Simon Flexner of the RIMR. After delivering a monologue and showing slides for forty minutes, Gates interrupted him to bring Starr Murphy into the meeting. 'This is the biggest proposition ever put up to the Rockefeller office,' Gates told Murphy. 'Listen to what Dr. Stiles has to say. Now, Doctor, start from the beginning again and tell Mr. Murphy what you have told me.' These sessions lasted for two days, and by the end Gates and his fellows were sold on a mass-mobilization program to eradicate hookworm from the South. It was an ideal opportunity for large-scale philanthropy: Here was a condition that could be easily diagnosed and cheaply cured, with an estimated two million victims in the South. The results would be rapid and visible, giving the program more populist appeal than the rarefied work of the medical-research institute. It would, in short, simultaneously serve the overlapping objectives of science, philanthropy, and Rockefeller public relations.

Junior was deputed, as was so often the case, to sell his father on the need for a commission to fight hookworm. Although Stiles had modestly suggested a half-million dollars, Gates fixed on one million dollars as a nice round sum that would capture the South's attention. Since the region remained touchy about any assumption that it was riddled with listless imbeciles, Junior reassured his father that the board would recruit a southern contingent. On October 20, 1909, Junior implored him to act fast and stake out a leadership role in the hookworm fight. Two days later, Rockefeller replied: 'Answering your letter 20th with reference to hook worm, it seems to me that $1,000,000 is a very large amount to promise, but I will consent to this sum, with the understanding that I shall be conferred with step by step and consent to whatever appropriations are made from time to time. This, however, need only be known to such as you choose to have know it.' Since Rockefeller had started to take winter golfing vacations at the Hotel Bon Air in Augusta, Georgia, he derived special pleasure from the gift. As he said, 'It has been my pleasure of late to spend a portion of each year in the South and I have come to know and to respect greatly that part of the country and to enjoy the society and friendship of many of its warm-hearted people.'

As expected, many southern editors reacted to the hookworm campaign as a calculated affront to their honor and dignity. Originally, the effort was to be known as the Rockefeller Sanitary Commission for the Eradication of Hookworm in the South. To avoid stigmatizing the South, it was shortened to the Rockefeller Sanitary Commission or even the U.S. Sanitary Commission. Instead of being based in New York, like other Rockefeller programs, it opened in 1910 in Washington, D.C., diplomatically south of the Mason-Dixon line.

The executive secretary was a Tennessee native, Dr. Wickliffe Rose. Another clergyman's son, Rose, forty-seven, was a shy, immaculate man who often wore bow ties and stared primly through wire-rimmed spectacles or pincenez. Steeped in the writings of Kant and Hegel, grounded in the Latin and Greek classics, and fond of writing poetry in French, he had been dean of Peabody College and the University of Nashville before becoming general agent of the Peabody Education Fund, where he came to the GEB's attention. The courtly Rose, modest and painstakingly thorough, supplied both the tact and determination that made the hookworm campaign a smashing success.

In mapping out his strategy, Rose adopted the GEB model of using Rockefeller money as a catalyst for government cooperation. The first order of business was a detailed survey to identify the centers of hookworm infestation. Once again, the states were urged to hire sanitation directors to educate the public about the menace. State medical boards sent young doctors into rural areas, their salaries paid by Rockefeller money. These campaigns were often carried out under the auspices of state health boards, thus providing political protection. As Gates privately explained this decision, 'To put Mr. Rockefeller's name prominently forward... would impair the usefulness of the work.' This was doubly necessary since many southern communities saw the Sanitary Commission's work as a degrading new form of northern carpetbagging. Yet for all the efforts to shroud Rockefeller's involvement, many southerners knew the program's real sponsorship and devised preposterous theories to explain it. One was that Rockefeller was entering the shoe business and financed the hookworm campaign to accustom southerners to wearing shoes year-round, instead of only during the winter months.

The campaign relied on extensive publicity and showy gimmicks, and it sent out 'health trains' with traveling exhibitions on modern sanitation. Perhaps the single most important factor in its success was the introduction of dispensaries for public-health work. In 1910, only two southern counties had such dispensaries. That number burgeoned to 208 counties within three years, thanks to Rockefeller money. To coax crowds into these dispensaries, the field workers (in a manner oddly reminiscent of Doc Rockefeller) distributed handbills saying, 'See the hookworms and the various intestinal parasites that man is heir to.' In the rousing spirit of tent revival meetings, rural people formed long lines and gaped at hookworm eggs through microscopes or examined them squirming in bottles. Because infected people were cured swiftly, it seemed no less miraculous than faith healing to many people, and the throngs often erupted into singing 'Onward Christian Soldiers'. In a single day in 1911, 454 people were cured of the disease. One field director in Kentucky wrote, 'I have never seen the people at any place so wrought up and so full of interest and enthusiasm.' Except for Florida, every southern state joined in the program.

Pretty soon, the gentle, decorous Wickliffe Rose ran an operation of military scope. During the first year of work, 102,000 people were examined in nine southern states, and 43,000 were identified with hookworm. At the end of five years, Gates reported to Rockefeller that nearly half a million people had been cured. While the disease had not been extirpated completely, it had been reduced drastically. 'Hookworm disease has not only been recognized, bounded and limited,' Gates boasted to Rockefeller, 'it has been reduced to one of the minor infections of the south, perhaps the most easily and universally recognized and cured of all.' Most important, the states had set up machinery to perpetuate the work and avert backsliding. Lauding the campaign as 'well planned and well executed,' Rockefeller especially praised its deft diplomatic touch in dealing with a politically charged situation. The Rockefeller Sanitary Commission was a landmark in epidemiology and preventive medicine, as Charles W. Eliot recognized when he called it 'the most effective campaign against a widespread disabling disease which medical science and philanthropy have ever combined to conduct.' In 1913, the newly formed Rockefeller Foundation asked Wickliffe Rose to take the hookworm campaign abroad, extending the fight to fifty-two countries on six continents and freeing millions of people from this worldwide scourge.

~Ron Chernow [buy]

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