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antics-pedantic · 1 year ago

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DYNAURA EPISODE 5: THE CASUAL CLASH

Everyone but the surgeon was present in the hospital operating theatre. When the surgeon finally arrived, he did so swiftly. Clad in green scrubs, and getting to work immediately. His aides asked no questions, they only responded as quickly as they were used to doing. During such procedures, there was usually a sponge to wipe sweat off the surgeon’s brow when requested.

But no such order was issued. Not until the very end.

And it looked like it was mostly for show. The head surgeon walked away cleanly. Discarding the hospital scrubs and facemask under the gleam of a freshly-installed fluorescent tube light. Back to a silken suit and tie now: Custom made by an Italian tailor spoken of in whispers, with the trade’s highest honors. Nothing less than exceptional, every seam could be assumed victorious. And everywhere they were worn, people assumed the same of the man boastfully wearing the esteemed fabric.

“Congratulations, Dr. Crossmoore! Another life saved, sir.”

As the hands of those around him began to clap, the surgeon produced a fine comb to fix his platinum blond hair after wearing his surgical attire, the cap that kept it all in having mussed his finely styled locks as he set the strays back into their place alongside more complacent hairs kept in place by designer brand gel.

“Any plans for tonight, Errol?” asked a nurse, holding a clipboard to her chest with such longing in her lonesome arms. “RSVP at Chercheur de Graal? Enforcers’ Room at Needle Tower? Oxenhouse overlooking Bullpen Avenue?”

There was a boisterous, perhaps even sinister-sounding laugh as Errol stepped a little closer, offering a touch. The nurse hesitated—not of fear, but absolute surprise as she nodded and let him caress her cheek.

“Nurse Kennedy, you’ve always had such an imagination. But you forget that past these walls, I am lower than the dogs… an agent of nothing less than pure evil.”

The nurse leaned into his touch, holding his hand back.

“But you’re so dependable. It’s natural for anyone to want someone as loyal as you, sir. And with such skill!”

Errol pulled his hand away slowly, pressing ever so gently so Nurse Kennedy wouldn’t look up to him all the way. She supposed he was sparing her from having to look at him directly, to spare her from any further stress. It took such confidence just to speak to him now, as he produced his checkbook from a suit pocket.

“Nurse—be a dear and tell administration to add my patient to the Crustte Foundation list, they’re to be treated as another esteemed member of our ‘miracle’ patients. The breakthroughs we’ve pioneered battling to save their life will have all the other institutes racing to catch up to our gold standard.”

“How generous! It’ll be my pleasure, sir.”

Errol waved goodbye, and paraded his way back to the parking garage, before stepping past his car and looking out upon the rest of the land, as ambulances raced to his workplace— the VitaSoon Holistic ProCare Center, speeding past ordinary commuters native to this part of Delta Bay. It was there he realized what he wanted to do today. Something he relished, but hadn’t had the time to check in on as of late.

“I could use a step down from Olympus!” said Errol with a vigorous guffaw, uncaring as to who heard him. For he could sense a very familiar energy signature.

Outward from the density of Delta Bay, where establishments were built in a scatter, stood the large and aged multi-suite shopping center, Honeycomb Mall. It was mostly known for its hexagonal décor. Much of the old neon lighting was still in use, and not all of it was strictly bee-themed either. But over the years the arrival of newer vendors meant each occupied storefront unit would be customized to the more minimalist modern look, or to limited arrangements in the rustic style. Only the longtime residents of Honeycomb Mall held onto their original fixtures, since it cut back on costs and kept things familiar for customers.

The Earthborn alien Rex resembled a young man of some South Asian descent, closest to Nepali. One that had thrown on an open button-up over a t-shirt and comfy pants, kicked on his favorite white (with red trim) sneakers before taking to the shopping center. He’d been here before, ever since he was a kid growing up near Delta Bay, on its outskirts. Now he had begun to enter adulthood and those days were memories. Like ‘King Sting: The Busiest Bee,’ Honeycomb Mall’s old mascot. There was a child trying to activate a coin-operated ride molded after the character, but like Rex in days long gone, lacked the funds to do so. The child’s mother had been off in the store for quite some time now. While Rex counted his spare change to see if he could offer anything, the mother shoved her purchases into the arm of some store staff. Although the kid hadn’t even noticed Rex, their mother apparently had and glared daggers at him in recognition, dragging the protesting child along with her. She knew an excommunicated, unofficial superhero when she saw one. And Rex had the extra misfortune to be deemed some sort of invasion scout by his former hero industry acquaintances.

It wasn’t the most promising start to things, but it was one thing, and he could speed-walk away briskly. There was still the whole rest of the place to go through. There was a small section with a cookie shop that he swore he’d buy from on the way out, to regain some confidence as much as to snack on something. The last time he’d been here he couldn’t bring himself to buy anything except a couple of new clothes like he’d planned, and hurried along home after that. But not this time.

The next stop was one Rex hadn’t been sure about. But he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that an older salon-barbershop combo was still in business. The first time he went there before, he had to divert his energy powers so that they could clip his hair more easily. The process itself wasn’t difficult, but being a small anxious kid at the time meant he had to warm up to the place. About an hour later that day, he’d finally walked out with a clean cut and a lollipop in hand—every subsequent visit went by much quicker, and far smoother. Other places weren’t so lucky: A bookstore with the widest magazine rack he’d ever seen had been replaced a few years back by a new shop that only stocked a few periodicals and novels that had received ‘bestseller’ reviews. The rest of the place mostly stocked an excess of calendars and series merchandise other stores couldn’t sell right away.

Once bustling, the BuzzOff arcade was cleared out and the space had been on-and-off for lease to a chain of other businesses that couldn’t keep up with the bigger brands. He had memories of trying aerial simulators, fighting games, lightgun rail shooters, and skee ball after watching others play and trying it out for himself. An alternative entertainment shop opened a second location in the same building under another, trendier name, pivoting away from selling music and subculture fashion to graphic tees with dubiously sourced artwork and pop culture collectables that were more about owning the item than what it represented— the Synco Pats figures all looked the same, save for one or two details that set them apart and the labels on their boxes. Actually, Rex was pretty sure he saw a shop exclusively devoted to selling Synco Pats when they already dominated entire walls and shelves at other stores.

Some of Honeycomb Mall’s other changes weren’t so bad: A stuffy clothiers of old was replaced with a shop selling artwork. Painting replicas, odd little metalwork statues, and he could notice a local artist trying to feature some of their work here. Some new restaurants and snack joints graced the food court, and in places across the upper and lower levels. People still met up here and there was a resurgence of spots for hanging out. Not always successfully, but they were trying.

“Heh heh heh.”

The sound of that snicker made Rex whip his head around sharply in the direction it came from. The crowds doubled in density suddenly as people exited the shops. And for a fleeting glimpse, Rex could have sworn he saw a familiar head of platinum blond hair in a specially imported silk business suit. But the fellow went out of view already. Rex tried to keep moving, assume that was a fluke. But the glimpses started up again, until he was out of the crowd and the area cleared up.

“What an excellent watch. Wouldn’t you agree?”

In an instant, Errol had appeared next to Rex, observing a jewelry store display and speaking in his booming voice, with a mocking tone reserved for foes like the cosmic contender. Watches made from things like gold, silver, or even titanium plating and fine wrist-strap leather whose costs would set Rex back considerably—but Errol looked at them all with the confidence of someone who could purchase them as though they were merely different flavors of candy.

“Well? Aren’t you going to ask which one I mean? Respond already.”

And swiftly. Rex let loose with a lightning jab that was deflected immediately by a forearm of equal strength, in a quarter-circle motion.

“Hahahaha!”

Errol nodded to the side. It looked like people were starting to notice. Some moved along more quickly, too afraid to intervene in a superpowered altercation. Others offered a stink eye for Rex—he threw the first punch, after all. And they weren’t opposed to verbally chewing him out at this stage. No one was going to run away until it became a full-on, explosive fight. Something Errol wouldn’t allow if he could stretch out the afternoon’s ‘entertainment’ a little longer. Rex relented and pulled his fist back.

“Happy?” said Rex. Errol just snorted and nodded, before continuing to survey the jewelry shop. Rex proceeded to walk through the store and around through to its other exit in something of a hurry.

“What’s the rush, Rex? It’s not every day you run into someone in public. Like a former teacher, a co-worker, or your arch-nemesis!”

Rex scowled as he sensed Errol clear the distance walked, with one great stride. Of all his enemies, Errol had little issue keeping up with him, even when Rex was fighting at his best. Turning sharply on his heels, Rex angled to grab Errol and drag him outside so they could have a proper brawl. Or he would have, had a few admirers of his not startled Rex by squealing, and hurrying over to swarm around the seraphim of slaughter.

“—Guys I TOLD you it was him! It’s Errol!”

“What’s it like being a captain in the Mantle honor guard?! Are they from space like your pig-headed nemesis? A secret fantasy world where you’re heir to the throne? Which rumor is true?!”

Errol just let off a chuckle. Warmer than the cackle moments ago. Wordlessly, they held onto pens and things for him to sign. Even a villain could rise to overwhelming acclaim in this day and age, as Errol instinctively, but also patiently, took each pen one at a time and signed for each fan.

“Please, I’m just here to treat myself, same as you all.” said Errol, oozing with confidence as he gestured to Rex with one hand, and held the other over his mouth as if telling secrets—but still speaking audibly.

“And to keep an eye on this one. There’s no telling what he could do—he thinks he’s the good guy after all. Not that I’m much better…”

“Nooo! You carry yourself with so much honor. That’s why you’re Emperor Fumerole’s right-hand man. A real exemplary human warrior, super tragic that you’re evil… but also it’s soooo romantic!”

While that discussion was had, one of Errol’s fans stuck a tongue out at Rex, followed by a bold neck-slicing motion. In that moment, he wanted to crawl into a hole and shrivel up. It was no use defending himself against people this intense in their opposition. He thought he could just avoid them and mind his own business. Security was nowhere to be seen for the fan crowd, if not to deal with Errol himself.

“You may have cut ties with the Enforcers, but next to me you’ll still get plenty of attention. Speaking of the exalted one— Fumerole sends his regards.”

Rex was gritting his teeth.

“How did you even know to show up here today?”

“Mantle emphasizes loyalty: Whether you’re dutifully sorting things out at a desk, or on the front lines, they respect their superiors.”

Errol gestured aside, and Rex paid him a suspicious look before spotting a couple of chalktroopers in plainclothes outfits. These chalktroopers’ battalion had been allowed some time off. And all too thankful for a day or two out of the week, they dialed one of their trusted overseers to report their findings right away for further rewards.

“You son of a—”

“Manners, manners. We are in public. You already seem quite uncouth to these people. Go any lower and you’ll practically be digging yourself a hole here.”

That was the last straw. Though careful to control his body and aura, Rex accelerated towards Errol right then and there, faster than the other mallgoers could perceive them. But rather than creating the massive shockwaves of a more open battle, Rex did his best to channel more of that kinetic force through his strikes to silence them as much as possible. The heavy swings still let off a smaller ‘BOOM’ though, and gusts would travel outwardly. Perceived as the air conditioning activating or gusts from entrance doors remaining open too long.

“Heh!”

For every strike that Rex let loose with, Errol met with a defense of his own. Catching onto Rex’s tactic and accelerating to keep pace with him. The dexterity of their strikes was matched by their mobility, as they zipped around portions of the building trying to exploit openings on one another to strike. In a split-second intermission that felt like an eternity for the superhuman and the honed Nypardian, they hovered across from each other while the world raced past them both.

There was Errol. His hands held up not like a fighter, but more like a surgeon. Ready to deal out precision action, taunting his enemy into approaching before they were ready. On the other side, Rex had clenched fists raised like a boxer, gradually shifting into stance to launch a roundhouse kick to the side as Errol’s right hand shot out. Open, but deadly: For as it passed over Rex, a shower of sparks emerged in a line from the direction he attacked. And behind the cosmic contender, a wave of air pressure split a tray of free samples offered by one of the eateries, and the small shockwave of a channeled elbow from Errol launched the staff member onto their butt, terrified and halfway believing in ghosts.

Meanwhile, Rex felt an ache in his jaw as Errol’s forearm connected. But before he could pull it back, Rex grabbed ahold of it and judo-tossed Errol through an open maintenance door. Rex was rushing after to grab him again, looking quite forward to repaying that elbow to the face with a knee to the gut. That is, if Errol hadn’t grabbed on and started trying to break Rex’s arm. The both of them flew out of an open window, sending papers fluttering every which way and causing a fresh hot, new batch of coffee to fly up and out of a pot, before landing in an array of employee mugs on a nearby table.

The two were dashing through the street, having both broken off. But instead of coming to a halt, they carried on with their momentum. Racing past the traffic lights just as they hit red or green. Pedestrians and drivers could occasionally catch a blur or feel strong winds in their wake, but these were just after-effects, leftovers while the two combatants raced well beyond that point. Trading smaller strikes, and at intervals releasing explosive heavy hits. Errol raked his fingertips across Rex’s side, bringing about another shower of sparks. Rex couldn’t be stabbed or cut—but the magnitude of pain was still enough to send him back for a moment. Errol vanishing while he was trying to stabilize himself following that injury.

At last, Rex found himself stopping. Sneakers grinding to a halt against the gravel of a gas station parking lot by the highway, on the edge of the state lines into the neighboring region. There was no time to rest, knowing that a member of the Mantle Army’s honor guard was waiting to strike. There was mostly silence save for the functioning of vehicle engines, and the departure of a long-haul truck. And that was just immediately nearby: With his hyper-hearing, Rex extended his range. Cows grazed in a field some miles off. Honeycomb Mall even further off was still as calm as it had been before Errol appeared. Before he could listen in beyond that…

There was a noise. Only getting closer. Rapidly.

Rex turned in the direction he heard the sound. All he caught with his hyper-vision was a trail: Errol was zigzagging to stay out of his direct line-of-sight, but he couldn’t completely mask his energy signature. The source of his power still baffled most everyone at present, but Rex was just thankful he could still come up with ways to counteract it. And he’d have to do so quickly: Errol was angling to let off a wide slashing arc so forceful, it would travel through the air at range. More so to destroy the gas pumps, which would usher forth flames and explosions. Pedestrians be damned.

Racing to bear the brunt of the slasher wave. It was always Rex’s first instinct, to ‘be the shield.’ Bearing the brunt of an attack because he was nearly-invulnerable. Gritting his teeth all the while, because Errol knew this of him and used power in excess of whatever the minimum was to cause the gas station to explode. As such, Errol poured everything he had into making certain Rex would suffer for his choice.

“AAAAUGH!!”

Up until this point, Rex had attempted to take every attack in stride. But it was all starting to weigh down on him, the slasher wave lashing out where he’d been hit before and taking his physical form through a tumult of pain. Being nearly invulnerable, Rex was difficult to take out all at once. He could keep going—but that was also a funny way of saying he’d keep getting beaten up for quite some time, if he didn’t turn things around right away.

Then there was darkness. Rex lost consciousness at last.

The sight of the gas station exploding rippled through Rex’s mind while he was out of the waking world. It hadn’t happened, but he still couldn’t help but dread if it did. The flames, the gasoline spreading them out after spillage, things exploding. Shapes of people and animals in the haze that threatened to reveal the most visceral details of their doom. It was only then that Rex finally got startled awake. Found himself chained within some kind of a dungeon, part of an underground complex of some sort.

Mantle.

The exponentially growing underground empire Errol and every foe of the week served had a base here. Wherever this place was, at least. Rex tested at the chains that held him: He’d have to start at severing them at the weakest link, or to remove the spot on the wall where each was bolted to. As he did, he glanced past the prison cell bars: there were some chalktroopers on watch duty. But there were also some locked in the dungeon itself, along with some supervillains, monsters, and robots. Injured, punished, generally suffering for some slight against the throne. A few other more official heroes had also been captured fairly recently, but they were in no condition to assist.

“It’s YOU!”

Rex turned his head sharply. Just as he was trying to work the chains that restrained him, he was attacked by another prisoner: a cyborg sea-creature dubbed [NUTRITION HARVESTER FIEND] “Kelpsiphon.”

“Back off!” exclaimed Rex. “I don’t even KNOW you!”

“But I know YOU!” hissed Kelpsiphon. “And I’ll get my glory back after I bring your head to the emperor! They’ll have parades in my name!!”

Kelpsiphon latched onto Rex and tried to deprive him of whatever calories, salts, sugars, and other components of his last meal. Which didn’t last very long, for some reason. As Rex swatted away Kelpsiphon, a nearby monster-villain hurried over and bashed the nutrition harvester over the head with a metal meal-tray.

“Whoa! Thanks for the save. But who are you?” asked Rex.

“I’m [STONE EVOLVED BEAST] “Iggy Neos.” Why didn’t Kelpsiphon’s nutrient theft work on you?”

Rex thought about it for a moment, before having a light-bulb moment.

“I never got to sit down for lunch… and breakfast was very light today, the last waffle in the freezer.”

Iggy Neos looked concerned. But there was no time to attend to that, much less the supplies to do so with.

“I was banished here. The chalktroopers working in the mines found me hibernating and hid me—they were all crushed for that. Kelpsiphon had his rampage halted when someone hired a party of those gig-heroes, the Pithy Randos to stop him. Please help us.”

Rex nodded. Iggy Neos offered up some bread and some kind of protein slop in a bowl for Rex to regain some of his stamina with, and they protected each other from guards and other prisoners while resting. But as long as they were here, they couldn’t idle for too long without their fears and anxieties kicking back in. Eventually Rex was able to break his chains, and with Iggy Neos’s help, even coaxed Kelpsiphon into joining them on the promise of finding minerals and geyser water once freed.

Then finally, the moment of truth: Kelpsiphon feigned an illness brought on by malnutrition, before using that moment to jump one of the guards. Rex and Iggy Neos were not far off, preventing a couple more guards from intervening. If at the cost of Iggy Neo’s shoulder getting a chunk blasted off, and some concerning cracks on his cranium. With the keys to the cells, they started releasing people. Most focused on finding an exit, but a couple of captured superheroes lingered for a moment. Casting their malicious eyes in Rex’s direction.

“There’s no doubt about it.” said one of the captured heroes—a color-coded warrior in red, one of many freelancers for the Pithy Randos app. “He’s a no-good good guy. All that crap about common folk. He just wants to build up another kind of regime. This was just a damn recruitment drive.”

Rex started to grit his teeth. But Iggy Neos intervened, taking a chunk of stone from the wall, and kicking it like a soccer or rugby ball. This was his incredible technique, “Galena Goal.” The boulder bounced off of the ground between Rex and the elite heroes with tremendous force, and precision as only years of training could muster.

“Y-You’re just lucky we’re gonna call for back-up first.” spat the other elite hero, more of a spandex-clad masked figure, following the Pithy Rando as they retreated. “We’d haul your ass to Kodiakop and Shootsuit personally.”

Once the elite heroes left, Iggy Neos lead the way. Insistent on small talk, as well.

“What are you going to do when you get out of here?”

Rex actually perked up at the question, finding himself turning to follow Iggy Neos out of there.

“I… I don’t know? Just go back to the usual.”

“What does the usual look like for you? In your home, I mean.”

Rex seemed to blank out for a moment. After the fighting earlier, and being stuck here being given one threat after another, his life seemed so miniscule. Pathetic, compared to everything else going on. And yet, when Iggy Neos asked, he felt he had to try and find it within himself to answer to his satisfaction.

“A meager apartment. I have the most incorrigible megafauna for a pet. And many neighbors, just trying to get by. I can always count on the shops nearby to have fresh hot food and they don’t charge too much. Movie theaters and arcades. A red plastic cup and strange parties I end up at—not sure how. Conversations with people I don’t really know, but walk away from waving goodbye and smiling. It’s not much.”

“It sounds wonderful just the way it is, Rex. What about you, Kelpsiphon?”

Kelpsiphon was peering around a corner, before facing the others again. He hissed at the thought of such small talk. But relented after something came to mind.

“I’m going to rob one of those shiny, pristine stores all the health nuts go to. The big jars of protein beverage powders. I want my own place upstate with a whole shelf of shakers full of sea salts. And… don’t you dare laugh at me. My own garden. Not an entire farm, but if I could have a patch of all my favorite vegetables to myself. I think I could keep it together.”

Iggy Neos nodded.

“I think I can help. With the salts at least.”

“… Thanks. You can have a cut of my take.” said Kelpsiphon. Then he looked over to Rex. “Once I’m all fed, I guess I could spare leftovers. Even to a chump like you.”

It was meant to be somewhat insulting. But Kelpsiphon meant it: anything he didn’t eat or re-use in some fashion, he would pass along. He wouldn’t stop being obtuse altogether, but it was a warmth that reinvigorated Iggy Neos and Rex, as they traversed the labyrinthine structure of this Mantle Army base, desperate for an exit.

But as they finally found what appeared to be the way out, they found themselves within a large antechamber with a domed ceiling, decorated with glass panels. The morning sun was in the sky. And a looming figure approached the trio, like a lesser giant.

“Kuuueeeh keh-keh-keh…”

“It’s Emperor Fumerole!” gasped Kelpsiphon. The great ruler of the ‘Exponential Underground Empire’, which commissioned the Mantle Army and its various branches. At his craggy feet laid the bodies of prisoners who had come so close to escaping, only to be cut down. His molten body draped in a cloak with pointed shoulder pads, and his head adorned with a helmet that had a series of vents on the front, thick smoke billowing out, as an orange-yellow light was emitted from behind the shutters. Errol was not far off, still clad in his own suit, but now equipped with a prestigious cloak of his own: He was after all, head of the imperial honor guard.

Rex was coughing, trying to stand firm in the face of this evil foe. Iggy Neos had an easier time since he too was of the underground world, and he stood beside his fellow inmates with newfound dignity and poise.

“It wasn’t enough you tried to hibernate all through our expanding rule over the planet.” growled Emperor Fumerole. “You had to try and break out of prison before you came back to your senses!”

“I regained my sense only today.” said Iggy Neos. “You have the dust of countless troopers on your hand. Your most dedicated monstrofficers and supervillains lay dead in this chamber, alongside your enemies.”

“And for that, I still reap the victory!” cackled Fumerole.

“Unforgivable…!” grunted Rex. Errol was not far off with laughter.

“Listen to that, sire. You’ve been terribly unfair.”

Rex scowled. He glanced over at Iggy Neos, who looked to be preparing his Galena Goal attack again, while Fumerole raised a hand to project his own lava powers forth at range. Kelpsiphon nodded towards Errol, intending to attack him alongside Rex.

“Pathetic!”

Errol raised a hand, preparing to bring it down diagonally to slice Kelpsiphon in half. But not before Rex pulled him into a full nelson wrestling hold, kneeing him in the side a couple of times until an opening could be created for the bionic aquatic to start sapping him of his essential nutrients. That allowed Iggy Neos to keep Emperor Fumerole at bay, ideally until Rex and Kelpsiphon could rejoin him. Iggy Neos matched the emperor strike-for-strike, using the boulders of his Galena Goal kicks to tear into the subterranean tyrant’s openings.

“BWFEUUAAH!” gasped Fumerole, his bellow echoing through uncarved tunnels and halls of discipline and dominance. “As to be expected. You had the seat of a general, and yet you threw it all away—to run off with these good-for-nothing layabouts?!”

Iggy Neos hissed. Rex and Kelpsiphon looked up from their own battle against Errol—who was smirking all the while. The stone-evolved beast seemed ashamed that his fellow prisoners had learned this.

“Yes… it’s true. In a time when I thought every battle would be honorable. That losses weren’t just counted, they were felt. But after the sands of time passed, you denounced them as failures! Used their good name to scare everyone else into line.”

The boulders were launched, two at a time now. Emperor Fumerole smashed them apart eventually with swings of his arms, but not before Iggy Neos pulled forth three more: He was trying to deal out a killing blow at last!

“They’ll drop down from the heavens to receive you in hell, Fumerole!! Even if I have to drag you there myself!”

Emperor Fumerole put his hands out and fired jets of flame. The first two boulders were halted, but the third one was going to smash right into him, as Iggy Neos hovered there in mid-air, winding up for the biggest kick of all. If his stone-beast physiology had some equivalent of muscle and tendon, he was on the verge of tearing them just to expend as much of his inner strength as he could.

*THWOOOSH!!*

But it was quickly brought to an end. The more renowned superheroes from earlier had arrived! The spandex-clad one was using strength enough to change the course of a mighty river so as to throw off Iggy Neos’s kicking stance, while the Pithy Rando blasted the boulder apart with a large shoulder-mounted cannon. It shattered just inches from Emperor Fumerole’s helmet-clad face, as his panic turned to giddy, gruesome delight.

“BWUUU-KAH-KAH-KAH!!”

There was a loud and terrible ‘CRACK!!’ as Iggy Neos landed on the ground. Kelpsiphon pulled away from Errol, running to sweep up Iggy Neos into his arms and run away. Although he had lost some energy, Errol was not lacking for sustenance or comfort, unlike Rex who was overworked, hungry, and his body battered to June.

“NO!!”

Rex had to keep his hands up. He couldn’t go to check on Iggy Neos either, as Errol and the two so-called superheroes ganged up on him.

“It’s so funny, isn’t it?” said Errol. “Mantle isn’t from space, or some magical realm, you know. It’s absolutely homegrown, right here on good old Earth. Just like how I’m 100% human nobility!”

Rex was absolutely shocked. Emperor Fumerole unveiled jumbotron video screens all around the chamber, the unerring Errol kicking Rex’s face repeatedly until he looked at least once in every direction. Each carrying images of arson, warfare, greed, and other examples of mankind’s cruelty towards itself and others.

Including glimpses of a younger Rex, in a metallic teal form, with three bulbous eyes. He used this alternate Nypardian form to conceal his secret identity. At least, when that was still his secret, before those he thought of once as peers took that from him.

“I’ve had a hand in a few of these… but not all. Just look at those bastards that left you for dead, Rex: Human kindness is a FARCE! No matter what they say or do, you have to put them in line with power, earn their admiration by entertaining them. Errol is living proof. I’m sure the Enforcer and the Pithy Rando you encountered on the way here can testify to that!”

Rex looked frantically to the spandex-clad superhero. Although they were almost certainly elitist, the Earthborn alien attempted to appeal to something in him.

“Don’t look at me, space invader.” said the Enforcer. “We’ve got it all worked out with guys like Emperor Fumerole. There’s order! Yet you want more without going up the ladder. Of all the selfish, inconsiderate slackers I’ve ever seen…”

And then, Rex looked to the Pithy Rando.

“You can’t seriously be buying this. You’re freelance!”

“Uh, nah? I’m gonna win it big after I bring *you* in!” said the Pithy Rando. “This gig’s turned out even better than I thought. All it took was a little initiative, hustle from sun-up to sunset! Not that you’d get it, quitter.”

That just about did it. Rex tried to force the spandex-clad Enforcer off of his arm, while the Pithy Rando summoned a drill-sword, driving it into Rex’s solar plexus in a shower of sparks and a yowl of pain from the cosmic contender. Errol swerved around to put him into a stranglehold as payback for the full-nelson earlier.

“YOU’RE ALL FULL OF IT!! PEOPLE ARE BETTER THAN THIS!—THEY HAVE TO BE!!”

The spandex-clad superhero noticed something: there was a large arc of static at the same time Rex winced. And there was a seafoam green glow in his eyes starting to obscure the pupils, as their light showed off the widening eyes and sweaty brow of that lone Pithy Rando, through the helmet’s nearly tinted visor. Twin laser-jets beamed out of Rex’s eyes as he started shouting swears and screeching like a wounded animal. Energy crackled through his forearms as well, as two more beams erupted from his palms, the elitist superhero in spandex singed away and the Pithy Rando trying to use the drill-sword to push against the quadruple beams. Errol held on, trying to constrict Rex from breathing properly.

“I’m—I’m wired into the grid, just like everybody else good enough to run gigs!” said the Pithy Rando. “It won’t let you kill me! Not when it’s reinforced by a hundred teams’ worth of vault archived might!”

“A stolen power WON’T protect you!”

The service and its app had greater numbers waiting on the surface. Not all were so greedy, but regardless they all shared the fact that their power source was on a loan, and distribution regulated fiercely. The Pithy Rando gear halfway disappeared after taking too much damage, including the helmet and weaponry, leaving the color-coded combatant to fall to their knees. The spandex-clad superhero was trying to dial for back-up before rejoining the fight, still shaken by the cosmic energies of Rex’s blasts.

“That’s enough!” exclaimed Emperor Fumerole. “Errol, show him the heights of your natural nobility!”

Errol released Rex so he could rush him with a knife-hand strike, intending to try and overcome the alien’s near-invulnerability to try and rip out whatever passed for a heart. Instead, Rex weaved past and yanked on his wrist and shoulder, tossing him aside. When Errol finally wheeled back around to attack again, he was stricken in such a way that Emperor Fumerole was shocked.

“It can’t be…!”

But it was. Although Rex’s effort was not as refined, he had still carved out a boulder for himself, and performed a shaky kick akin to that of soccer or rugby with a force just shy of the move’s inventor: Iggy Neos! The projectile knocked Errol down, as Rex did an elbow drop onto the Mantle honor guardsman, followed up with a backflip-kick that launched the boulder faster than Emperor Fumerole could realize it was headed his way.

“Impossible. That a whelp could even conjure a fraction of General Neos’s advanced technique?!...” thought Emperor Fumerole, as he stumbled backwards, trying not to fall onto his back and show weakness. Errol was still getting back up, when Rex dashed forward to hover face-to-face with Emperor Fumerole.

“How?!” thundered Emperor Fumerole, swinging madly. “General Neos was in a league of his own when it came to power and skill! No one could match him!”

“You never let ‘em. And I couldn’t start slugging you without paying Iggy Neos my respects at least once, and freaking you the hell out in the process!”

And with that, Rex hovered backwards a bit, before accelerating in that small gap between them, and sending Emperor Fumerole crashing through the walls and back to the surface world, where they were airborne for a time, landing in the heart of Delta Bay: Rhymes Square.

*WHAM!* *WHAM!* *WHAM!!*

Rex was tearing into Emperor Fumerole. But as they came to a skidding halt, it was only after a few more hits that Rex noticed Emperor Fumerole stopped fighting back. In fact, he’d allowed one of Rex’s swings to damage him a bit, and then made the wound even worse with swipes of his hands across the spot in an ‘X’ formation, lava gushing out. Superficially so, but onlookers would still get the right pitiful impression.

“Why are you so vicious?...”

Rex tensed up. They were both surrounded by people. Turning their heads, starting to film with their cameras. Rex had no qualms about attacking the ruler of the exponential underground empire, supreme master of the Mantle Army. And yet, there was something painfully familiar about being in this position. It made the celestial terrestrial bite his lip.

“What’s he doing to that old guy?”

“I don’t know—doesn’t seem fair at all though!”

When Emperor Fumerole coughed, people stepped a little closer towards the proceedings. He even took it a step further and started blubbering. Now his smoky vents gave way to streaming tears with a thick volcanic ichor.

“I surrender.” rasped Fumerole “Please, no more of this savagery. I could never fight like that.”

Then came the murmuring. So many voices at once, in every direction, Rex heard them all around. Trying not to pay attention, but he was frozen there with one clenched fist, wound up for a haymaker that never came. A random person would spit in Rex’s direction, and someone else finally spoke up:

“Makes you feel reeeaaal big, don’t it? Jerk.”

Rex tried to speak. A larger part of himself knew that these people wouldn’t listen—they wouldn’t care. And yet, there was still some part of his spirit, the very same that let him fight on. A part that wanted to thrash and refuse this scene.

“He commands the Mantle Army. He’s… he’s a tyrant.”

A large soda collided with Rex’s head. Ice cubes flew every which way. A few people started shouting at him. Curses and put-downs about being an honorless, joyless, walking waste. Someone even stepped it up and swatted at him with an umbrella—Rex weakly raising his forearm to defend himself. They took that as a cue to call the cops. Nearby squad cars pulled up, offering visual confirmation for a couple of mecha to enter the scene, flashing red and blue lights over snow-white hulls adorned by black markings for the unit number and factory code.

“It’s going to be okay now, everyone!” exclaimed the spandex-clad Enforcer from earlier, who finally arrived on the scene, waving his phone. “The situation has become so dire, even the Mantle honor guardsman Errol and I are working together! With those police robos, we’re gonna show this intergalactic knucklehead a true taste of humanity! Who’s with me?!”

The crowd started to cheer. The only thing Rex could liken it to was having a knife jammed into his side, phased in and digging into him at the molecular level.

He had to leave now.

But on his way out, as he spun on his heels, he waved one hand—throwing a burst of small lights into the air the same way that fighter jets released a chaff to throw off enemy radar. The police robos’ targeting gear was thrown off, and Rex kicked backwards into a run. He saw the smirking face of the Enforcer, and swung his arm forward in a lariat to knock him down, Rex crouching slightly next to him.

For a moment, Rex crouched down and held him by some of the bodysuit’s cloth, over the collar. But rather than following it up with another attack, he realized he had to escape now and recover from the damage he’d suffered just moments ago. The ache of those injuries was starting to kick in, catching up with the brazen, bitter fighter. And instead, Rex used his crouched position to spring up over the city skyline in a great leap. Soaring away from there in flight before he could be hunted again, while he was on the verge of physical and mental burnout.

Errol arrived not long after. But instead of giving chase, he accompanied his emperor, pretending to console the lesser giant. Taking the time to reassure everyone in the square that it was going to be alright, even going as far as to help the downed Enforcer back up to his feet to shake hands. If with a subtly crushing grip.

“H-Hey, what was that for?!” whispered the Enforcer.

“Get out of my sight. Tell Kodiakop, Shootsuit, and all the rest to rein in Prizefighter Shine, or whatever you’re calling that space trash now.”

The Enforcer affiliate gulped, before promising the crowd he would make this a top priority with the rest of his supergroup, with all its celebrities and premiere government agents.

Kelpsiphon could feel the boost from Errol wearing off. He felt sick to his stomach—not just for that, nor simply for the damage he’d taken. But because he’d opted to run away. His first instinct hadn’t been strictly to save Iggy Neos, but simply to escape the oncoming tide of death. It was not a selfish thing to want to live. But in this world of superpowered aristocracy, it was, and would continue to be reviled.

“Kelpsiphon…”

Kelpsiphon found a spot under a tree, setting Iggy Neos up to sit against it. They had to rest for as long as they could. The next stretch was going to be searching for food and shelter.

“Where are we, Kelpsiphon?”

“I don’t know, Iggy Neos. But I’ll keep going. I’ll carry the both of us forward. Until we find the things we dreamed of.”

Iggy Neos tried to get up. But Kelpsiphon forced him to sit down.

“No… just take what’s left of my minerals. Gather vitamins from the fruit growing in this land. Go on.”

Kelpsiphon shook his head.

“You keep yourself together, damn you! I’ll find something. I swear.”

The bionic aquatic searched, bringing back berries and nuts, and sharing them with Iggy Neos, despite any protests. He even went as far as to gather wood for a fire.

“Someone might spot us.”

“I’ll put it out in a few more minutes. After we feel nice and toasty! That’s how we know we’re still alive, general.”

Iggy Neos scoffed at being called a general again. He was just a sack of withered old rocks, now more than ever.

“I know we’re alive… by another mark.” said Iggy Neos.

“Ehh?? Whaddya mean by that?”

Iggy Neos looked to the stars in the night sky.

“They tried to starve you, rob you of your dignity the same way they maligned their own surface world protector. And yet you saved me, he stayed and fought. Your wills press forward into the future.”

Kelpsiphon didn’t know what to say to that. In the end, he looked up to the stars as well. And they hoped that wherever he was, Rex could know some brief respite. So that he would be rejuvenated enough to fight on once again. To find and warm the hearts of yet more kindred spirits. Even as the world wore them all down. They had to believe in that, do what they could to make something kinder come about.

Don’t give in, Rex!!

SO LONG FOR NOW.

#Web Fiction #Dynaura #Dynaura EP5

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ghostnshadow · 2 years ago

Text

Movement

Ghost x Fem! OC

Authors Note: Ive been mulling over this one for a while lol, the song of the night is Movement by Hozier

Summary: Ghost finds himself with a Shadow

Ghost knew someone was tailing him.

Six hours into a recon mission for a sex trafficking ring based in Holland, and for five of those he's had a shadow following him around, he spent 2 of those hours trying to loose them and considering he wasn't dead yet, he figured they were there for the same thing as him. But he was tired and downright cranky at the lack of information gathered he was itching for a fight and who better to pick it with than the person following him?

He turned into a dark alley waiting for the energy to shift to signal they had entered the space he resided, grasping the knife on his thigh he pulled it out slowly hiding it within his hand.

"I know you're there, stop hiding in the shadows" the only response was the howling wind in the distance, the sounds of the drunken nightlife stumbling home a few blocks away, a car engine turning down the block, his patience nearing catastrophic levels , he looked up scanning the rooftops for a sign of something , anything to give them away.

"you've followed me around all day, come out and face me like a man" Ghost's head whipped at the sound of rustling at the end of the alley, he watched closely waiting for someone to come out, instead a cat sauntered out sniffing in his direction as it trotted by, he followed the animal with his gaze, not hearing the soft thump of a body landing next to him.

"You were awfully sure I was a man, why? " He whipped his head at the sound, locking eyes with a woman, the only thing he could make out were brown eyes a black mask covering the bottom half of her face, a hood pulled over her head, wisps of what he could see was bright red hair dancing in the wind. Her head cocked to the side watching him with near surgical precision.

"It was a guess, figured if they sent a man he'd be cocky enough to come out, if it was a woman I figured she'd want to prove me wrong" He circled her , he clothes skin tight and black good for hiding but not good for hiding weapons, her head turned and tilted slightly.

"You're only seeing me because I am allowing it, trust me I wanted you gone the second you came in the picture" Her accent was American, not quite west coast but not quite South almost somewhere inbetween, he stopped back in front of her, the fingers gripping his knife twitching with anticipation, but first he needed answers.

"who sent you?" his eyes locked on hers, glinting in the moonlight she looked like something out of a comic book he had read when he was younger, more hair had come loose black strands mixing with the blood red in the breeze.

"no one you should be concerned-" she stopped mid-sentence cocking her head slightly, her eyes narrowing slightly it was then he realized she was listening to someone on comms, he rushed her pushing her up against the wall, a knee pressed slightly into her thigh and his knife at her throat.

"Im only going to ask one more time, who sent you ?" her eyes upturned like she was smiling under the mask, her hands stayed at her sides not even trying to fight him off.

"oh you have a temper big boy, why don't you put the knife down and we can talk like adults huh?" he pressed further, feeling her pulse with the knife, steady as if he wasn't once solid slice away from ending her existence.

"how about you tell me who you are and maybe I wont kill you right here." he pressed the point of the knife into her neck a bead of blood bubbling over the edge, she swallowed her hands reaching up and gripping his wrist.

" Sir? Ghost is one word away from slicing and dicing me , permission to tell him?" She kept her eyes locked on his, his head muddy from the feeling of her against him, brain almost too slow to process the words coming out of her mouth.

"There's a pocket inside my jacket, reach in it's a comm for you" His gaze narrowed his breathing heavy building condensation inside his own mask, his knee near burning from where it was pressed against her thigh.

"Just grab it Ghost, you're gonna want to speak to the captain" the hand with the knife stayed steady, his other moving slowly over the zipper of the too tight jacket pulling it down he reached in , Her heartbeat finally jackhammering at his touch finding the small pocket and inside it a small in ear comm device, he pulled it out reaching in his own hood and slipping it under the balaclava he wore.

"He's got it in, turn it on before my blood ends up outside my body please." there was static and then rustling, and then Captain Price's voice filtered through.

"Ghost put the knife down, she's with us" he huffed out a breath dropping the knife, she visibly relaxed her head leaning back agains the wall she was up against.

"Thought I was going in dark , why the change of plans?" Ghost looked at her more closely now, her eyes closed he could make out a freckle on her eyelid, and dark brown eyebrows, he seemed to remember how close he was and took a tentative step back looked over to the entrance of the alley as a car passed by

"That was the plan until I was contacted by Laswell , Shadow has been tracking the same group over 6 weeks, we agreed you would work together on this." He looked at her again, her eyes open now studying him like she was before.

"Who is she with ?" She took a step forward, her hands finding their way into her jacket pockets, it was her who spoke this time.

"I work alone, if you know how to contact me then I get hired for jobs, Laswell just happens to know how to get in touch." Ghost narrowed his gaze , considering the events in Las Almas it was bold for them to go with another contractor.

"She's good Ghost, and she's your best shot at getting proper intel" He sighed at Price's tone, leaving no room for discussion on the topic looking her over one last time he turned to the end of the alley walking away.

"Let's go Shadow, we've got work to do"

#simon riley call of duty #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost fanfiction #ghost x oc #cod mw22 #modern warfare

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just-dreaming-marvel · 4 years ago

Text

Love and Medicine ~ 7

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 4,400ish

Summary: Clint has feelings. You try not to cause too much drama at work.

You immediately began avoiding Steve after Gamora caught you two in the car. You need not need her, or anyone else, thinking that you were sleeping with him to get ahead. Having no desire to get ready for work, you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, as your alarm buzzed.

Outside in the hall, Clint was nervously walked towards your door with two cups of coffee.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask her out?” Valkyrie suddenly asked, popping out of her room.

“Ah!” Clint jumped, slipping the coffees on him. “Val!”

“She’s right, ya know?” Scott added, stepping out of his room. “Just ask her out. It’s not like it will be awkward when she tells you no.”

“I hate you both,” Clint grumbled. He leaned into your door, able to hear to slam on the snooze button for the third time. “She’s gonna be late.”

“Maybe not.”

“We should wait for her.”

“Definitely not,” Val shook her head. “I’m not her mother, and you are not her boyfriend.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Scott added.

“Stop, both of you, okay?” Clint said, frustrated. “I told you I’m not interested.”

“Life is short, Clint,” Val said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do you really want to die before you ever ask her out?”

“I do not want to ask her out.”

“Do you really want to die a liar?” Scott said.

“I’m not… I’m not dying.”

~~~

From the parking garage, you rushed towards the building. Late for work. As you wait for the elevator, you see Steve coming toward you.

“Crap,” you mutter.

“Crap?” Steve repeated, having heard you.

“Hi. I’m late.”

“Hi, late. You’re avoiding me.”

“You’re right. But I can’t do this right now. I’m late.” You hurried towards the stairs, only for him to follow you.

“Okay, but are we going to talk about this?”

“No.” You marched up the stairs.

“About us and Gamora and what she saw?”

“I don’t need to talk about it. I experienced it. Naked.”

“This is getting complicated.”

“Complicated for me. Not necessarily for you. I’m the intern sleeping with the attending. Gamora isn’t even speaking to me anymore!”

“Not that, that’s a bad thing. If I was a better guy, I’d walk away.”

“Yes, you would.”

“Do you want me to be a better guy.”

“Yes. Now,” you reached the level of the locker rooms, “I’m late. Please leave me alone and get to my job.” You opened the door. Steve caught it, keeping it open as you walked away.

“Take your time! Think about it!”

“Think about what?” Tony asked, walking over to Steve. He looked to where Steve was looking, watching her rush down the all. “Ooohhh… I get it now. Well, at least she’s talking to you.”

“The date go bad with Pepper?”

“It didn’t go at all. I was pulled into a surgery and completely forgot about it.”

“Yikes.”

“I think I’ve blown it.”

“Me too, Stark. Me too.”

~~~

“That was definitely worth being late,” Natasha sighed as she put on her pants.

“Thanks,” Bruce smiled shyly, doing the same. “Is this a… should we talk about this?”

“Yeah,” Natasha slipped her shirt on, “definitely. Just, I’m late.”

She rushed out of the on-call room and straight to the locker room, where you were getting ready.

“You’re late,” you stated.

“So are you,” Natasha responded.

“I know, and I can’t afford to piss off Gamora any more. Do you think she told anyone?”

“About you and Captain McDreamy?”

“Yeah.”

“No, he’s her boss too.”

“If they find out, what can they… Can they kick me out? Or—“

“No…. Well, I don’t think officially. You'll just get edged out, blacklisted, banned from his surgeries, passed over for chief resident. It’ll be humiliating, but you’ll live.”

“I have to end it. I definitely have to end it… I have to end it, right?”

“Y/N, shut up.” Nat headed out of the locker room.

“What?” You chased after her. “Did you seriously just tell me to shut up?”

“Oh, please. You got a hot doctor who like to make you open up, and say "ahh." It's the American dream, stop whining about it.”

“No. No good can come from sleeping with your boss.” You two arrived in front of Gamora.

“Natasha, you’re late,” Gamora stated, unhappy.

“So is Y/N,” Natasha replied, pointing at you.

“When we walk in this door, you will maintain decorum,” Gamora continued, ignoring Nat and you. “You will not laugh, vomit, or drop your jaw. Are we understood?” She walked to a door.

“Why would we laugh?” Val asked quietly.

“Oh, just you wait,” Peter replied.

The interns followed Gamora into a patient room. On the bed, there was a heavier woman with an extremely large tumor bulging out fo her side.

“Good morning, Miss Anderson,” Gamora greeted.

“Good Morning,” Miss Anderson, the patient, replied.

“What is it?” Scott whispered.

“Tumor,” Nat responded.

“Good morning, Millie,” Peter smiled, walking around to the other side of the patient’s bed. “How are you? This is Dr. Gamora and some of my fellow interns.”

“Dr. Quill, we refer to patients as ‘mister’ and—“ Gamora began to reprimand.

“I old him to call me Millie,” the patient interrupted. “Miss Anderson makes me feel old and fat, which I am, but why have to feel that way?”

“Good morning,” Dr. Banner greeted upon entering, eyes lingering on Natasha a beat too long.

“Millie, this is Dr. Banner,” Peter stated.

“Dr. Quill, give us the run down.”

“Millie Anderson is a 43-year-old woman who presented last night with progressive shortness of breath fo the past three months. Found to have a very large tumor of unknown origin pressed against her diaphragm. Stable vital signs. Scheduled for CT this morning, sir.”

“Thank you, Dr. Quill.” Banner turned to Millie. “Are you at all claustrophobic?”

“I’ve been housebound for the last year,” Millie replied. “How claustrophobic could I be?”

“Alright then. Dr. Valkyrie is going to take you up for a CT. It’ll give us a better look at the tumor, and we’ll know how to proceed.”

“Could someone tell my dad? He’ll worry if he gets back and I’m not here.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And would it be possible for Peter to take me instead? I mean, he… he’s just so fun to look at.”

“Millie,” Peter laughed, clearly trying to gain favor.

“Sure,” Banner said. “Sure, Miss Anderson. Excuse me.”

Dr. Banner left the room, with Dr. Gamora and the interns following.

“How much do you think it weighs?” Scott asked.

“60 pounds,” Clint answered.

“More,” Val said. “She’s carrying a whole extra person.”

“This one’s going in the books,” Natasha said. “I’ve got to get in.”

“I almost did,” Val glared at Peter.

“I was on call last night when she came in,” Peter said. “I’m never leaving this place again.”

“Let’s move, people,” Gamora said. “Miss Anderson’ surgery, should we choose to proceed, will take most, if not all, of the surgeons off the floor. Which means you people will have to work extra hard not to kill anyone, cause we won’t be there to fix your mistakes.”

You and the others listened to Gamora’s orders while Natasha slipped away to talk to Bruce.

“I really want in on this,” she whispered to him.

“I thought we weren’t talking,” Bruce replied, eyebrow up.

“I’m not talking. I’m just saying.”

Bruce sighed. “Find her father, get a family history, and I’ll tell Gamora.”

~~~

“I know you both think I like Y/N,” Clint stated as him, Scott, and Val walked up the stairs. “But I don’t like Y/N.”

“What?” Val questioned.

“No. I like Y/N. Obviously, I like her. She’s my roommate. I just… I don’t have a thing for her.” Scott and Val shared a look.

“Okay,” Scott said.

“It’s just this morning… I know you two were probably just teasing. But I don’t want you to say anything like that to her. Because, you know, we live together and that’d be awkward.”

“Clint, stop talking,” Val ordered.

“Okay, then… It’s just—“

“Seriously, dude,” Scott stopped in front of Clint. “You’re making this all worse. Just stop.” Scott peered behind Clint where you were making your way towards them. “Or you could just be honest with yourself and us and ask her out now.” Clint looked back to see you almost there.

“What are you guys standing here for?” You asked. “We’re going to be late meeting Gamora.”

You and Val continued on your way with Scott watching Clint watch you.

“Liar,” Scott muttered, shaking his head.

The two guys caught up with you and Val. The four of you met up with Gamora in another patient room. Inside the room, a man is trying to walk but was having difficulty. Steve was also in there and a younger woman.

“Morning,” Gamora greeted.

“Mr. Jones, this is Dr. Gamora and her fine staff of surgical interns,” Steve introduced. Steve, yourself, and Gamora all exchanged glances.

“Welcome to hell, kids,” Mr. Jones stated.

“Who’s presenting?” Gamora asked.

“Edward Jones,” Clint stated, “is a 63-year-old man admitted for pain management for Dyskinesia. He's been stable since last night, and responding to the bolus injections.”

“Val, possible treatments?”

“For Parkinson’s disease?” Val questioned. “Um, deep brain stimulation has shown—“

“Not for Parkinson’s,” Steve clarified, “for spinal pain.”

“Oh, um…”

“Instraspinal catheter,” you stated. “That way, he can have constant pain medication.”

“Excellent,” Steve smiled. “This is Dr. L/N. She’s gonna prep you for the procedure and assist.” His pager beeped, causing him to look down. “Excuse me.” He left.

“You make yourselves busy,” Gamora said, following Steve out. “I’ll catch up with you.”

She followed Steve to the elevator. Where they end up alone.

“Gamora,” Steve greeted.

“Excuse me?” She responded.

“Well, that’s your name, right? It’s on your jacket.” She wasn’t impressed. “Alright, fine. Dr. Gamora then.”

“You think you're charming in that talented, neurotic, overly moussed hair sort of way, good for you. But if you think I'm going to stand back and watch while you favor her—“

“I don’t favor her. She’s good.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“You know, can I point out that, technically, I'm your boss?”

“You don't scare me. Look, I'm not going to advertise your extracurricular activities with my intern. However, the next time I see you favoring Y/N L/N in any way, I'll make sure she doesn't see the inside of on OR for a month. Just for the sake of balance.”

~~~

“Okay, Mr. Jones,” you said with a smile. “We're going to get you more comfortable, okay? I'm going to go downstairs and I'll be back up shortly.”

“Okay,” Mr. Jones responded.

“Okay.”

You left, with the younger woman from the room following you out.

“Excuse me,” the younger woman called out, causing you to turn your attention to her. “I’m sorry, doctor…”

“L/N,” you smiled.

“Dr. L/N. I’m Lucy, his daughter. My dad seems to like you. He’s always liked your type. Is that rude? I’m sorry. I’m so tired.”

“Is there something—“

“I was wondering if you would talk to him.”

“About?”

“Brain surgery. The doctor mentioned it, and I've read about it online. If it worked, it could help with most of his symptoms, not just his pain.”

“Is he a candidate? I don’t—“

“He is, but he's afraid of it. Surgery on his back, he can understand, but his brain...And there are risks. But his quality of life…”

“There isn’t any.”

“And, it keeps getting worse. I'm getting married next month. I already lost my mom. And I want him to walk...I want him with me. Maybe that's selfish, but...you don't know what it's like having a parent...Watching him…”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.”

You immediately left in search of Steve. You watched outside a room where he was talking to Gamora and Banner about Miss Anderson.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called as he walked out. “Mr. Jones, the Parkinson's patient, is he a good candidate for DBS?”

“Yes,” he replied, “but he’s not interested.”

“Okay, but I think it's worth talking to him again, pushing him.”

“We're talking about a brain surgery that is performed while the patient is wide awake, a risk of paralysis, a risk of death. And, the patient doesn't want it. It is not my job to push him into anything and it's definitely not yours.”

“Okay.”

“And since you’re clearly uncomfortable with my decision in this case, it's probably best you don't scrub in.”

“But—“

“It’s a minor procedure. You won’t be missed.” This took you by surprise. “I’m good here, Dr. L/N.” With your mind reeling, you walked away. Steve turned to Gamora, who had been watching. “You know that you’re a bully, right?”

“So I’ve heard,” Gamora replied.

~~~

You and Val were sitting in a corner of the cafeteria, eating lunch.

“It's just that he blatantly favors me in front of her and then blatantly dismisses me,” you complained to her.

“How do you know he was favoring you?” She asked, which you didn’t answer. “Look, you've got a brain. You got into this program. Just because Rogers wants to munch your cookies doesn't mean you didn't deserve what you worked for.”

“But he’s making me look bad. I have to end it.”

“Right.”

“It’s over.”

“Sure.”

“Is it true you get to scrub in on that tumor?” Peter asked Natasha, appearing out of nowhere with Val. They both sat down at your table.

“Don’t sit here.”

“You get to scrub in?” Val repeated. “How psyched are you?”

“On a scale of one to ecstatic, ecstatic.”

“It’s unbelievable,” Peter complained. “You know what I think? I think Banner wants to get into your scrubs.”

“Why are you sitting here?”

“He kicked me off that surgery for the same crap most of you pull every day.”

“You know what.” Natasha held up her fork. “If I stuck this fork into his thigh, would I get in trouble?”

“Not if you make it look like an accident,” you answered.

“Hey!” Clint greeted, coming up with Scott.

“Thank goodness,” Peter exclaimed. “I’m drowning in estrogen here.”

Clint sat down next to you, studying you. “You look… is everything okay?” He asked you.

“Rogers is a jackass,” you muttered.

“Really?” Val questioned. “I think he’s kind of great.”

“He reamed her out in front of Gamora,” Natasha said.

“Why?”

“Cause he’s a jackass,” you repeated.

“Well, bad days are… bad,” Clint said. “Maybe tonight, uh, if, you know, if you drink alcohol, I mean… we could, all of us, I mean, go out and rink alcohol… because of the bad day.”

Your pager beeped. “I’ve got to go.” And you left.

“Dude,” Peter laughed at Clint once you were gone.

Clint groaned and rested his head on the table. Scott panted his shoulder while the others laughed.

~~~

Steve had called you to Mr. Jones room. You stood near the door, watching.

“How’s your back?” Steve asked Mr. Jones as he checked him over.

“Still good,” the patient responded.

“Good.” Steve turned to Mr. Jones daughter. “How are you? Good?” She nodded as he turned his attention back to her father. “Can you lean forward for me? I just want to check something. Does that feel okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Right here?” Steve pressed along Mr. Jones’ back. The man grunts slightly and Steve looked up, finally noticing you. “Mr. Jones,” Steve took his hands off the man, “have you given any more thought about the other surgical options we discussed this morning?”

“What? Why would I? I already told you no. I'm letting you cut into my back, but that's not enough for you. All you guys ever want to do is cut.”

“Dad,” his daughter scolded, “just listen to what he has to say.”

“I already listened.”

“Sir, there’s a very small window of opportunity here,” Steve stated. “You know, once the Parkinson's progresses to a point of dementia, there's, you know, you're no longer a candidate for DBS.”

“And when I'm no longer a candidate, is that when you people will leave me the hell alone! What? Do I have to start drooling, and forget my name to get a little peace and quiet?”

“Alright,” Steve nodded. “I’ll check back with you later. Try to get some rest.” Steve left while you lingered a bit longer, just more in the hallway.

“Dad, you’re being unreasonable,” the daughter said. “The doctors are only trying to help you.”

“It’s my damn life, and it’s my damn brain,” Mr. Jones stated. “You want me to let them cut up my brain while I'm lying there awake, for what?”

“Dad!”

“I'll be at your wedding. I will sit in the back. Your uncle will walk you down the aisle. I know it's not perfect, but it's life. Life is messy sometimes.”

“I know that.” The daughter walked out and Mr. Jones looked at you.

“If she knows, then what the hell are we still talking for, huh? Why in the hell can’t she drop it?”

“It is your life,” you said, stepping further into the room. “But it’s her life too. And you have a chance to get better here. And all she's asking you to do is try.”

~~~

Mr. Jones agreed to the DBS. But you needed to hurry and find Steve, before the man changed his mind. You found him scrubbing in for Miss Anderson’s surgery with Banner and Gamora.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called.

“Yes?” He responded, looking over with his red, white, and blue scrub cap on and a mask.

“Mr. Jones has agreed to DBS. Only if we do it today. If he leaves, he won’t come back.”

“Don’t worry, Steve,” Bruce said. “It’ll take hours before we get around to the spine. I’ll page you.”

“Alright, then,” Steve said, shaking off his wet hands. “Let’s do it.”

Steve walked out of the scrub room while Bruce walked into the OR, leaving you and Gamora alone.

“Dr. Gamora. I didn’t know… I din’t know that he was my boss, when I met him,” you said. “I really didn’t know.”

“I don’t care,” she responded.

“Really? Oh, well, you sort of seemed to not be talking to me, so I—“

“You see this, what's happening right here? This is the problem with you sleeping with my boss. Not whether or not you know him before, but how it affects my day. And me standing here talking to you about your sex life affects my day. And the longer this little fling goes on, the more favors you get over the others, who are fighting tooth and nail just to make it through this program without any assistance. When those people start finding out what's going on and they don't want to work with you and talk to you or look at you, and they start bitching and moaning at me, the more it affects my day. So, no, Dr. L/N, I don't care what you know, or when you know it. Are we understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

~~~

“Neuro sponge,” a male nurse said, handing a sponge to Steve.

“How you doing, Mr. Jones?” Steve asked.

“Alright,” Mr. Jones responded.

“Drill bit’s charged,” the nurse announced.

“Where’s the girl doctor?”

“I’m right here,” you responded, stepping closer. “Can’t you see me?”

“I’m shaky, not blind. Anything goes wrong here, I’m blaming you.”

“Okay, in that case, I'll stay where you can see me. Now we just have to drill a hole and try to find the spot that controls the motor function.”

“You can't see my brain from there. Aren't you supposed to be learning something?”

“I’m good,” you grabbed onto his hand, “right here.”

“EEG waves look good,” the nurse stated.

“Okay, Mr. Jones. Just take a couple of deep breaths,” Steve told him. “Focus on the pretty girl. Okay, this is going to sound really scary, but try and relax. You shouldn't feel a thing.”

Then Steve began to drill into Mr. Jones’ head. After a few hours, Steve asked you to have Mr. Jones try and mimic you.

“Just keep trying, Mr. Jones,” you encouraged. “Mimic my motions. You can do it.”

“Oh, damn it!” His body was too shaky to mimic the motions.

“Take a breath and try again. The probe is almost in. You’ll know when we find the right spot.” Mr. Jones tries again, to find that he stopped shaking and was able to mimic you. “Well, how about that?” You smiled, though it was covered with a mask.

“There it is,” Steve said.

~~~

After the surgery, you and Steve brought Mr. Jones back to his room and met back in the hallway.

“I know you’re probably asking yourself why I took you off the surgery,” Steve said. “Gamora was on the warpath. I was trying to protect you.”

“You trying to protect me is why she's on the warpath,” you replied, the both of you heading down the hall. “You can't do me favors. You can't ask me to scrub in when I haven't earned it.”

“Okay, okay.”

“And you can't treat me like crap when I haven't earned that either.”

“Okay.”

“I can take care of myself. I got myself into this mess, and I’ll—“

“And you'll get yourself out?”

“I don’t… I don’t know that yet.” Steve’s pager went off as you arrived at the staircase. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“You did great work here today.” He smiled at you then headed off.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called after him.

“Yeah?” He turned around to face you.

“Sorry I called you a jackass.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. Twice.”

Steve chuckled and continued on his way. Tony had heard and seen the exchange from behind. He came up beside you.

“You both are love sick idiots,” he said.

“And you aren’t?” You responded.

“Yes. But I blew it.”

“Dr. Potts will give you another chance.”

“How do you know? Did she tell you that?”

“No. I just know from experience.”

~~~

You decided to go to the OR gallery and watch Miss Anderson’s surgery. Peter was up there watching as well.

“Wow, it’s unbelievable,” you said, looking at the mess down below.

“Right,” Peter agreed.

“How did she live like that?”

“Watch what you say. You never know who's listening.” He looks down below, then laughed. “Look at Scottie. He looks like he's about to fall in.”

“Are you really as shallow and callous as you seem?”

“Oh, you want to go out for a drink later and hear about my secret pain?”

“Does that line ever work for you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Oh. Must be because you look like that.”

“Like what?” You laughed at him. “So is that a yes?”

“No. I can't. I’m… seeing someone.”

“Look, if you don't want to go out with me, just say so. No need to lie.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I don't want to go out with you. But I think I really might be seeing someone.”

Suddenly, Val entered the OR below. And you could hear everything that was happening.

“Mr. Collins, the post-op heart patient in 2114. I had to open his sternotomy bedside,” Val stated, almost panicked.

“You what?” / “What?”

Peter quickly left the gallery and you stood up to watch from the glass.

“He had cardiac tamponade. His chest films were clean this morning,” Val explained. “It just... It happened fast. He was in PEA. There was no time.”

“Go ahead,” Steve told Bruce. “I got it. We’re okay here.”

“Okay.” Bruce hurried out with Val.

“I need some retraction. Pull back on the retractor. And someone page Hill to help… Never a dull moment here at the medical center.” A blood vessel burst, suddenly, squirting blood all over Steve and Gamora. “Oh!”

“Oh!” Gamora exclaimed.

“Get right in there!”

“She can’t afford to lose this much blood. We need more blood.”

“Get me some suction here. I can't see what I'm doing. Clamp, clamp, clamp, please. Is there any blood in the rapid infuser?”

“We’re waiting on two units,” the female nurse stated.

“What do you mean, waiting?”

“Well, we didn’t anticipate this much blood loss,” Gamora replied.

“They’re on their way,” the nurse said.

“We prepped a double supply. We’ve used it all.”

“What did you cut?” Steve asked.

“Nothing. It just blew. She came in with too much damage. The artery walls are too weak. Ten units of o-negative.”

“I cannot see. Lang, give me your hand. Push right down here. Pull it towards you. Suction! Suction!”

“The pressure’s dropping,” a nurse stated.

“She needs blood. Where the hell is the blood?! Somebody grab that. Push it back, Lang. Come on.” Everyone is breathless as they move Miss Anderson more onto the table. “Oh, God. Just squeeze it off right there. Here we go… Some suction, please, in here, now. Come on. We're losing her now. Look at this. Look at this. Come on!” He started CPR, with the flatline of the machine going. "Oh, come on! Come on!” He continued with the CPR. "Come on!” After a few more times, Steve breathlessly stopped CPR. “Time of death is 11:42.”

~~~

Natasha found her way to an on call room after Miss Anderson’s surgery. She was stretching when Bruce entered.

“I'm not doing you any more favors,” he stated. “This was it.”

Natasha scoffed. “I've been holding up 50 pounds of tumor for the past 12 hours. My back's going to need traction, and the patient died anyways. And you think you did me a favor?”

“Look, I'm just… What is this… that we're doing here? What is it?”

“You need a definition? You really want to be that guy?”

He watched as she continued to stretch, then he locked the door.

~~~

You waited in the parking garage for Steve to leave the hospital. He walked up to you.

“I, um, know this place where they’re an amazing view of the sunrise and ferryboats,” you told him, pulling out some beers from your bag.

“I have a thing for ferry boats,” he smirked.

“I remember.”

He took a hold of your hand, leading you to his car.

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

#steve rogers x reader #tony stark x reader #the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #gamora x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #clint barton x reader #scott lang x reader #valkyrie x reader #peter quill x reader #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #steve rogers imagine

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randbwrite · 4 years ago

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La Comtesse Chronicles Chapter 5 Part 1

Words: 1561

TW: Death, violence, blood CW: vampires, assassins

His blush at her calling him “luv” was quite satisfying. Smirk widened. He was quite cute like that, hmmm, strange feeling there. Maybe this is why Arthur had fun making the ladies blush?

Her ears were good enough to be able to hear them while she dispatched their enemies. The banter between these two suggested they were rather good friends. Good, that would make the transition easier. Certainly, it would be some time before Cal was able to make friends with the residents at the mansion, given what he had done to her. Arthur would likely be the least forgiving of them all, since he had treated her wounds personally.

<<Yes, I am one. Figured out yet I haven’t exactly aged since you got here?>>

Ah, now there was the answer to a question she had. She had suspected as much but left such things to the proper time. Good to know she was escorting two vampires rather than a human and newly sired vampire. Next question would be who his sire was, but that would have to wait.

They made their way through the citadel, she dispatching anyone that stood in their way. Even in the council room, she had worked with surgical speed and accuracy. Now, they stood outside what remained of the assassin’s league. She turned around and listened intently to both of them.

<<You will have my unwavering loyalty for the rest of my life, this I swear.>>

“I thank thee for such an expression of devotion, brave sir knight. Remember though, I am no queen, my domain is but a small part of the world. And to answer your question, I can tell by the way you speak. I remember the courts of old.”

<<So dramatic! But yeah, what he said. Obviously, I don’t have an issue not fighting on the side of the angels, but if there were any such thing, I’d say you come the closest. Avenging angel, maybe.>>

Laughter, this time short and to the point, more like a scoff but without the derision. A somber tone and expression took hold. “You will learn soon enough that I am no angel, I have never deserved such admiration. An angel of death more than an avenging angel, darkness and despair is all that has followed me for hundreds of years. There is a reason that I am called to the battlefield, and it’s not to make the place art worthy. But, if you wish to think of me as such, I cannot stop you.” Gaze met his, eyes wavering, telling tales of old, death, and destruction, of unimaginable loss, all in an instance.

She uncased her wings, slowly, her eyes glowing for a moment. “Time to go home.” Wings stretched and flapped a few times before she took off, the two of them flying right behind her via her abilities.

Over the countryside they flew, the small lives of those below unable to be seen but able to be felt as their tiny figures moved about. Over rivers, forests, and ravines they flew still. A good time later a castle came into view, situated on a cliff, its defenses rivaled by few.

Landing gently in front of two large doors, she glanced back at them both before knocking. Door creaked open to reveal a man dressed as a butler.

“Ah, M. La Comtesse, glad to see you’ve finally arrived. I have dinner set for our newest gue-” He stopped, there were two men with her, not one. “M. la Comtesse? Two?” A slightly exasperated sigh. “A little warning next time would be nice. Now the dinner service will have to be adjusted. You are also late. Did something happen?”

A chuckle at his sass, something that she had found endearing over the years. “A few unexpected things happened, including bringing our second guest with me. He was in a predicament that I could not ignore.”

“Ah, very good. M. la Comtesse. I shall have a second room arranged immediately. You know, this reminds me of when you brought the Van Gogh brothers here. Are they brothers?”

“Not to my knowledge, though they banter like they are. Suppose you’ll have to ask them when you’re not pretending they aren’t right behind me. Can we move on? The smaller gentleman is in need of rouge.”

“Of course, M. la Comtesse.” It was then that Sebastian figured out that it was Cal who had done the unthinkable to his mistress. Though he hid his displeasure well from her in tone, the look he gave Cal was as cold and furious as a blizzard. “Might I have their names?”

“Oh, sorry… the larger gentleman is named Derrick, the smaller is called Rapscallion, though he also seems to go by Cal.” She stepped past Sebastian to be met by the prying eyes of the castle residents. “Good evening everyone.” She motioned at their new guests, “These two, Derrick and Cal, will be living here from now on. No harm should come to either of them, or you’ll be answering to me personally. Now, can we have a normal dinner, please? It’s been a long day.”

A few more steps into the castle and she faltered. A grunt and she began to fall, only to be caught by Arthur. “Now, luv, what have I said about overexerting yourself?”

“Mmmmm, I don’t need a lecture now….” Her wings went back into her back and she began to breathe heavily.

Quietly, he spoke to her, “You know, dove, you didn’t need to bring him back here, let alone two. Seems like it may not have been worth the effort.” Arthur shot both men a look, his eyes showing of his vampiric rage. All that left him as he picked her up and carried her off.

“Apologies gentlemen, introductions of your fellow residents shall have to wait till dinner itself.” Sebastian chimed in, “My name is Sebastian. I am the head of staff here and am the butler that serves M. la Comtesse personally. Now, let’s get you two cleaned up so you are presentable. Can’t have you dressed like that for dinner with everyone.”

He ushered them both to where they could bathe and get their choice of finer clothing.

……

“What happened out there, luv?” Arthur inquired, his eyes looking over her exhausted figure.

“I’m not used to having to carry so much weight with my powers for so long. Seems I need to train more. Not used to flying while using my powers either. The battlefield usually doesn’t call for use of my wings. I had been planning on just carrying back one, not two.”

“And why are there two? Who do we need to watch out for…. Who…. who did those horrible things to you?”

“Ask Jean, I’d rather not tell everyone so as to give them a chance to make their own impressions.”

“Ever the mystery with you, luv. What am I ever to do with you, hmm?”

She scoffed, “Suppose you’ll stay with me, as you always have. I’ll be fine Arthur, I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Mmmm, the blood on your clothes tell enough of the tale.”

Eyebrows quirked, “Damn, guess I wasn’t as focused as I usually am. Apologies to Sebastian and the staff.”

“Get some rest and change, maybe take a bath. Till dinner then, luv.” With that, Arthur left her alone, all the while hatching a plan to figure out which of the two had tried to kill their beloved Comtesse.

…...

Having scrubbed all the blood off her, a bath had felt refreshing, especially for her sore wing muscles. Sheesh, that was a long flight. Ah, yes, dinner. Time to look nice and make pleasantries. This was going to be interesting. Never before had she brought anyone to the mansion with as much issue with the other residents. Even Theo, resident tsundere, or Mozart, resident grump had been this much of an issue. She only hoped her warning not to harm them would stick. Didn’t mean they had to accept them, or be nice for that matter. Oy vey this was a mess.

…...

Heels clicked on the hard floor as she entered the dining room. Starry dress flowed with each movement, it looking like it was the sky just as the sun had decided to finally sleep. Everyone seated now rose to greet her. Sebastian pushed in the chair with her as she sat down, ever the lady of elegance. A soft smile graced her lips as she raised a glass of rouge, “Welcome, Derrick and Cal. Introductions are in order, so I shall go around the table.”

Taking a sip from the glass, she set it down. “Derrick, to your left going ‘round the table we have, William Shakespeare, Vincent Van Gogh, Theo Van Gogh, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Napoleon Bonapart, Isaac Newton, Leonardo da Vinci, Dazai, Jean de Arc, and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is to your right Cal. And yes, these are the actual men of their namesakes. I specialize in bringing back people from history to help with current predicaments. Gentlemen, please enjoy dinner. I can now also take any of your questions, as promised before we left that accursed place.”

Glares ‘round the table were at both Cal and Derrick, but no one said anything to them, they all starting to chatter among themselves.

#tw: violence #tw:death #tw: blood #vampires #assassin #ikemen vampire #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp arthur #au #oc #whump #whumpfic #dark fantasy #fanfiction #derrick #rapscallion #comtesse

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phawareglobal · 4 years ago

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Roz Jones - phaware® interview 358

Rosalind Marshall-Jones is an innovative speaker with more than 15 years of experience in the caregiving industry. She is a seasoned health care provider, who runs Jacksonville’s Best Caregivers, an organization that provides short and long-term health care. In this episode, Roz discusses the impact #covid19 has had on home healthcare from anxiety, depression to feelings of isolation. Learn more: thecaregivercafe.net

Hi, I am Roz Jones, I'm the CEO and owner of Jacksonville's Best Caregivers, and we are located in the Sunshine State of Jacksonville, Florida. My company, we are a nonmedical home healthcare business, and we provide four levels of service to your loved one: sitter, homemaker, companion, home health aid, and certified nursing assistant. Our mantra is, "If you can't do it all, you give us a call." Today I just want to talk to you all a little bit about caregiving during #COVID19, what has changed, is anything still the same? As many of us know, it's not the nursing homes that many of our loved ones may be in or may eventually be in, were not built for isolation. So with them being isolated in the nursing home, it's caused many problems. It's caused depression. It's caused anxiety, as well as death. Some people have died from loneliness. So how do we reverse this? How do we make sure that this does not continue on? We have to make sure that either you have to make sure you stay in contact either by phone, or by writing letters, or sending cookies. I'm going to give you a good example, the client that I'm taking care of today, her great nieces and nephews and friends during #COVID19, the children drew pictures, someone baked cookies for her, someone sent her a really nice bottle of scotch. Yes. So they have sent her all kinds of wonderful things to keep her going, and they have called, and that is so important. The isolation, even though it stops the physical contact, you still can contact through letter writing and these other things. So that's part of the way #COVID19 has impacted the nursing homes. Now, so far as doctor's visits, that's another impact, because many of the people living in facilities have doctors come in. Well, now they're doing the telemedicine to where they're doing it over the phone. So the lady that I'm taking care of, we have had to talk to the doctors by phone, and we have actually had to do the actual assessment of her body for the doctor, or for the nurse, or whoever, because either they're not able to get in because they didn't take the #COVID19 test, or they won't come in because of the high risk to the population here in the different facilities. So that's another way #COVID19 has impacted. Also too, #COVID19 has impacted when it comes to advanced directives. Many people did not, during #COVID19, they didn't have their advanced directive. So when it was time to make decisions to move people, they didn't have that information already taken care of, so they didn't know how [the patient] wanted to be treated, do I want a DNR? Do I want to be incubated? These were decisions that were not discussed nor prepared for prior to #COVID19. So now, since #COVID19, you have to sit down and have this conversation. I know people don't want to talk about death and all of this, but it's a conversation that has to be had. There's no way to get around it, none of us can get around it. So make it easy for your family. Have everything in order, your advanced directive, your will, your trust, so that this stuff does not go to probate. Let's not make the courts rich. Let's leave a legacy for your family by getting your life insurance, make sure it's up to date, make sure all of this stuff is taken care of because now #COVID19 is pushing us… is forcing us, to have this conversation that we didn't want to have before. One of my clients, she was supposed to have hip surgery, and for many of any type of major surgeries or minor surgeries, they pushed it back. The reason why they pushed it back was because the hospitals needed either the ventilators or the PPE to take care of people with #COVID19. So that was a priority. So if your surgery was not life-threatening, you had to postpone it. But now since you postpone it, you have to do different things for pre-op, during the surgery, and post-op that you didn't have to do before #COVID19. Also too, during the #COVID19 crisis, we asked people and I beg, "Please, ma'am, please, sir, go and get tested." Not only for your peace of mind, but then to keep the people that you are around, your loved ones, to keep them safe. Not only get the #COVID19 test, but get the antibody test to see if you have had come in contact with someone in the past, or if you currently have it, because the antibodies will tell you instantly whether or not you have been in contact. So those are just some of the ways that #COVID19 has impacted caregiving. And another way it's impacted too, is that going to the grocery store is different. We have to go during non-high peak hours to the grocery store, or they can't go at all and I have to go out and do the shopping, or we have to use Instacart or some of these other shopping companies to bring the food in. Then in some of the facilities, they have cut out dining completely, and they deliver the food to the resident because of #COVID19. Now some of the facilities here in Florida, and I'm not sure about everywhere else, but here in Florida, they are just getting to stage one to where they are allowing them to come back out and have some type of interaction with one another. But for months, for six months, many of us have had to take care of the person inside of the facility, or, I'm blessed with my client, she has a car. So we go out and do what we call field trips or excursions. We ride around the city or we may take a trip. Many of you may be familiar with St. Augustine, so we ride through St. Augustine. We may go somewhere else, but getting out once a week, those are the things that you have to remember when you have a loved one in a facility, and not even at a facility, at your house because of the isolation, get them out of the house. That is so important. Then also too, another thing that we've had to do is Amazon has been huge here in a lot of the facilities. They deliver here at least four or five times a day because they work with Whole Foods, so they bring the food, they deliver undergarments, they deliver the bed pads, medicine, pill boxes, all these types of things that we took for granted that we used to go to the store for, now we've had to alter our shopping because we cannot go out like we used to in the public. Even me as a caregiver, I have had to alter a lot of my life. I, too, only go to the stores here in Jacksonville. They allow essential personnel to come in on Thursday mornings and Friday mornings before anybody else to do shopping, which is nice. So that means that we don't come in contact with the general public that much, other than the employees at the store. I used to take my uniforms to the dry cleaners. I don't do that anymore because I don't know who may or may not have #COVID19 that's cleaning the clothes, so I do everything myself. When I go home, it's a different process. I Lysol my shoes before I come in. I change my clothes in the garage, and I'll wash them separate from everybody else in the house. So #COVID19 has taken a significant impact, not only on the people receiving care, but also on essential employees. I bathe with a different soap. I don't bathe with Dove or Dial. I bought a special surgical soap that I use to make sure that I'm clean. These are the precautions that I take since #COVID19. Then on a weekly basis, I go and get a #COVID19 test. Every week, I have a standing appointment to where I go and get a #COVID19 test. The new normals are, I'm going to give you an example, at the end of our shifts, before I leave out, we have to wipe down the doors with Clorox wipes. All the high touch areas. We make sure that we have it clean, the refrigerator door, the microwave, the toilet seat handle, the guard rails that they pull up with. All of that is things that of course we would clean, but now we clean it more often to reduce the opportunity for #COVID19. So it's a new norm. Are we going to go back to the way we were? No, no, I don't think so. I really doubt it. One of the first things when #COVID19 first came out, the concern was because of my age if I go to the hospital with #COVID19, will they treat me or would they let me die? That was heart clenching for me to hear one of the clients say that. It wasn't even a client, it was just one of the residents, excuse me, walking in the hallway and having a conversation, "Will they treat me or will they let me die because of my age?" So that was the mentality for a lot of them until it started coming out that they're treating the elderly as well as the young, and everybody was being treated the same. But initially when it came out, that was scary. They were saying that we weren't going to treat the elderly and they were going to let them die. That was real scary. Even with the veterans, a lot of them, again, isolation. So we're sending them back through another trauma, it's almost like another war. My parents, my dad is a Vietnam vet. It's been very hard on them because they are so isolated as well. So we haven't even been able to visit my parents. Now, my client here, she's very lucky. We get to go and see her daughter and her granddaughter, but some people aren't that lucky where they get to actually go and see their loved one. But we still take the precautions when we go out and visit. We have the mask. We have the hand sanitizer, we do all of that, but it's important to her. She always says, "I want to see my babies. These are my babies. That's my only grandchild." So we make sure that we take her on a field trip to go see her children, because they're so isolated and they can't get out like they want, they're not coping well. A lot of them have lost weight. A lot of them don't eat. They don't have an appetite. That's when depression sets in. So some of them have had really gone to a deep depression. Now here it is six months later, they're starting to get out, and it's almost like a flower being blossoming that they're able to get out. Just like this weekend, I will make sure that we get out at least two or three times in the next couple of days to make sure that they see each other. That's part of it is to make sure that we try to get back to some, normal way of visiting and some normal way of being able to see family and friends. So those are the things that they don't have. Because when they were able to visit during #COVID19, they had to visit on the other side of a screen or look outside their window to visit with their loved ones. That was horrible. That was horrible. Or they had to do a drive by. With my client, her daughter has done drive-bys, and we've sat outside and spoken from a distance, but that's all we could do. That's all we could do. We are a country of human touch and touch is so important in thriving, and healing, and living. When you lose that touch, they lose a lot of their identity and who they are. So we try our best to make sure that if they can't do a hug and a kiss that at least they can see them, at least from a distance. But now, they're going to allow some hugging and things like that. So hopefully it's going to be a turnaround for a lot of them. This isolation has been horrible. This has been horrible. I can't wait for them to be able to get back out and mingle with their community. These facilities were built for them to be able to still thrive in a community that's similar to what they had when they're at home. And we shut that off for six months. It was like taking six months of their life away. My optimism for 2020, I think we are going to be able to start having more interaction but we have flu season coming up. That's the scary part. So still we have to take those precautions, even in flu season, just remember that. This is not over, so we have two things that's going to butt heads. We have #COVID19 and we have the flu season. Take the same precautions. And get your documentation in order. That's my biggest thing. Please, ma'am, please, sir, sit down with your family members and get your documentation in order, and don't let it go to probate. My name is Roz Jones, and I am aware that I am rare.

Learn more about pulmonary hypertension trials at www.phaware.global/clinicaltrials. Never miss an episode with the phaware® podcast app. Follow us @phaware on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, YouTube & Linkedin Engage for a cure: www.phaware.global/donate #phaware #ClinicalTrials

Listen and View more on the official phaware™ podcast site

#pulmonary hypertension #phaware #rare disease #lung disease #clinical trials #podcast #PH #asthma

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angry-slytherin · 5 years ago

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Heaven Help Me(Ch 2)

Jo is reading scans from an email on her cell phone when she hears a voice behind her.

“Hey, Jo, wait up!” Jo whips around on her way to the coffee cart outside the hospital. She stops just short of the doorway. Amelia is walking briskly toward her.

“Okay so I know probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I’m dying to tell someone. Meredith is going on a date with Hayes. Don’t tell her I said this, she’ll kill me.”

Jo gives Amelia a look of confusion. “Uh, first of all I don’t know who ‘Hayes’ is and why are you telling me this?” Jo and Amelia had of course met through Link, and Jo likes her well enough, but she feels it’s weird that Amelia is sharing personal information about her sister’s dating life with her.

“Doctor Hayes! Pediatric co-chief of surgery! And I told you before, I needed someone to tell. You were on the way to the coffee cart and I don’t think you’ll blab to Meredith.”

Jo nods, “Right. You getting coffee?” Amelia frowns.

“No, I have surgery.” She says, and Jo just watches her walk off towards the elevator. Jo is just glad Amelia is self-aware of her crazy. That much is true.

Jo sees Rayn coming up the hall and quickly turns back toward the doors.

“Before seven is mine, Doctor Rayn. I told you this.”

“Doctor Wilson, I think you’ll want to come see this.” Rayn is tight-lipped.

“Fine; tell everyone I’ll be there in ten. I need sustenance or I’ll be crankier than normal. You don’t want that.”

Rayn agrees, still somber. “See you in ten. And I know we’re professionals, but I think it’s important you know that know my first name is Carleen.”

Jo studies the younger doctor carefully, realizing she reminds her of herself during her early residency years.

“Thank you, Rayn. I’ll be there in ten.”

Rayn goes to turn away, but Jo finds herself compelled to speak again.

“My first name is Jo.”

Rayn grins wide at Jo, before rushing back to the lab. Jo finally reaches the doors, stepping outside into one of Seattle’s rare clear mornings, and takes a deep breath. The fresh air helps to clear her mind.

“Good morning, Doctor Wilson.”

Jo jumps. Behind her is Alex Karev, scowling.

“Jesus, you scared me. Good morning to you too. What’s got you in a mood?”

“Got into a fight with my wife.” He practically tears his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, and opens it.

“Oh, well. Don’t let it get to you too much. She loves you. And you don’t have to harp on it if it’s nothing that important.” Jo then remembers to take her wallet out of her own purse, fishing out a couple dollars.

“It was about— You know what, it doesn’t matter, you’re right. I’m just going to forget about it.”

“Right then,” Jo awkwardly moves on, “Did you read the article on ex-lap efficiency from Doctor Yat-Sen at UCLA? It was really interesting, the way he argued that you can minimize OR time by immediately doing a biopsy on the healthy tissue also.”

“I actually did. I dunno if it’s practical for me. It’s harder to decide on things like that with kids. They’re so compliacated. Like my wife.”

Jo openly laughs at that.

“Don’t hate on your wife. I thought you were forgetting about it?”

Alex groans, scowling again, “Right.”

“You’re right about the kids part though. Peds was super fun to me, but in the end I ending up in general, specialty-less.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Indecisiveness in the end. I never thought too far enough into it in the first place. Plus now, I have my research.”

Alex stands behind her on the coffee line, and Jo orders a lemon scone.

“What do you want, Karev?”

“I can pay for my own coffee.”

Jo turns to the clerk, “One black coffee please.” She smiles and hands the clerk the money.

“How could you possibly know how I like my coffee?” Alex says, accepting the cup.

“Please, you’re clearly not a sugar and milk person. You’re such a grouch.”

Alex keeps his scowl, but thanks Jo nonetheless.

***

“Good morning, all.” Jo greets the team as she enters the research lab. ‘The team’ being surgical resident Cross, oncology intern Rayn, and three biomedical engineers— John, Armani and Deborah.

“Doctor Wilson, we have great news. The mice are fine.” Deb is smiling, and the other engineers follow in suit.

“I don’t understand. That means our cells are flawed.” Cross furrows his eyebrows Jo sighs.

“Yes. It means we have lots more work to do. Actually, that’s the bio engineers’ job. Us doctors have to sit back now. Doctor Rayn, you’re of course welcome to help, as you’ve got the most extensive knowledge of cancer. Doctor Cross, thank you for all your help, but your services are no longer needed here.”

“It was wonderful to meet you Doctor Wilson. Hopefully we can call you back soon, once we’ve better understood this in our lab.” John sticks his hand out, and Jo shakes it.

“Thank you all. I look forward to it.” Jo nods, and she and Cross exit the lab.

“Doctor Cross, you should scrub in on as many surgeries as you can. I appreciate all of it, but your time spent here has set you back as a surgeon. Take some extra nights on-call for a while. Thank me later.”

Cross looks both solemn and grateful, and he simply walks away. Jo feels surprisingly upset at this; she knew her idea wasn’t the end all be all, but she had hoped it would’ve fleshed out more. All she had done was make mice ill, not help anyone.

She had gone and given up a great surgery fellowship, for one of her ideas to fail within only a little more than a week. Her favorite research already up in flames.

Then her pager goes off, and she is being briefed by a senior resident on a hernia patient who came into the ER last night. The woman whose scans she recieved this morning.

“Audrey Davis, 36. Came into the ER last night complaining of abdominal pain. After CT, it was concluded she has an epigastric hernia.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Jo nods to the resident.

“Doctor Wilson,” a medical student begins, “Am I correct to assume you’ll be performing a hernioplasty?”

“I will. Does anyone know why?”

“Yes. Mesh has proven to be exceedingly effective in long-term hernia repair.” A third-year resident answers.

“Doctor Wilson, will you be using an animal-based mesh or a composite synthetic one?” Another medical student.

“A bio human-based one. Why?”

“Because there’s a lesser chance of rejection.” A second-year.

“Alright, anyone who answered a question can join me in the OR today. Baker, scrub in. The rest of you can watch in the gallery. Find me later if you have further questions. Now excuse me.”

Jo makes her way into the patient’s room and the woman is surrounded by multiple people, ranging from toddlers to elderly. Jo counts thirteen.

“Good morning Ms. Davis, and family. I’m Doctor Wilson, and I’ll be your surgeon. I’ll be performing a laparoscopic repair for your hernia, and then hopefully in a day or two, you can go home. Do you have any questions?”

The elderly man speaks up, “Honey, are you the nurse? Because you need to speak up. I have hearing aids for god’s sake.”

“No, sir. I’m the doctor. Doctor Wilson, the surgeon who’ll be operating on Audrey.” Jo tries her best to muster a smile.

The patient rolls her eyes, “I’m so sorry Doctor. He’s especially irrational when he’s stressed. My mom was the first one in our family to have a surgery, and she died a year ago.”

Well that explained the whole gang showing up.

“No problem, Ms. Davis. I will see you in surgery.” The patient nods and Jo moves on to her post-ops. One med student trails her, with a concerned look on his face.

“How could you possibly not yell at that old man, it was crazy sexist what he said.” Jo faces the not-yet doctor, sighing.

“It’s the world we live in. As a female doctor, you learn to get used to it. You could probably ask your female peers” He frowns at Jo, shaking his head.

“Somebody should change that.” Jo is nearly crushed by his hope.

“Somebody should.”

She bumps into Izzie Stevens as she walks past the med student.

“Sorry, Wilson. I should’ve been looking where I was going. It’s been a long morning.”

Jo remembers Alex’s grumpiness this morning and guesses he probably slept on the couch.

“Don’t worry about it, I understand.”

“Are you married? Have you ever been married? It’s exhausting.” Izzie says it tiredly, not antagonistically.

“No, I mean I- yes. I have been married. But not anymore.”

Jo does not wish to share her own experience with marriage. She feels bad for Stevens and Karev, but their petty arguments hardly compare to her memories. She went to therapy for a long time after it ended.

“My husband — I think you know him — Alex, is just exhausting. He always thinks he’s making me happy, but half the time it’s just him pushing his wants onto me and calling them mine. Sorry, you probably don’t care.”

“It’s okay, I could use a break from my own thoughts.” Jo gives her a small smile, but the other doctor is right, she doesn’t care.

“Sorry, sorry again. Goodbye Doctor Wilson.” Izzie rushes off.

Jo finds several residents and med students waiting for her at Willy O’ Connor’s room.

***

After performing two appendectomies, Jo takes respite on a hallway gurney. She rubs her temples, leans her head back against the wall, and closes her eyes.

“Feeling okay? Fellowship life getting to you?” Link’s voice rings in her ears, her head pounding. She feels him sit next to her.

“I feel more tired than on a 24 hour shift as a resident. I research, and then I do surgery, and then I do more research, and then I do more surgery. It’s like everything I’ve ever wanted but it is so draining. I am so tired.” Jo opens her eyes and looks at her friend, fatigued.

“Ah I remember when I was a fellow, I actually slept through a M&M. The resident next to me who’d been there all night woke me up. It’s so much better than residency though. You’re basically an attending and still learning.” Link looks at Jo.

“Yeah,” Jo lets out a breath of air.

“So how is wedding planning going?”

Link smiles, “Well we set a date. July 18th. At the Old Mill Factory.”

“It’s gorgeous there! Oh I’m so happy for you both!” Jo squeals and suddenly she’s energized.

“Speaking of my wedding, how would you feel about being my best man?”

Jo smiles slowly, “Really? I mean I would of course be the best woman but minor details. Yes, of course Link, yes.”

Link grins at her. “Not that I’m doubtful, but I’m going to need you up there. Because me and Amelia will both be nervous wrecks.”

Jo bites her lip, “I bet. It’s gonna be great.”

***

Jo makes her way to the attending’s lounge on the third floor, but her desire for hot chocolate and a comfortable seat is prohibited by a screaming couple in the room already.

Jo decides she’s had a long enough day and braves the sparring lovers. It’s Alex and Izzie, of course. Jo shrinks, just wanting hot chocolate. That’s all she wants.

“-well that’s rich! You haven’t thought about what I want in a long time!”

“Oh so now you don’t want kids? We’ve always wanted kids, what changed?”

“Of course I want- that’s not what I’m saying, I’m saying I can’t give up more time for maternity leave. I have a lot going on right now with my patients and I need you to be willing to take time!”

“And I’ve told you I’m willing. But I’m not being a parent alone. That’s no— Iz.” Alex looks over at Jo and she widens her eyes, scooping up her mug.

She awkwardly smiles, “I’ll just be going now.”

God, she thinks, what a mess.

Alex follows Jo out of the lounge.

“Sorry about that.” Jo furrows her eyebrows, frowning.

“I thought the argument this morning wasn’t important.”

“It wasn’t.” Alex grunts. Jo doesn’t want to aggravate him more, but kids seems like a big topic. Kids are always a big topic.

“Kids are a big decision. I was a kid no one wanted, not even my own mother could stand to keep me for more than two days. She was under different circumstances, but no kid wants parents who can barely agree before they’re even a clump of cells.”

Alex fumes, “Who the hell says you get to comment on my marriage? What gives you the right? You’re not married, you’re not a parent. You have no idea.”

Jo rolls her eyes, “You’re right, Alex. But I’ve been married before, and I- you should think about what you’re getting into.” Alex waves her off.

“Screw you, Jo.”

Jo takes a deep breath, moving on to her surgery.

#grey’s anatomy #grey’s anatomy fanfic #grey’s fanfiction #jo wilson #jo karev #alex karev #izzie stevens #atticus lincoln #amelia shepherd #jolex fanfic

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hallowed-be-thy-username · 5 years ago

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If You’re Good At Something, Never Do It For Free Chapter One: In Need Of Some Assistance

I figured I’d post the first chapter of my WIP on here! TDK Joker x Original Female Character. It is currently at 17 out of ? (Where it stops, nobody knows!) chapters on AO3!

**Warnings for full fic include: Graphic violence, explicit language, blood and gore, smut smut smut, graphic depiction of corpses, murder, aaaand recreational drug use!**

Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! I might eventually put all of the chapters up on here or check it out on AO3!

Meet Nora Hawthorne. She spent her time like most Gotham residents. Go to work, go home, keep up with the news. That changed one night. Her life becomes even more interesting after Gotham's own Clown Prince of Crime comes crashing in with a life-threatening injury, leaving her questioning her morals as well as her romantic desires

Jesus, it’s been a long day. A woman with brunette hair above her shoulders, wearing a pair of loose teal green scrubs stands from her desk chair to twist her torso until a satisfying *crack* is heard, followed by a deep sigh. The noise of her tired spine popping into alignment is heard only by her as she stands alone in the treatment area of the now empty veterinary hospital. The brick structure sits between an apartment building and a law firm in West Harlow, the Gotham City neighborhood west of downtown, adjacent to The Narrows. This location makes Dr. Nora Hawthorne one busy veterinarian. On a daily basis she tends to anything from impatient businessmen toting in their wives’ teacup Yorkies with a little cough to large Rottweilers with deep neck wounds. To say she’s gained a variety of experience is an understatement.

She doesn’t own the place, though. Two years out of school and 30 years old means she has some hefty bills to pay. Dr. Moore owns the clinic. Taking this job meant long hours and a busy schedule with not much sympathy from David Moore. “Your generation expects everything handed to them, don’t you? I had to work harder than this to get where I am,” as he just loved to remind her of every time she requested time off for a little… what is it called again? Oh right, work-life balance. Sure, Moore. Enjoy your mini mansion in Uptown since it seems you have no problem balancing the weight of your business on a pair of younger shoulders. Even if it means those shoulders are constantly wound up in to deep knots that no amount of morning yoga can seem to unravel. But she can’t quit. Those bills to pay threaten to pile higher and she’s afraid of heights. Plus, job security in Gotham is hard to come by. Especially since the Joker escaped from Arkham two months ago.

That was in May. Everyone in the city has been on edge since then and the Summer heat is not helping. The days go by but not a peep has been heard in regard to the Clown Prince of Crime’s whereabouts. Same for the Batman. The eerie silence has only been making it worse. The traffic congesting the city streets increases in intensity every evening as Gotham’s citizens rush home in an effort to avoid getting caught up in whatever devastating scheme the Joker has been cooking up during his involuntary vacation. But the threat never comes, leaving the city’s inhabitants to nervously watch and wait. Maybe it won’t come. Maybe he left Gotham for good. Left to terrorize a new city. Wishful thinking is what gets us all through the day. But the tension still weighs on everyone’s nerves, making Nora’s day that much harder when she gets an earful from her clients on a regular basis for things that are out of her control. “Sir, you don’t need to speak to me like that. I did not give your cat a urinary tract infection,” is not something she thought she’d ever find herself saying.

It is what it is. All she can do is keep her head on her shoulders and do her job, care for Gotham’s only truly innocent citizens. Animals don’t dwell in the past, they only live in the present. In that regard, they’re smarter than the majority of Gotham’s inhabitants. She made it her job to advocate for their health and well-being, since they can’t do it themselves. Nora was staying late to finish medical records for the sea of patients the clinic took in that day and she wanted it all recorded while it was fresh in her brain. If you don’t write it down, it didn’t happen. She told her assistant, “You go on home, I’ll just be here finishing notes. Get some rest.” The heavy set women expressed her concern for Dr. Hawthorne being here by herself but the job has gotten her used to being out well after dark. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the door locked,” was the response her assistant, Jen, would always get in return. She didn’t want to argue so she would leave Nora to her work within the off-white walls of the dimly lit hospital in silence.

Nora stretched once more and shifted a glance to the clock on the wall. 9:58pm. Had it been fourteen hours already? Her stomach responded with a growl as if to answer in the affirmative. The hard-working staff finished cleaning the treatment room a couple of hours ago leaving the two metal tables in the center of the room shiny and ready for whatever tomorrow brings. The room wasn’t very large but the open design left ample room for patient care. The treatment tables against the walls opposite from each other extended toward the center of the room, leaving a four foot space between them, and had ceiling-mounted exam lights above them. Along the walls there were shelves of neatly organized equipment and tools. Essentials. White medical tape, boxes of gloves, bandage scissors, IV catheters in a variety of sizes, thermometers, bottles of isopropyl alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, jars with gauze soaked in chlorhexidine scrub, sterile lubricant, needles and syringes, and bandage material being among the most heavily utilized items. Along the back wall is a bank of cages and kennels for patients spending the day in the clinic (any patients in need of continued care were transferred to a nearby twenty four-hour hospital) flanked by drawers full of IV fluids and sterilized tools. The back right corner of the room opened into a short hallway leading to the area that housed a small surgical suite, devoid of any light this time of night, where a cart with monitors and a gas anesthesia circuit sat in wait for its next use. Just beyond this suite is a small door marked “Radiology” indicating the digital X-ray equipment kept inside, keeping radiation exposure to the rest of the place at a minimum. Nora’s desk is in the back left corner of the treatment room, a shelf full of medical reference books sitting above her head. Also that “World’s Greatest Dog-tor” certificate Jen gave her last Spring. Nora didn’t have the heart to tell her she found it kind of insulting.

With the last medical record completed, details of the day’s procedures noted in succinct but thorough language, it was time for the doctor to make her way back to her nearby apartment for some much needed rest. She left her seldom-worn long white lab coat on the back of her chair where it always was and removed the black stethoscope from around her neck to place it on her desk. Walking toward the red-lit exit sign above the side door leading to the alley, she flicked the switch to turn the remaining lights off. She usually had a small can of pepper spray readied in her hand when she left alone at a late hour. But Nora had been practically beaten into the ground with exhaustion at this point and her thoughts were instead centered around a hot shower and her soft bed.

She opened the door to receive a gust of warm night air to her face, intensifying her sleepy feelings. Letting out a rather large yawn, she turned to put her keys in the door to lock it. As she removed the key from the lock, she felt a strange sensation on the back her neck. Like a crawling of her skin, a feeling of dread. Before she could turn around in search of the source of her body’s sudden danger signal, a purple glove slammed onto the door next to her head. Her eyes snapped to the glove and she froze, unable to breathe, while her heart jumped into her throat.

“Evening, doc,” a nasally, raspy voice said. She slowly turned her head to find herself face to face with the Joker himself, leaning with his gloved hand against the door. His makeup was smudged wildly and he was wearing his signature purple overcoat and suit. All color drained from Nora’s face as her breathing quickened to a practically panting rate, the idea of sleep drowned in a surge of adrenaline. Before she could make a sound his other gloved hand clapped over her mouth, a knife tucked between his thumb and index finger, the blade laying flat across the top of his hand.

“Ahh tah tah, no screamin’, doc. Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors, would we?” he said, his dark eyes staring straight into hers. Nora struggled to regain her composure, it did her no good to panic. She knew begging and crying would get her nowhere with the Joker. Better to have as clear a head as possible. She took a sharp inhale through her nose. The wave of gasoline and extinguished matches that met her nostrils was overwhelming. It almost made her dizzy. But she slowly let the breath back out through her nose. Their gaze into each other’s eyes, hers wide with fear, his black and hooded, had not been broken since his zeroed in on hers. It was like magnets were keeping her eyes on his, no matter how hard she tried to look away, she couldn’t do it.

“Now. I’m going to move my hand and youuu are not gonna scream. Got it?” his voice getting slightly higher as he spoke. Without thinking Nora nodded slowly, still not breaking their stare, as he slid his hand from over her mouth.

She allowed herself to blink. Then, trying not to let her voice crack, she quietly said, “H-How did you know I’m a doctor?” Stupid stupid stupid. You are an idiot Nora Hawthorne.

Joker let out a breathy giggle and Nora’s gaze then fixated on his mouth. His scars. They were even more striking up close. Nora was no stranger to stitching up wounds and these must have been awful. She didn’t want him to see her eyeing them so she shifted her eyes back up to his.

“Who else would be here this la-te, hm?” Nora couldn’t do anything but open her mouth and shake her head, her eyebrows knitted together with anxiety.

Still bracing himself against the building on his left hand planted on top of the door he said, “Enough with the formalities doc. I am in need for some, uh, assistance, you see.” It was then that the doctor noticed the Joker’s breathing. It was shallow and rather fast. Like he couldn’t catch his breath but was trying to. Oh shit, what does he mean by that. She wasn’t sure how she didn’t notice his labored breathing until now. She supposed being paralyzed with fear would do that to a person. Nora watched as the Joker then lifted the flap of his coat from his right side, revealing a two inch wide piece of glass sticking out from between his ribs. There was blood trailing from it, down his green vest. She gasped. He dropped the fabric and grabbed her by the chin, jerking her head so her eyes met his yet again.

“So, my little doctor, youuu are going to provide said assistance-ah,” he growled. Nora’s eyes grew even wider.

“Wait wait, what? No no I’m a veterinarian, I’m not a human doctor,” she said in a panicked voice. Yeah, nice one, Hawthorne.

“I can read, doc,” the Joker said, gesturing to the painted door that read Gotham City Veterinary Urgent Care. “I know you’ve got what I need in that pretty little head of yours.” He tried to stifle a gasping sound from his throat as he attempted to inhale before speaking again. “I am an animal after all aren’t I, hm?” he said, leaning his head forward and bouncing his eyebrows suggestively. Nora was stunned.

“Why me? Why did you come here for help?”

“Can’t quite go to the emergency room, can I doc? Besides, you take care of little doggies and kitties all day. Just think of meee as a lost little, uh, puppy,” he said, shifting his weight to put his knife-wielding right hand against the door on the other side of her head so Nora was trapped beneath him, their noses inches apart.

Fear bubbled its way up into her head again. She couldn’t think straight. How did Gotham’s most notorious criminal end up here, in front of her, with a life-threatening injury? It didn’t matter how, it only mattered that now it was happening. But, how could she justify helping the Joker? He caused so much death and destruction to this city, her city. She could do her best to fight, she might stand a chance against him in this weakened state. But he was the Joker. He’d probably still be able to slit her throat faster than she could get out from under him. He was the Joker but he also was a person. A person in what she was sure was a significant amount of pain. Another gasping sound made its way out of Joker’s mouth.

“Haven’t got all night, doc.”

Nora’s expression softened. What the fuck am I getting myself into?

“Ok,” she said, lifting her keys and turning to unlock the door.

#joker fanfiction #tdk joker #heath ledger joker #joker x oc #fanfiction

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carrera-ffxiv · 5 years ago

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Welcome to Sanctum, Pt. 3 of 3

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed since his fateful encounter with his newfound friends. The friendship was short-lived. He finished washing the blood and dirt from his hands in the restroom and went back to relax on one of his couches after all the digging and dragging he had to manage by his lonesome till the sun came up. A few puffs of a pipe and a small break was what he needed before he continued on his list of chores. Hadriel went about cleaning the broken decor and tossing the table out, sweeping and mopping the floor. He had his share of drinks in between tasks, it was one of the perks to owning a bar or two.

The lock unbolted and the partition was pushed aside as N’syri and Kaede walked into the establishment. “Good morning!” Hadriel greeted, uncharacteristically motivated.

Syri couldn’t help but narrow her eyes.

“You’re here early. I brought Kaede here to… help clean up, teach her a few things, and prep for opening later today. You moved some things around…” N’syri spoke.

“Yep. Felt like it needed a slight face-lift. Too cluttered. Took some things out. I think it looks better.”

“It looks beautiful, sir!” Kaede responded cheerfully, matching his energy.

“Just Hadriel is fine.” he responded.

Syri seemed suspicious of the whole situation and looked about the place, nit-picking everything with a careful and discerning eye. “You have some dirt on your face.”

“Stuffed three barrels with cabbage and red pepper paste real early this morning. Buried them out back to let them ferment. Goes well with a variety of dishes.”

“Oh, you make food here too?” Kaede asked.

“N-” Syri began before Hadriel cut her off. “I’m thinking about it. Nothing too complicated. Just some small dishes we can have ready on-hand to serve customers. Little delicacies.”

Syri knew very well that something was off. She rightfully assumed that he was out burying something else instead but didn’t press any further in the presence of their new employee.

“You look beautiful in that yukata. You look like the very reason men fall in love.” he said with a smirk.

Kaede blushed and smiled. To her, Hadriel was a friendly sort and seemed to make the comment lightheartedly as if to keep her in a cheery mood. “Thank you.”

The late morning seemed to go by quickly for him as he was still exhausted from being up a good portion of the night and toiling into the morning. His attention span was cutting in and out but he tried his best to make his new employee feel welcome, talking to her, and sharing a laugh or two with Syri glaring off from the side wondering what he was up to.

Eventually a couple customers wander in the early afternoon and they decide to let Kaede take the reigns after they had gone over etiquette and the drink menu with her. Finally, Syri had a chance to speak with him alone at the opposite end of the establishment.

“So. What really happened?” she asked in a hushed and solemn voice.

He laughed lightly, “I was really burying some barrels.”

She didn’t skip a beat and followed up, “What was in the barrels? And stop being so cheery, it’s creepy.”

Hadriel was out of energy and decided to drop the facade. “Some old friends came by. Now they’re taking dirt-naps. In barrels.”

“Hadriel… this is serious…”

“So am I. It was a matter of time.”

“I told you we should use pseudonyms. I shouldn’t have left you alone last night after I saw the feather.”

“I’m not hiding. I’m in plain sight and don’t plan on changing that. Besides, part of me thought they assumed I changed names and went off grid. Anyway, it’s all part of the plan, don’t worry.”

“Plan? What plan?” her voice raised a moment causing the guests to look over a moment.

“They’re fools if they come after me with everything I know about them.” he responded in a hushed tone.

“But they just did. Isn’t that exactly why they came here, to silence you?” she mirrored him and lowered her voice again to barely above a whisper.

“Not exactly.” he lit a pipe. “I’ll be back tonight. I’m gonna go take a nap. Don’t be so on edge. Everything’s fine.”

“Fine? Do you think this girl is going to be safe working here now? What about S’mira? Didn’t you ask her to help out? Are you fine with putting them in harm’s way like this?” Syri chastised.

“They wanted me back. Either that or to leave with my eye. They’re not after her. This isn’t one of those fantasy books where the bad guys take hostages to try to get the good guy to give up. There’s no moral high ground between me and the Black Blades. We’re all bad guys. And as far as hostages go, what would stop me from killing them after they kill the hostage? And why would anyone ever give up just because someone is captured? It’s not a good tactic all around. Besides, it’s not how they work.”

“I thought that the eye was just an inherited aspect of your half-Eorzean lineage… why would they want it? You fed me some garbage about hiding it because you were made fun of as a kid.”

"It’s a mark for those who run the organization… it’s uh… treatment of sorts. An experiment, rather.” he revealed.

She simply nodded lightly with an irate look in her stare as if to tell him to carry on with the explanation.

“It’s research stolen from Garlemald. An invasive surgical procedure that involves more than I care to explain and a lot of pain to go along with it. Thanks to that, we can see the flow of aether in someone’s body.”

“... doesn’t sound useful against imperial troops… they can’t manipulate aether… isn’t that why your organization was founded? For clandestine missions or fights against Garleans?”

“They can’t manipulate aether, like you said. Doesn’t mean they don’t have aether. They’re living beings and whether they can control it or not it’s intrinsic to life. But the point was- seeing the flow of aether gave us a better edge in a great many aspects. Some have even said that they can tell if a person is lying by reading them. Anyway, there��s only a handful of us with this and it’s kept from even others in the organization, for those few who know what it is, it’s a telltale sign. That’s why I keep it behind this.” he tapped alongside his eyepatch. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Hmn…” Syri paused a moment to take it all in. She glanced over to Kaede who was entertaining their guests, smiling and laughing. Seemingly lost in thought for a while something broke her out of her contemplation. There was something earnest about the girl’s efforts and intentions, yet there was something Syri couldn’t quite put her finger on that bothered her. Something off.

“Well, as for why the Black Blades were founded… they’ve fallen far from their days as avengers and patriots of Doma. Now they’re murderers and criminals running in the shadow as an organized crime family. Getting ‘protection’ fees from the merchants, moving contraband, bribing the authorities, silencing people for money… all the good stuff.”

“Is that part of the reason why you left?” she whispered.

“No. You know the reason. I had people to look for. An untrackable quarry to find. For both our sakes. That man has wronged us both, betrayed our hometown as well as all of Doma. That was the only reason. The council I was on didn’t want to condone or support my personal vendetta. Not good for business. So I left. We were after the same person, it was like the kami were lighting the path forward. Like I said, I don’t pretend to stand on some morality or principle. Those are empty pretences that I can hardly afford.”

“The girl.” she said, looking at Kaede and spoke hurriedly. “She came here the same day this happened.”

“It wasn’t her. She wasn’t the one who drew them here. And her mother really is sick.”

A cynical look wore about her visage, “And how would you know? You never even made it very far from the bar since you met her.”

He subtly winked at her with his only visible eye. Or was it simply a blink when there was one eye? She could never tell.

“Anyway. Like I told you. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. I’ll ship the pieces of their friends back and then I’ll meet with a few of my old friends to settle this. For now, I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Mn.” Syri sounded. “Well, I’ll keep an eye here for a while. If I’m not around I’m probably reaching out to some contacts this evening.”

“I told you everything’s fine.”

“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t categorize you burying three people out back as ‘fine’. I’ll be doing my due diligence regardless. Thank-you-very-much.”

“It’s your choice. You’re just wasting your time.” he said as he got up and casually wave two fingers, “I’ll be back later.”

Hadriel didn’t remember his trip home and practically collapsed in his residence. When his consciousness finally stirred, the moon’s light peeked through the windows in his home. Again, he would slip into a lucid sleep and dream the same dream that always came.

“I missed you…” His dry voice sounded.

She laughed lightly, the warmth of her smile filling the air around him as if the sun itself dared to give him a moment of reprieve from the loneliness clutching at his heart. A smile cracked from his lips.

“You missed me? How could you miss me when I’ve been here this whole time?” she responded with the sweetest voice, a soft tone dripping with honey in a sweet and rhythmic manner. She spoke lightheartedly, gazing at him with a beaming smile.

The kind beauty continued, “I didn’t miss you, because you’re always here…” she softly rested a hand on her chest- motioning to her heart, “…but!” she excitedly stated, “You know who did miss you?” she asked excitedly.

“Papa~!” the girl ran to give him a hug. He would reciprocate the tight embrace. The warmth filled his heart for a moment even as dread crept up close behind knowing the dream would be over soon again, “Papa. Don’t do it… please. Don’t go where we can’t follow.” she whispered.

He jolted awake and shot up on his couch. It was later than expected. He shook his head to regain some semblance of his bearings. She was warning him. She knew what he was about to do. But how was this worse than any of the other things he’s done?

Hadriel heaved a sigh as he reached for a kodachi sitting in its stand. He slowly sheaths one after the other and placed them both on his hip. He stepped out into the brisk air as light rain trickled down his hair. He took a moment to listen to the sound of raindrops fill the air all around him. A frosty breath escaped his lips as he took some measure of relief from the rain.

He walked in and noticed everyone had cleared out for the night, save Kaede and one older man sitting by the bar.

“Welcome to Sanctum.” Kaede sounded in a sing-songy tone. “Oh it’s you Mr. Hadriel. Come have a seat!”

“I told you, just Hadriel is fine.” he said with a smile as he sat at the counter. “I’ll have a-”

“Whiskey, neat.” she said while placing a glass in front of him.

“Noticed that, huh?” he gave a light chuckle.

“It’s late. Let’s close down soon, have one with me.” Hadriel said in a tired voice.

“I haven’t drank whiskey before… but I’m willing to give it a try.” she said in a cheery attitude.

“I’ll pour one for you, lock the door so we don’t have early morning stragglers trying to come in.”

She bowed with a measure of grace and elegance undoubtedly learned from N’syri, a slight bend of the knees as her hand folded across her waist, her head dipping respectfully. She meandered along the bar and furniture over to the door and did as was asked.

“You don’t mind if I stay just a little while longer, do you young man?” a gruff voice sounded. The lighting was dim, just the way Hadriel liked it so it was a tad hard to make out features. He seemed dressed in plain Doman attire, not exactly the typical clientele for the new establishment.

“Of course not. Do me a favor though, look to the corner there just behind the counter, there’s a box of cigars. If you wouldn’t mind grabbing a couple out of there for me?”

“Oh, of course, son.” the man had to reach over a bit and look for the box but succeeded in the task, moving beside Hadriel and holding one out for him. He took both in hand and drew a cutter out of his pocket to snip the ends.

“Other one’s yours of course.” he said, motioning for the man still standing there to take a seat next to him.

“Thank you, thank you. Forgive my forwardness, you seem a bit young to own such a nice place. And a nice place it is!”

“I guess I’m a bit older than I look.” he said with a smirk.

The man takes a look at Hadriel’s drink, paused and then turned his visage back to him. “Drink and a cigar. End of a good day? Celebrating something?”

“Yeah… it’s a bit of a celebration…” he struck a match and the audible sizzle of the burning calmed and its intensity died down. He held it for the old man who appreciated the gesture and lit the expensive-tasting cigar.

“Thank you.” the man replied.

“You’re welcome. Maybe I look a bit younger than I am. Saved up a lot of money doing a lot of different jobs. Easy to do when you don’t have family to worry about.” he looked over to the man.

“Oh. To each their own, son. It’s clearly worked well for you. What are you celebrating then? Newly opened establishment?”

“No. It’s been a long journey. I finally found what I’m looking for.” he said, lighting his own cigar and sighing. The man paused again.

Kaede smiled and held her drink up. “Making fast friends I see! Cheers, Mr. Hadriel, to friends!”

A solemn look overcame him, almost saddened, and Kaede paused. It seemed like the other two were holding their breath a moment. Both seemed to be waiting for the other to drink before he finally relented, took a few gulps and set the glass down, her mirroring his actions.

“To family...” he mentioned in a somber tone, his expression was filled with a quiet reflection. “How is your mother, Kaede?”

She was taken aback by the unexpected question.

“Not well…” she replied in a low tone. She fidgeted with her hair and took another sip of her drink.

“Well. She’ll be fine soon enough, I’m sure.” the old man injected himself into the conversation. “She’s just as strong as her daughter after all.”

“Thank you, papa.” Kaede responded.

Hadriel continued to smoke and leaned on the counter.

“I guess I’m sorry I had to ruin your celebration, young man. But… I couldn’t let you kill me.” he placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Now that you drank that poison, you don’t have much time so I wanted to tell you why.”

“You don’t have to tell me why Futoshi. I know why.” Hadriel responded.

“Well, indulge an old man, would you? I know I deserve what you want to do to me, and there’s been so… so many times I would have welcomed it. But… I have my daughter to look after. I want to give her away one day to a home of her own. My wife is frail and needs me. I can’t abandon them.”

“Selfish desires from a selfish man who betrayed his countrymen for gold.”

“You might not understand, Hadriel, but I did it for my family. I’ve regretted it every day of my life. But I’ve found the resolve to live. Which is why I sent Kaede here to get us to this point. I was hoping tipping off the Black Blades would’ve been the end of it but… I always have a plan B.”

Kaede seemed to turn pale, a level of remorse wore on her expression, “I’m sorry, sir…”

“Yeah. Me too…” he uttered softly before putting the cigar out. He poured another glass for himself and took another sip.

“We’ll see that you a proper burial back home in Yangxia-”

Kaede collapsed on the ground as her mouth foamed. Not long after, convulsions began to take place. Wide-eyed, Futoshi stood with his hands on the counter to look down in horror at what was happening to his daughter. He was in shock and couldn’t feel his hand pinned down to the bar, only noticing it when he couldn’t move to his child. A kodachi had made itself a new home through his palm and the bar counter.

“I had a daughter once. And a wife too. I understand why you did what you did. But you chose this path. How many mothers and daughters lost their lives? And again, during the uprising? Then again, over the years. You took my family. Countless families. Then you ran. Across Doma, across the seas, across Eorzea and back again. An untrackable quarry. You took everything I had.”

“H-how…!?” the man held onto his wrist, fumbling through words as tears streamed down his face, almost whimpering at the fact that he was too helpless to save his daughter. “M-my wife, if we die, she has no one to take care of her!”

Hadriel almost looked saddened by the course of events. “Well. I guess I’m sorry I had to ruin your celebration, old man. But… I couldn’t let you kill me.” he placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Now that you don’t have much time to live, I wanted to tell you why: As you took my wife and daughter, so... in turn... I take yours.” he spoke grimly, not a hint of solace could be found in his expression.

Hadriel continued in a low tone, speaking almost to himself, “I was afraid of myself. What I would do to you, but you made it so easy to want to kill you. Everyone that was in your regiment, your comrades, your friends... you had none left. I saw to that personally, so... you could only trust your family to something this important. So you sent her to me. The Blades were always keeping an eye out for me. I figured I’d use you to bait them in. Now I get to send them a message.”

Futoshi winced in pain but after hearing Hadriel speak he seemed to have resigned himself, and continued listening. His head dipped as he let regret take a hold of him. Slowly, he let the calm of surrender engulf him. There was no more need to run anymore. He could find solace in that.

“With no one else to rely on you sent the only person you could trust into the maws of the wolf. Your own kin. How selfish of you... of course she would want to help save her father, her family. You were too busy grabbing this…” he motioned to the ashtray, “... to notice I swapped the drinks. She had prepared the drink for me before I even walked in here... you told me you were sorry. I’m not. Not really. I just wish the story had a slightly different ending, is all.”

“Yeah… me too. For what it’s worth, I never meant for your family… for any of this to happen…” he shook his head with a grimace, “Do you… do you think the kami will forgive us for what we’ve done?”

“No.” Hadriel answered, sliding the rest of Kaede’s drink to the man. “Not men like us.” He raised his glass to the man.

He simply smiled and nodded, “No… I suppose not. Not men like us.” A clink echoed in the quiet, cold bar. “Thanks for the drink.”

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fan-imagines · 5 years ago

Text

Jackson Avery ~ Bleeding Out

MASTERLIST

Jackson Avery x NeutralReader

Synopsis - You leave the OR to get blood and run into Mr. Clark. He shoots you and you fight to stay alive in the small supply closet.

Word Count - 2.3k+

**Warnings** mentions of mass shooting

“Dr. Y/l/n, would you mind going to get more O negative blood and also more gauze, please?” Dr. Altman asks me. I am scrubbing in on a surgery with Dr. Altman, Dr. Hunt, and Dr. Avery. Normally a nurse would do this, but I find It better for me to move around in surgery, even if it’s just for two minutes. All the doctors believe I shouldn’t, but Dr. Altman understands and only asks me to do so when we are at a slow moment in the surgery that she knows I can do.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be right back.” I smile, but she can’t see through my surgical mask.

“Thank you.” I nod and leave the OR. I take off my gloves and take off the additional protection I have on for surgeries.

I go to the blood supply room, and I don’t see O neg blood. I groan, annoyed because I’m missing the surgery. I continue walking down the hallway, and start to wonder why I don’t see anyone. I make It to the other blood supply room, and I look around. I hear the door open and close behind me. I turn to the sound, expecting to see a doctor, but instead I see Mr. Gary Clark.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Clark. You can’t be in here. This is private for staff.” I tell him as nice as I can. I was one of the residents on his wife’s case. She turned out to be brain dead, so we had to unplug her.

“You were one of the people on my wife’s case. One of the supposed ‘doctors’ that should have saved my wife. You killed her.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Clark. I don’t specialize in neuro, Chief Shepherd does. If I saw anything that I thought was remotely suspicious, and could have saved her, I would have spoken up. I’m so sorry, sir.” I tell him, totally genuine.

“It’s too late for sorry.” He pulls out a gun, and my eyes go wide. He points it at me, and shoots it to my stomach. I fall to the ground, and grunt. He leaves the room, but I can only hold my stomach. It feels like I got stabbed with fire. I feel hot tears fall down my face as I squeeze my stomach to stop the bleeding. The bullet hit me in more of my spleen area. If it hit any major organs, I could very well bleed out from the inside. I grab a kit I can use to give myself a blood transfusion. I attach the O neg bag to a needle, and IV. I can easily see the veins in my arm, and I put the needle In. This should help a little, and hopefully buy me some time. I look around for something I can use to hold pressure. I know I will get weak soon, If someone doesn’t find me. I see a thick book, it probably has medical things inside. I reach up and grab it. I also see gauze that I can use to keep the pressure applied. I lay flat on the ground, and wrap my body with the gauze, then put the book on it, then wrap it in gauze again.

“Ahh.” I cry out, but not loud enough for Mr. Clark to hear me if he’s near. I keep squeezing the gauze, and blood runs down my stomach, onto the floor. It hurts, but I have to make sure I don’t bleed out. I tie the gauze, and it stays in place when I let go. I try to continue to breathe, and stay awake.

!Jackson’s POV!

The door to the ER is opened, and Chief Shepherd comes in.

“Could I speak to Dr. Avery, please?” I hand the clamp I’m holding to a nurse next to me, and walk over to him.

“Yes sir?”

“How is the surgery going?”

“It is going fine. The patient is stable. They are almost finished.” I tell him.

“Once you are done, do not leave this room. There is a shooter in the hospital, we are on lockdown. Do not tell Dr. Altman and Dr. Hunt until the surgery is over. Can you handle this?” I nod, in so much shock. Then i remember that Y/n left to get blood.

“Y/n left to get blood.” I tell him, trying not to panic too much

“I will keep an eye out and have someone let you know of any updates. Get back to surgery so they aren’t too suspicious.’’ I nod and walk back over.

“What did the chief want?” Dr. Hunt asks me.

“He was just asking how long the surgery was going to take. He needs the OR next.” I go back to my spot.

“Okay. Could you please take back the clamp.” I nod, and I notice that my hands are shaking. “Keep those hands steady. You can’t be a good surgeon If you can’t steady your hands.” I sigh, and nod.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.” I try to steady my hands, but I can’t stop thinking about Y/n, and all the other doctors, patients, nurses. I can’t think about that now, I need to concentrate on this surgery.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay, we’re done here. I need to get him to ICU. He is still critical.” Dr. Hunt says.

“You can’t go anywhere.” I tell him.

“Why not, Dr. Avery? This patient still needs intensive care.”

“You can’t because we can’t leave this room. There is a shooter and we’re on lockdown.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Shepherd said-.” But I’m cut off.

“I need to take him. I’m going to take him.

“But Shepherd said-.”

“We can’t stay here. The patient is critical.”

“Well, Shepherd said-.”

“I know what Shepherd said. I’m still taking him.” He says.

“I’m going with you.” Dr. Altman says. They continue before they leave. I sigh, and take my gloves off. I rub my hands on my head. This can’t be happening. I can’t do this. I can’t just sit in this room, but I also can’t leave.

About thirty minutes later, I hear people talking outside. I go to the door and open. I see Cristina and Meredith sitting on the floor. They jump when they see me.

“What are you doing? You know there’s a shooter, right! Get in here.” They come into the room and they tell me Chief Shepherd was shot. “We have two nurses, and two anesthesiologists.”

“But we need a surgeon.” I look at Christina.

“We have a surgeon.” Christina says, and I nod.

!Your POV!

“Rising up… back on the… street. Did my time… took my chances. Went the… distance now… I’m back on… on my feet.” I sing so I don’t fall asleep, but I can’t remember all the words right now. My brain is so cloudy. I look at my stomach, and see that I’ve bled through the gauze. I reach to it, but I don’t have the strength to fix it.

“Someone… help me.” I whisper, and close my eyes. I quickly open them back up, not wanting to fall asleep. I turn my head to look at my watch. It says two-fifteen, which means I’ve been laying here, bleeding to death for four hours. I’m lucky I’m still awake. That I am still even breathing. We went into surgery at ten o’clock, they should be done by now. That reminds me of Jackson. His face. If he could just come into the room right now, that would be amazing. I take the deepest breath I can, and continue singing.

“Rising up back… on the street… did my time… took… my… chances.” I feel my eyes close, and i can’t even make myself force them back open.

!Jackson’s POV!

I sigh and walk into the on-call room. We just got out of surgery with Chief Shepherd, after having a gun out to our heads. The man has been taken care of, and the Swat team has cleared the hospital. I need to go find Y/n. I change out of my clothes, and walk out of the hospital. I see lots of people, the police are questioning doctors and nurses. Most of the patients have been transported to a different hospital. I see Chief Webber, and I go over to him.

“Hello, Dr. Avery. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine. Do you know if Dr. Y/l/n has gone home?” I ask him

“No. I haven’t seen, Y/n.”

“Has anyone seen Y/n?”

“No one has said anything to me.” I look around, and I see Dr. Torres and go over to her.

“Dr. Torres did you see Y/n? When you were in the halls?” I ask him, getting worried.

“No, I’m sorry.’’

“Has anyone seen Dr. Y/l/n!” I shout into the crowd of doctors. They all shake their heads and say no. I run back into the hospital, and run straight to the blood supply room that was closest to the OR we were in. I open the door, but there is no one in there.

“Oh god. Y/n!” I shout as I jog through the halls. I hear something clatter, and I see another blood supply room. I open the door, and I see Y/n lying on the floor. There is a book strapped down with guaze. There is blood all over the floor.

“Avery.” I hear a breathy voice.

“Hey, you’re going to be okay. I’m here. I’m sorry it took so long, but you’re going to be okay.” I grab some more gauze and unwrap the book. The blood starts to flow a lot faster, and I quickly apply pressure with the gauze.

“Dr. Avery!” I hear Dr. Torres shouting my name.

“I need help!” I shout back at her. I turn back to Y/n, and keep applying pressure.

“Oh my god.” She says and comes next to me.

“We have to get her to surgery, Dr. Torres.” He nods.

“Pack that gauze on and I need you to run to an OR Try your best to not move too much. I’m going to get the doctors we need. When you get to the OR, I need you to get an ultrasound, so we can get that bullet out. We can’t wait for a CT. Okay? Go. Now.” I grab some tape, and quickly pack that on the wound. I run to the OR, following Dr. Torres’s advice in not moving too much.

“Come on, Y/n. You’re going to be okay. Just hold on.”

!Your POV!

I wake up in a hospital bed, and to the sun. I feel weight on my hand, and I turn to it. I see someone holding It, and I follow the arm to see Jackson Avery. He’s asleep, but his grip is still strong.

“Mhmm.” I groan when I feel a headache and pounding in my stomach. I see Jackson look up and look at me.

“How you feeling?”

“Pretty good, considering I almost bled to death after laying on the ground for eight hours.” I say sarcastically. He chuckles.

“I bet. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

“Well, I’m glad you found me at all. Don’t worry about when you found me. At least you did.” I squeeze his hand, and he smiles. He leans up and kisses my cheek.

“Is everyone okay?” I ask him. He looks down and shakes his head.

“Reed and Charles are dead. Karev, Shepherd, and Hunt got shot.” I sigh.

“I’m so sorry.” I tell him. His people from Mercy West got shot and killed because of one man.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. I was just worried about you the whole time.” I lightly smile. So many people got hurt, because of Mr. Clark. I see his face again. I see when he took out the gun. I see the ceiling that’s not as white as I always thought as I try not to die. Tears fall from my face, and I cover my face with my hand. I hear Jackson move, then I feel my bed dip on my non-injured side. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him. I grab his shirt, and cry Into it.

“How did this happen?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, but we’re going to be okay, Y/n.” He rubs my hair and I slowly fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wake up a few hours after I went to sleep. I had terrible dreams the whole time was asleep, so I just don’t sleep. I sit and look at the clock. Jackson starts to move, and I turn to him. He looks like he’s having a nightmare, like I did.

“Jackson. Jackson.” I shake him, trying to wake him.

“Ahh!” He shoots up awake.

“Hey. Hey. You’re okay. I’m here. You’re okay.” I whisper to him. He looks at me, and closes his eyes to calm himself. “Tell me about what happened with you.”

“I was in surgery with Dr. Shepherd and that man came in and held a gun to mine and Christina’s head. He told us to stop operating or he would kill us. He shot Dr. Hunt, and almost shot Meredith and Christina. I had to unplug Shepherd from the machine so it would flat line. Then I got out of surgery, and I found you in a pool of blood. I was so scared, Y/n.” He says, and I see a tears land on his shirt. I pull him to me and kiss him.

“All those people are alive and okay because of you. Me being one of them. I had nightmares too, and I don’t think they are going to go away soon. But, I’m here if you need me. I need you so, you don’t really have a choice.” I chuckle, and he smiles.

“I need you.” He says to me.

“Want to watch terrible daytime TV with me?” He nods, and I grab the remote from my bedside table. I turn on the TV, and get more comfortable with Jackson.

#jacksonavery #owenhunt #derekshepard #christinayang #meridethgrey #callietorres #greysanatomy #ellenpompeo #alexkarev #justinchambers #patrickdempsey #richardwebber #sandraoh #kevinmckidd #fandomimagines #imagines

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lilacsos · 5 years ago

Text

Doctor!AU: Awsten pt. 1

A/N: So fun fact, this is the third time I have tried to post it and I’m going crazy. Anyway, I’m very excited about this series and I’m looking forward to Awsten’s story and not just because I have his planned out the most. I hope you all enjoy this series as much as I do!

*Warnings*: Language, mentions of surgery on a child

Word Count:

Masterlist Character Info Taglist

Day 7: Surgical Interns

No one likes a cocky intern and Awsten was cocky. He made himself sound amazing and constantly threw himself into a conversation. He fought hard to be the best surgical intern his resident had and the truth was, he did a great job at it. He worked extra hours and he made sure everyone knew about it. If his shift started at five in the morning, he was at the hospital no later than 4:30. He refused to be late and he refused to be given the boring cases. If he wanted to prove he was the best, he needed his talents to be used in the best way they could.

The residents and attendings all took notice of this. Awsten’s hard work was not in vain. While this was only his seventh day of work, his reputation easily floated around the hospital. He quickly became known as the intern that put himself on a pedestal above the rest and he deserved to be. The chief of the surgery department has even mentioned him in passing before and called him the best intern since Leah. Which said a lot about Awsten and his talent. He was really amazing and he knew it.

No one likes a cocky intern but everyone hates an intern that’s cocky and has the talent to back it up.

Awsten waltzed his way into the locker room, changing into his scrubs when he reached his locker. He was excited; today was another day he had the chance to prove that he was the best. It was also another day to make Sage Peterson eat her words. Bitch knew nothing about him. Awsten was amazing and he was going to be the best surgeon in the country and it’s her fault for not believing him. When he reaches the top and she’s begging him to be his friend and work with him, she’s going to wish she believed him in the first place.

Dr. Stevens, Awsten’s resident, pushed the locker room door open and glared at his interns. “Alright, here’s what’s happening today. Williams and Davis, go down to the ER and help them out. Knight and Peterson, you’ll be doing rounds with me. And French, congrats, Dr. Hood requested that you scrub in on a surgery with him today.”

The group all went their separate ways while Awsten ran to catch up with Stevens. “Sir! I just want to know why French gets to work with Dr. Hood today and I have to do rounds.”

“Knight, they did rounds yesterday. You’re delusional if you think that you don’t have to do rounds at some point. Besides,” Stevens spoke, a smirk gracing his features as he continued, “Hood requested to have anyone that wasn’t, and I quote, ‘that cocky intern that Leah isn’t fond of.’ So Knight, you think you’re hot shit but the best surgical attending hates your guts.”

Awsten stood in shock, staring at his resident. Did Dr. Rosario really hate him? How could she? She’s only spoken to Awsten a handful of times so why did she already have an opinion on him? Well, Awsten might have known the reason why. If his reputation really did travel around the hospital, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to believe that she heard how cocky he was. So, his next step on his quest to becoming the best, is making Dr. Rosario like him. Peterson slowed her stride to walk next to Awsten as they followed Stevens to a patient's room. “He called you out. Even the best surgeons have to talk to patients. You seem to think you’re the best.”

“Because I am. Everyone says that I’m the best.”

“Except for Rosario. She finds you annoying.” Sage whispered with a wicked smile as she passed him on her way to catch up with Stevens.

At lunch, Awsten took a seat next to Vanessa and Michael, throwing his tray down next to theirs. “Rosario apparently hates me and she’s hardly spoken to me. Do you know how crazy that it? This is so stupid. Just because I’m good at what I do doesn’t mean anything about me as a person. She hasn’t even met me really. I’m amazing and I am a great surgeon! My very first day I did amazing work and I took a doll head out of a kid. They don’t allow any intern to do that and I did it. I showed my worth to everyone in the room and they were beyond impressed with me. I’m amazing.”

Vanessa sighed and took the pudding cup off of Awsten’s tray. “Listen buddy, you’re cocky. We all know this and the fact is, nobody likes cocky people. And from what I’ve been told, Rosario hates them, because it’s just a matter of time before they mess up and need to get their ass kicked. At least that’s what Ashton told me.”

“Ashton? You call your boss by his first name?”

Vanessa blushed darkly and gathered her things. “He told me to. And you know what Awsten, if you’re so worried about Rosario liking you, stop being so cocky and be an intern. You know, someone who’s there to learn because they don’t know everything. You’re one of us so act like it.” She huffed before storming off.

Michael, who had been trying to keep quiet now looked at Awsten with a frown. “She’s right you know. Interns don’t know everything and they do this program to learn from the best. You can’t learn if you already think you’re so great. Why are you so cocky anyway?”

“Because I’m the best. I’m going to be the greatest surgeon ever. That’s why I’m cocky.”

Michael could tell that he was lying but if Awsten didn’t want to tell him the truth then what was he going to do? He hoped that one day Awsten would trust himself and the others to share why he really acts like that but at this rate, Michael didn’t know if that would happen. He had an idea about what was going on in Awsten’s head and he was pretty sure he was right but he can’t tell unless Awsten wants to share. Michael stood and grabbed his trash. “Look Awsten, this cockiness is gonna come back to bite you in the ass. Someone is gonna get pissed and they’re going to do something about it. Look out for yourself.”

Awsten sighed and stared down at his food. What was Michael even talking about? No one would seriously sabotage him or anything. Right?

“Knight, tell me about your patient.” Stevens huffed, arms crossed over his chest.

“This is Mrs. Jenny Phillips. She’s 37 and she’s here because she needs a new heart. We’re waiting on a donation for her so we can replace her ticker and get her back to having a normal life.” Awsten stated with a large smile, feeling like he had done everything right.

“Good. What’s her blood type?”

Awsten’s smile faltered as he looked at his patient. He didn’t remember. How could he possibly forget his patient’s blood type? Frantically, he grabbed her files but when he flipped it open, the pages were gone. “Sir, her chart is missing.”

“You lost a patient's chart? Knight, how stupid are you? This is not something you can lose and hope you’ll survive without it. That chart has everything about the patient and without it she could die! What happens if you give her a pain killer and she’s allergic to it? What if she has a history that completely changes how we proceed with her surgery? Get out. You’re done for the day.”

Awsten huffed and stormed out of the room but not before he caught a shit-eating grin on Sage’s face. Fucking bitch hid his papers. Awsten paced around the hallway, wondering if he should even bother to tell Stevens what happened. He had no proof and since he didn’t like Awsten, the chances of him believing him were very slim. This was insane. Michael had said that someone wasn’t going to like what he did and the guy was right. Peterson had it out for him since their first day but he never thought she would go this far. He was going to have to get back at her for it somehow but he couldn’t do the same thing to her. Awsten was already walking on thin ice with Stevens and one wrong move could end his whole career. He had to be sneaky. Or, he could get back to being the best and showing off so everyone likes him again and they all hate her. That sounded like a very good plan in his mind.

“Knight?” Awsten looked around him and saw Dr. Rosario at the other end of the hall. Holy shit, was she talking to him? He didn’t see anyone else in the hall so she could only be talking to him. He was also the only Knight in the hospital but that wasn’t the point. “Good, that is you. You, your resident, and I are talking to the chief. Follow me.”

Awsten stared at her for a few seconds before he ran after her, meeting up with Stevens on the way. The three of them sat in the chief’s office, listening to her speak. “This needs to stop. Dr. Knight, you need to step off your pedestal. You may be a good intern but that does not mean you get to walk around this hospital telling patients that you’re the best doctor they’ll have and no one else will compare.”

Awsten quickly shook his head and looked at Stevens briefly. “With all respect Dr. Keller, I have never said that to a patient.”

“Then why did Dr. Stevens tell me that his other interns have heard you say this?”

“They’re lying then. Peterson, she stole my chart this morning so I couldn’t tell Dr. Stevens everything about my patient.” Awsten cleared his throat and looked down at his lap. “Ma’am, I know I’m cocky but I’m not stupid and I would never put another doctor down like that.”

“Even if you didn’t, Dr. Stevens has said that your ego is so large it’s hard to work with. You cannot be a successful doctor if you never get to work with others because you have a big head.” At this, Leah snorted but quickly silenced herself with one look from the chief. “So here’s what is going to happen. Stevens, tell Dr. Greene that you need one of her interns. Knight is no longer your intern.”

Stevens smiled brightly and nodded his head, leaning back into his seat. “Then why am I here?” Leah asked, suddenly terrified that she was going to have to babysit Awsten.

“Knight isn’t kicked out of the program because of his ego. He just needs someone to deflate his big head. That’s where you come in Leah. Awsten will be shadowing you for the rest of his internship or until his attitude improves.” Before anyone could protest, Dr. Keller stood and walked over to her office door, opening it and gesturing for everyone to leave. Reluctantly, they all stood and stepped out of the room.

“He has to follow me wherever I go?” Leah asked before the office door closed.

“Everywhere. When you work, he works. No exceptions. You want to be chief one day Leah, prove to me you can work under,” she paused, looking at Awsten who was standing across the hall, “difficult circumstances. You can do this.”

Stevens laughed as he walked away from the two, leaving them in silence. Awsten was almost certain that they would be in silence in the hallway forever until Leah spoke. “Alright, you don’t talk to me unless you have to. Keep your distance. I know you have to follow me but that doesn’t mean you need to be in my personal space. When I’m in surgery, you do exactly as I tell you. I don’t care if you think you know best. I am in charge of you.” Leah grumbled, seething with hatred. She began to stomp out of the hall, causing Awsten to run after her. “And one last thing, if I’m with my friends you keep your mouth shut and don’t talk to them. Got it, Intern?”

“My name is Awsten.” He mumbled, rolling his eyes as he continued to follow her.

“I’ll kill you. I’ll stab you in the middle of surgery and no one will know. Shut up and let’s go.”

On his very first day, Awsten said he wanted to work with Leah. He knew she was an amazing surgeon and all he wanted was to gain a little of her wisdom so that he could one day be as incredible as her or at least a little close to her level. He wanted to be great and learning from Leah would do just that but he didn’t think that she would be this rude to him. She really thought that he was going to be a total piece of shit. Well, he was going to have to make sure that she saw a different side to him. He was going to be a perfect surgeon and he was going to be a great person. At least, he was going to try. “My name is Awsten. Call me Awsten or Dr. Knight. I went to medical school and I was the best and the top of my class; I am a doctor. It would be nice to be treated like one.”

Leah sighed and rubbed her face, turning to look at Awsten. “Don’t talk to me like that. You are my intern now and I will call you Intern if I want to. And then if you somehow manage to earn my respect, then I’ll give it to you. Now, shut up and follow me.”

Awsten couldn’t stop the small smirk that crossed his face as he watched Leah walk away. He was going to get her respect and she was going to like him. And she’s pretty hot when she’s mad too.

Taglist:

@emilyxvalentyne @valentinelrh @loti18 @lustingfor5sos @mycollectionofnuts @ohhmuke @softboycal @norawashere @who-do-you-love-5sos @aftermidnightclifford @buggy-blogs @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt

#doctor!au #doctor!sos #doctor!awsten #doctor!awsten knight #doctor!awsten waterparks

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seraph-novak · 6 years ago

Note

Tyrus Doctor AU inspired by Schmico (Levi Schmitt and Nico Kim) with AM as side characters pls!!

If you enjoy the fic, please like/comment/reblog! All forms of feedback mean the world to me ♥

P.S. You don’t need to watch Grey’s Anatomy to read this fic.

~~~~~

It was barely six in the morning when Cyrus shuffled into The Pit, one hand wrapped around a paper cup of coffee while the other sluggishly patted his pillow-mussed hair into shape. The sun was still making its slow ascent into the sky, spilling its morning glow across the ambulance bay outside, but Shadyside Hospital was already alive with people – patients and practitioners alike. As always, the air was buzzing with a frantic, suspenseful energy, but Cyrus had a feeling that today’s shift was going to be even crazier than usual.

As soon as he spotted Andi and Buffy standing next to a row of gurneys on the side of the room, Cyrus downed the last of his coffee, dumped his cup in the nearest bin, and dragged himself across The Pit to join them. His presence was met with a couple of weary nods.

“Morning, Cy,” Andi greeted him, blinking her tired eyes open as she attempted a small smile. “Sleep well?”

Cyrus groaned. “Too well… I didn’t wanna leave my bed.”

“I never do.”

“You two are depressing,” Buffy said with the quirk of an eyebrow. Despite the dark smudges beneath her eyes, she seemed relatively well-rested, and Cyrus envied her for it. “Whose service are you on today?”

“No clue,” Cyrus said. He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand and shrugged. “I’ll probably be stuck in the clinic again, knowing my luck.”

“The clinic isn’t that bad.”

“It’s grunt work, and you know it.”

Buffy opened her mouth to protest, then changed her mind, probably deciding it was too early in the morning for a debate. “Okay, you’re right. It isn’t great in there.”

“You’ve never worked a day in the clinic,” Andi said, shooting Buffy a teasing glare. “The residents probably fight over you.”

“It’s not my fault everyone wants me on their service.” Buffy cracked her knuckles and grinned, playfully rolling her eyes at Andi’s unimpressed expression. “Oh, don’t look at me like that… You’re the one dating a resident.”

Andi folded her arms defensively. “I’ve never asked Amber to do me any favours.”

“I’m not suggesting you have. But if anyone’s got an advantage here, it’s definitely you.”

“Please stop bickering,” Cyrus pleaded, gingerly rubbing his temples to ease the pounding in his head. The bright lights of The Pit never failed to give him a headache, especially when he was still in the process of waking up. “I would give anything to be put on radiology today,” he continued groggily. “Somewhere dark and quiet, where I could nap in peace…”

Buffy punched him in the shoulder. “You’re a surgical intern,” she said, as if he needed reminding. “You don’t get to nap.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Sleep is a thing of the past for people like us.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“I can’t help it!” he exclaimed, flapping his arms like a bird caught in a net. “I’m tired. And when I’m tired, I get cranky. And when I’m cranky, I get dramatic. It’s a vicious circle!”

“Well, you better reel it in,” Buffy said, dropping her voice to an urgent whisper. “Dr. Metcalf’s coming over.”

Within seconds, the Chief of Surgery was looming over them, wearing his signature frown as he carefully surveyed the interns with a pair of sharp, judgemental eyes. After a few moments of tense silence, the older man wrinkled his nose and leaned back.

“Don’t you three have someplace to be?” he asked, phrasing the question like a warning.

“Yes, Dr. Metcalf,” Andi and Buffy squeaked in unison, their eyes as wide as dinner plates. When Cyrus didn’t say a word, they both turned to him with questioning looks of horror.

“I don’t actually know whose service I’m on today,” he hurried to explain, his voice trembling slightly.

Dr. Metcalf sighed. “The incompetency of you interns is astonishing.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t apologise. Just get to work!”

“But –”

“Go with the first resident you see for today. But don’t let this kind of amateur mistake happen again. Do you understand?”

Cyrus gulped. “Yes, sir.”

As soon as Dr. Metcalf walked away, Cyrus allowed himself to breathe again, his wobbly legs giving way as he slumped against Buffy’s side for support.

“I think I just peed myself.”

Andi snorted. “Are you okay, Cy?”

“Yeah. Just traumatised. Nothing major.”

“There you go again with the dramatics,” Buffy said, shoving him off with a shrug. As she was pressing the crinkles out of her scrubs, her eyes landed on something across the room, and a devious smirk appeared on her lips. “Well, I guess that answers the question of whose service you’re on today.”

Before Cyrus could ask any questions, Buffy grabbed his chin and turned his head to the right, pointing his gaze towards a dirty-blond man in dark blue scrubs standing at the opposite end of The Pit, his green eyes scrolling up and down the tablet in his hands.

TJ Kippen. Or, as Buffy and Andi liked to call him, Cyrus’ big fat crush.

“Oh no,” Cyrus said, shaking his head as he took a step backwards, accidentally stumbling into a (thankfully) empty bed. “I can’t work with that guy… No way!”

Andi sidled up to Buffy with a matching smirk. “Dr. Metcalf did tell you to go with the first resident you see. You don’t want to disobey the Chief of Surgery, do you?”

“First of all, he’s a fellow –”

“Still counts.”

“ – and I can just pretend I never saw him,” Cyrus said, frantically scanning The Pit for any signs of another resident. The room was swarming with pale blue scrubs and white coats, but TJ Kippen was the only spot of darkness in sight. It was hopeless. “I can’t spend the entire day one-to-one with him,” Cyrus insisted. “What if he –”

“Winks at you again?” Buffy suggested, biting back a grin as Andi smothered her giggles with the sleeve of her coat. “Oh, the horror!”

“This is serious!”

“He’s only flirting with you,” Andi said, taking a deep breath to compose herself. “Maybe he likes you.”

“He’s a guy!” Cyrus hissed, instant heat rushing to his cheeks as a couple of heads turned their way. As soon as the attention had shifted away from them, he lowered his voice and continued, “A guy’s never flirted with me before. What am I supposed to do?”

“You let him down gently.” Andi flicked a glance at Buffy, her eyebrows raised in a silent question, then turned back to Cyrus with a shrug. “Unless you don’t want to, of course.”

Cyrus blanched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well… You do talk about him a lot.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes, you do,” Buffy said, scraping her hair into a bun on top of her head. The pager at her hip started buzzing as soon as she dropped her arms, and she answered it without hesitation. “Well, I wish I could stay here and talk some sense into you all morning, but some of us have work to do.” And with that, she pinched his cheek and made her way towards the double doors leading to the rest of the hospital, turning at the last second to give him a thumbs up. “Just go with your gut,” she shouted across The Pit. “You’ll be fine!”

A few minutes later, when the bustling crowds slowly started to thin out, Andi bit her lip and sighed. “I better get going too,” she said, offering Cyrus a sympathetic smile as he desperately clung to her arm. “Don’t worry, Cy. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Cyrus gulped. “But… What if I don’t know what I want to do?”

“Well, now’s your chance to figure it out.” She patted his hand and kissed his cheek, giving him a moment to gather his nerves, then pulled away. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, a sickly pallor washing his cheeks as he forced himself to nod. “See you later.”

With Andi and Buffy both gone, and the rest of the interns slowly trickling out of The Pit, Cyrus had no choice but to force his jellified legs across the room and formally introduce himself. Besides a few snatched looks across the operation table, and a couple of unexpected winks thrown his way in passing, he and TJ had never really interacted before. Cyrus had always tried to keep his distance, afraid of what he might do if he were left alone with the frustratingly charming paediatrician for too long. But apparently, he couldn’t avoid the other man forever.

“Um… Hello,” Cyrus said as he approached TJ, anxiously wringing his hands together. He could already feel the nervous sweat beading on his skin, and his face was practically starting to smoke as the blush in his cheeks grew darker and darker, almost reaching the tips of his ears by the time TJ finally turned around and acknowledged him.

“Hey,” the fellow greeted him, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smirk of recognition. “Are you on my service today?”

Cyrus cleared his throat. “Not exactly, but… I-I don’t really know where I’m supposed to be, so Dr. Metcalf told me to go with the first resident I saw.”

“But you picked me?”

“No! I-I mean… I saw you first, so…”

TJ’s gaze skipped over him – from the toes of his tennis shoes, all the way up to the unartfully-tousled mop of hair on top of his head – and finally settled on the spot between his eyes. After a moment of consideration, he made a humming noise and took a step closer, his flirtatious smile almost brushing against the shell of Cyrus’ ear.

“Lucky me,” he whispered.

A bolt of attraction pierced through Cyrus’ chest, taking him by surprise. He tore his eyes away from TJ and coughed into his fist, internally begging the heat in his face to finally subside, before it melted the skin off his cheekbones.

“You look nervous,” TJ observed, sounding genuinely concerned. “Are you okay?”

Cyrus nodded a little too enthusiastically. “Yes! I’m fine, I just… I’ve never done, um… p-paediatrics… before.”

“Oh.” TJ tilted his head to the side, probably wondering if Cyrus had deliberately injected as much implication as possible into that sentence, then gave him a friendly clap on the back. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll walk you through it.”

“You will?”

“That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

“Right! Yes. Exactly. Um… Thank you, TJ. I mean… Dr. Kippen. Sorry! I didn’t mean to –”

“Calm down,” TJ said, his eyes twinkling with laughter. “You’re Cyrus, right?”

“How do you –”

“I try to familiarise myself with all the interns. Especially the cute ones.”

Cyrus spluttered a nervous laugh and ducked his head, studiously avoiding TJ’s eyes. He hadn’t expected the fellow to be so forward with his flirting. A couple of winks in the corridor was one thing, but face-to-face compliments? He hadn’t prepared himself for that. How was he supposed to respond?

“Relax,” TJ said, as if he could sense the mental breakdown currently taking place inside his mind. “I’m only messing with you.”

For some reason, that didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, it made him feel worse. Disappointed. Did TJ flirt like this with all the interns? Was Cyrus nothing more than an easily-flustered nerd for him to play games with? Or was he completely overthinking this and acting like an idiot? It was probably the latter.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling and exhaling at the same time. “I guess I’m a little on edge.”

TJ grinned. “Little kids aren’t that scary, you know?”

“It’s the parents I’m most worried about.”

“Now that’s a legitimate fear.”

The two of them shared a smile, and Cyrus could feel the blush finally draining from his cheeks. When he wasn’t overanalysing every little thing TJ did, the man wasn’t too difficult to get along with. He was actually pretty nice. And… handsome? There was no point in denying it, especially inside his own head. TJ Kippen was a very handsome man, and Cyrus was at least 60% attracted to him. Maybe even more. Well, definitely more, but that wasn’t the point. Cyrus had never felt so comfortable about his sexuality – a thing only he, Buffy, and Andi were aware of – before. It was refreshing.

“We should probably get a move on,” TJ said, glancing down at his pager. When he looked back up at Cyrus, his usual smirk had fallen into place again. “There’s a broken arm with your name on it.”

“Um… Yay?”

“I love the enthusiasm.“ TJ gave him a quick wink, then spun on his heels and marched towards the doors. With his considerably long legs, it only took him a few strides to reach the other end of The Pit, leaving Cyrus standing by himself with his mouth hanging open. “Follow me, intern!”

Cyrus scrambled after him, the tail of his too-long coat slapping against the backs of his thighs as he rushed across the room. For the next few minutes, he followed TJ through the hospital, slipping through dense crowds and dodging incoming trolleys and wheelchairs as TJ seamlessly glided down the corridors. He clearly knew his way around the hospital, and Cyrus didn’t know whether to be impressed or intimidated.

“You still with me?” TJ asked over his shoulder.

Cyrus shouted a breathless “Yes” in response, almost running straight into the fellow’s back as he came to a sudden stop.

“Here we are.”

“Thank god,” Cyrus muttered under his breath.

TJ turned to him with a smile. He was standing with his arms folded in an authoritative kind of stance, but Cyrus could see the childlike excitement brimming beneath the surface. He obviously adored his job, and he couldn’t wait to share it with someone. Cyrus was just glad he got to be that lucky someone.

“This is this paediatrics ward,” TJ said, tapping a few things on his tablet as he swept Cyrus into a large room covered in stickers, paintings, and colourful posters.

“Wow,” Cyrus said, his heart fluttering at TJ’s responding grin.

“Impressive, right?”

“It’s amazing!”

“All of the paintings were made by the kids,” TJ explained as he guided Cyrus deeper into the room, taking a left at the end of the beds and down a corridor flanked by private rooms, some of them with crudely decorated nameplates hanging on the doors. “Painting seems to relax them, you know? The parents, too.”

Cyrus smiled at the back of TJ’s head, privately admiring the obvious affection the fellow had for his patients. “Looks like there’s a few budding artists in here.”

“Yeah.” TJ huffed a laugh. “Some of these kids are scarily talented. All of them, really, in their own little ways.”

“You really care about them, huh?”

TJ paused, his back still turned to Cyrus. The stiff set of the fellow’s shoulders made him worry he’d said something wrong, but when TJ turned to face him, his eyes were as bright as the radiant smile dimpling his cheeks.

“I do,” he said sincerely. “Working here… I’ve seen some stuff that’s changed me, made me wanna throw in the towel and get out of medicine altogether. It’s not always easy, taking the responsibility of a child’s life into your hands.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, a shuddering breath passing between his fingers. “But then I think of all the kids I’ve saved, all the ones that still pay me visits and send me thank you cards, and it makes everything else worth it. The bad times. The hard times.” He smiled. “Working in paediatrics is the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.”

Cyrus swallowed thickly, his fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and comfort the other man. But then TJ blinked, and the unshed tears in his eyes were replaced by a familiar hint of playful arrogance that made Cyrus’ heart stutter with uncontrollable desire.

“Sorry for the sob story,” TJ said, flashing him a smile. “I guess I can’t control myself around cute guys.”

Cyrus spluttered. “Wait, what? Are you telling me that was just an elaborate pickup line?”

“Well, it was true,” TJ said, his lips twitching as he fought back a smirk. “I really do love the kids here, and working in paediatrics really is the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done. But I need to exaggerate it a little bit for the guys, you know? The sad, brooding doctor act never fails to work wonders.”

“That’s… kinda messed up.”

TJ shook his head. “Nah. The kids here are constantly bugging me about my love life. They’re kinda like my mini wingmen.”

“You’re sick,” Cyrus said, but his words were light with laughter. There was something quite endearing about the thought of TJ’s patients being so invested in finding him a boyfriend. But he still couldn’t ignore the dull pang of jealousy deep down in his stomach when he pictured TJ recycling the same, meaningless lines on a bunch of other guys who weren’t him.

“You say sick, I say smart. Agree to disagree?”

Cyrus rolled his eyes and smiled. “Sure.”

“Great.”

For a moment, neither of them said a word. They just stood there in silence, barely inches apart in the near-empty corridor, and smiled at each other. But then a child started crying a few rooms down, effectively ruining the moment, and they both sprung apart, staring down at the floor and rubbing the backs of their necks like a couple of guilty teenagers.

“So, um…. We should probably stop chatting and actually do some work,” TJ said. There was a light dusting of pink on his cheeks, the closest Cyrus had ever seen the fellow to getting flustered, but other than that, he seemed completely unaffected by the unshifting tension in the air. “You ready to start?”

Cyrus licked his lips and nodded. “Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

The next few hours passed in a blur of wailing children and anxious parents, all of them with an abundance of questions that Cyrus wasn’t sure how to answer. Luckily, TJ was always by his side, offering his support whenever he noticed Cyrus struggling. When the fellow was totally immersed in his job, and not trying to woo Cyrus with dazzling smiles and wry comments, he was actually a very gentle and patient person, and Cyrus found himself falling deeper and deeper for the other man as the seconds ticked by.

“You’re good with kids,” he blurted out at one point, after TJ had given a little girl a lollipop in exchange for her sitting still for an injection. When TJ looked at him, clearly taken aback by the unexpected compliment, Cyrus felt his face flush. “I mean… You definitely made the right career choice.”

TJ’s surprise softened into fondness, his eyes flicking curiously over Cyrus’ pinkening face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, you know?”

Cyrus snorted. “Yeah… I’m not so sure about that.”

“Trust me,” TJ said, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. “You’re doing great. More than great.”

Beneath the touch of TJ’s fingertips, Cyrus’ skin sizzled and ached with longing. It seeped into his veins and punctured his heart, oozing a strange combination of fear and excitement that flooded his chest with warmth.

“Thank you, TJ,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

They were standing so close that TJ could probably feel the heat of Cyrus’ blush in the tight space between them. If it weren’t for the little girl happily sucking on the strawberry lollipop in her bed right next to them, Cyrus might’ve done something stupid, like lean forward and kiss the other man. In fact, he might’ve kissed him anyway – privacy be damned – if one the attendings hadn’t suddenly appeared and stolen the fellow away from him.

While TJ was going over some charts with the attending in the corner of the room, occasionally glancing over the elderly woman’s shoulder and meeting his eyes with a secret smile, Cyrus busied himself by smoothing the sheets at the end of the little girl’s bed.

“Enjoying your lollipop?” he asked her, trying his best to ignore the heat of TJ’s distant gaze.

The girl swung her head up and down. “Yep.”

“How’s your arm?”

“Better.”

“Well, you’re braver than I am,” he said. “I used to be terrified of needles when I was your age.”

“I thought you were a doctor?”

Cyrus laughed. “Yeah, well… I’m a doctor in training. But the needles still freak me out a little bit.” He glanced around the room, pretending to make sure no one could hear them, then leaned across the bed and pressed a finger to his lips. “That’s our little secret, okay?”

The girl giggled and nodded, using her lollipop to draw an invisible cross over her heart. “I promise I won’t tell!”

“You’re a star.” Cyrus lifted his hand, and the girl slapped a high-five onto his palm. “Maybe you can teach me how to be as brave as you are someday.”

“Okay!”

When he turned away from the bed, Cyrus was surprised to find TJ watching him from across the room, his eyes lidded softly. Despite the attending still yapping in his ear, TJ’s attention was fixed solely on him, and Cyrus couldn’t seem to wrangle himself free from the fellow’s unwavering gaze. Probably because he didn’t want to. It felt nice to have someone look at him like that, even if it was just a well-rehearsed act for flirting with random men.

It doesn’t feel like an act, a voice whispered in his heart.

Cyrus sucked in a deep breath, still staring intensely at TJ, then allowed himself to smile. It felt dangerous, succumbing to this, but he didn’t care. Especially when TJ returned his smile with a boyish grin that made his eyes dance like scattered sunlight cascading through the trees.

“Are you even listening?” he heard the attending say.

TJ tore his eyes away from Cyrus and cleared his throat. “Sorry, yes. Go on…”

As the attending continued to ramble, TJ flicked one last smirk across the room, and Cyrus felt his heart soar. It was like being back in High School, passing suggestive notes under the desk and grinning like an idiot every time your hands brushed.

“I think Dr. Kippen likes you,” the little girl said, leaning across the bed to poke Cyrus in the arm. Her strawberry-tinted lips were stretched into an impish smile. “Do you like him back?”

Cyrus blushed furiously. “I… I don’t… Um…”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“How old are you?”

“Six and three quarters,” the girl said, sitting up straight to make herself seem bigger.

“Okay.” Cyrus reached forward and ruffled her hair. “Well, I don’t think you’re quite old enough to understand –”

“He looks at you the way my daddy looks at my mommy,” the girl interjected, jutting out her chin defiantly. “He never looks at other boys like that. Just you.”

Cyrus felt his stomach drop. “Really?”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh.”

“So?” The girl ripped the lollipop out of her mouth and waved it impatiently in the air. “Do you like him or not?”

Cyrus risked a glance across the room. Even from this distance, he could still appreciate the fellow’s profile – the long slope of his nose; the sandy swoop of his hair; the delicate curve of his smile… There was no denying how handsome TJ was, just as there was no denying his ever-deepening feelings for the other man.

“Yes, I like him,” Cyrus admitted with a sigh of defeat. “I like him a lot.”

~~~~~

By the time Cyrus dragged himself into the interns’ locker room at the end of his shift, it was verging on ten o’clock, the crisp morning light he’d last seen filtering through the boxy window at the back of the room now reduced to a deep, almost inky black. It was a few weeks shy of winter, and the nights were now long, dark, and cold. He was almost tempted to return to the paediatrics ward, where the corridors were bright and warm, and TJ’s dazzling smile was there to keep him company. But after sixteen hours of stitching gashes, poking needles, and splinting broken bones – all the while trying not to spontaneously combust every time TJ so much as looked at him – all he really wanted to do was go home and get some rest.

He was pulling a dark green sweater over his head when someone else came through the door, silencing the idle chatter of the interns dotted around the room. Confused, Cyrus wriggled his head into the light and peered around the lockers, barely containing a gasp when he saw TJ standing in the doorway. The moment their eyes met, the fellow turned to the other interns and swapped his easy smile for an intimidating glare.

“Clear the room,” he said, the commanding tone of his voice leaving no room for argument. “I need to have a word with Goodman.”

It only took a handful of seconds for the interns to follow orders, all of them practically tripping over each other in their haste to get out of the room. When the last of them had disappeared, leaving him and TJ alone, the fellow closed the door and joined Cyrus by the lockers.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just… I wanted to talk to you before you left.”

Cyrus tugged nervously at the hem of his sweater. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No! Nothing like that.”

“Oh.”

“I just wanted to tell you how great you were today,” TJ said, stammering slightly as a light blush crept up his neck and blotted his jawline. It was strangely comforting to see a hint of nerves amongst his seemingly limitless supply of confidence; it made him seem more human, and therefore more obtainable. “You should be really proud of yourself.”

“I am,” Cyrus said, nibbling at the shy smile slowly blooming across his face. A beat of silence passed, and he took a step closer to TJ, daring a glance at the other man’s face – so close, it was almost blurred. “I’m glad you came here,” he added, his voice breathy. “I wanted to thank you, for being such a good teacher.”

TJ shrugged. “I mean, it’s my job, so…”

“Just take the compliment,” Cyrus said, rolling his eyes with a teasing smile. “You were great, too.”

For a moment, TJ’s face fell slack, and Cyrus was worried he’d overstepped somehow. But then the fellow swallowed thickly, his throat rippling, and reached out to touch Cyrus’ arm, tugging him forward slowly, cautiously, giving him the option to resist if he wanted to… But saying no to this was the last thing he wanted, so he stayed where he was, eyes falling closed and lips parting slightly, waiting for the warm pressure of TJ’s mouth against his own. And when it finally arrived, the breath hitching in his throat and stars swimming behind his eyelids, it was everything he’d hoped for and more. So much more.

“Wow,” he mumbled as they pulled apart, his hands fisting in the lapels of TJ’s coat. “That was…”

“Unexpected?”

“Yeah.” He laughed, breathless and giddy. “But, also no.”

TJ lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Well, you have been flirting with me or a while now. I mean, you’re not exactly subtle.”

“You didn’t seem to respond to subtlety,” TJ said, smirking slightly as his fingers brushed the back of Cyrus’ neck, “so I had to kick it up a notch.”

Cyrus grinned. “That’s fair.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“I do.” He placed a hand on TJ’s chest and chuckled, already leaning in for another kiss. “You really are a good teacher…”

Before their lips could connect for a second time, TJ pulled away, the warmth of his fingers slipping from Cyrus’ neck. “Are we still talking about paediatrics?” he asked, a frown creasing his brow.

“Sure,” Cyrus said, winking clumsily. “Amongst other things.”

He leaned in once again, but TJ rebuffed him, his lips thinning into a grimace as he loosened Cyrus’ grip on his coat. “Hang on,” he said, keeping Cyrus an arm’s length away. “Was… Was that your first kiss with a guy?”

Cyrus winced. “Is that problem?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Y-You said you wanted to teach me,” Cyrus said. He heard the desperation in his own voice and cringed, a distant echo of shame pounding in his ears. He clenched his fists and tried again. “You said you would teach me, and I want to learn.”

“Look.” TJ closed his eyes and inhaled through his noise, like he was trying to keep his temper in check. When he opened them again, Cyrus saw the pity staring back at him and shrank away, embarrassed and ashamed and confused. “You’re cute, Cyrus. And I like you. I really do, but… I’ve done my coming out already. I can’t go through that again, okay?”

“You wouldn’t have to!”

“You’re new to this. I get that. And I’m glad you’re trying to figure yourself out and everything. But I don’t wanna be a part of it.” He shook his head and sighed. “I can’t teach you how to do this.”

“But –”

“You need help with paediatrics? I’m there. But not with this.”

Cyrus hunched his shoulders, a flash of anger slicing through the muddle of emotions storming inside his chest. “So, what? I’m not experienced enough for you? Is that it?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you!” TJ exclaimed, tearing a hand through his hair. The violent swipe of his fingers ruffled the gel-stiffened waves, fluffing them out and sending locks of hair flopping over his forehead. He looked much better like that, despite everything. “I just don’t wanna help you out of the closet, okay? That’s something you’ve gotta do by yourself.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will,” TJ said grimly. “When you’ve spent years learning to accept yourself, you’ll understand.”

“You have no idea what I’ve been through,” Cyrus said, sniffing back tears.

TJ cocked his head in agreement. “Fair enough. But that doesn’t change anything.” He flitted his eyes over Cyrus’ face once more, his breath catching in hesitation, then finally turned around. With his hand on the door, he flicked a parting glance over his shoulder and sighed. “I’m sorry, Cyrus.”

And just like that, he was gone.

~~ ~~~

“What an ass,” Buffy said, crushing an empty can of soda in her fist with one squeeze. Outside, the rain was screaming and whirling like an angry spirit, and the three of them were waiting it out in the cafeteria. “Do you want me to talk to him? Beat him up for you?”

Cyrus snorted. “Thanks, Buffy… But, no. I just wanna forget about him altogether.”

“You seem really upset,” Andi said softly.

“I guess.”

“You really liked him, huh?”

Cyrus shrugged in frustration. Not at Andi, but at himself. “I can’t believe I let myself fall for someone like TJ Kippen. I mean, he probably flirts with anything that moves! I should’ve known better.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Buffy assured him. “He led you on, Cyrus. We all saw it.”

“I just don’t understand,” he sighed. “I thought he actually liked me. It felt like he did.”

“He manipulated you.”

Andi frowned. “Not necessarily.”

“What are you talking about?” Buffy said, her eyebrows lifting incredulously. “He’s been flirting with Cyrus for weeks, and the moment he had him where he wanted him, he changed his mind. It was all just a game!”

“You don’t know what it’s like to come out,” Andi shot back, making Buffy flinch in surprise. “When Amber asked me out, I was a mess. I’d never been with another girl before. And if it hadn’t been for her patience and understanding –”

“Gross.”

“– we probably wouldn’t be together right now. But it isn’t so easy for everyone.” She turned away from Buffy and took Cyrus’ hand, sweeping a comforting thumb over his knuckles. “You don’t know how difficult it was for TJ to come out. It might not be something he wants to revisit, and you asking him to walk you through the basics of being gay isn’t gonna help that.”

Cyrus balked. “That isn’t what I wanted! I just… I wanted to learn from him because I like him.”

“Exactly,” Andi said. “You wanted him to teach you.”

“No, that’s not –”

“Be honest with yourself, Cy. Try and see things from TJ’s point of view.”

Cyrus thought back to their conversation in the locker room, how quickly TJ’s softness had hardened into rejection the moment he’d realised how inexperienced Cyrus was, the distance in his eyes when he’d turned him down… He didn’t want to be Cyrus’ teacher. That much was obvious. But what if the rest of it had been real? What if Cyrus really was the one in the wrong here?

“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself, the blood draining from his face as realisation dawned on him. “He thought I was using him.”

Andi smiled knowingly. “And you thought he was using you.”

“It was just a misunderstanding!”

“Yep.”

“Hang on a second,” Buffy interrupted, wagging a finger in the air as she struggled to catch up. “I’m confused.”

“Cyrus thought TJ rejected him because he was inexperienced,” Andi explained in a slow, patronising tone of voice. She was clearly enjoying being ahead of Buffy for once. “But TJ actually rejected him because he thought Cyrus was using him to gain experience. Do you get it now?”

Buffy folded her arms and grumbled. “I suppose…”

“Even so,” Cyrus said, his mind still buzzing with a thousand fleeting thoughts, “he didn’t need to turn me down so abruptly. I mean, he didn’t even let me explain!”

“Maybe he was upset?”

“So was I!”

“Cyrus.” Andi squeezed his hand and smiled. “You like him, don’t you? You said it yourself. And he likes you. I know he does. So why are you trying so hard to talk yourself out of this?” She scooted closer across the bench and rested her head on his shoulder. “You can’t let a stupid misunderstanding ruin this for you.”

Cyrus stared down at his hands, a trembling bundle in his lap, and exhaled a shaky breath. “What if you’re wrong?” he asked, the roaring of the rain outside almost swallowing his words. “What if he doesn’t like me because he thinks I’m naïve?”

“Then he would be an ass,” Andi said. “But I don’t think that’s true.”

Buffy groaned. “I hate to admit, but I think she’s right… I’ve seen the way he looks at you. There’s no faking that.”

“I’ve never been with a guy before,” Cyrus whimpered, stating what they both already knew. “What if I’m bad at it? What if I do need someone to teach me?”

“You’re gay,” Buffy said simply. “You don’t need someone to teach you what you already know.”

Before Cyrus could protest any further, one of the doors leading outside opened with a heavy thump, and TJ came stumbling into the cafeteria, thoroughly soaked to the bone. There was water streaming down his face, a sheet of dark blond hair covering his eyes, and his scrubs were completely sodden. Cyrus could do nothing but watch in stunned silence as the fellow shook himself out like a large dog and blindly collapsed into a nearby chair. It was only when he swept the hair out of his eyes that he noticed Cyrus watching him.

“Oh,” he said. “I, um… I’ll go somewhere else –”

“Why were you outside?” Buffy asked him, her expression flitting between amused and repulsed. “You know it’s pouring it down, right?”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You’re not very smart for a fellow, are you?”

TJ gave her a tight, acidic smile. “I know you haven’t been here long, intern, but not every ward in this hospital is conveniently connected by corridors.”

Buffy simply glowered in response.

“C’mon, guys,” Andi said, smiling nervously as she attempted to smooth things over. “We’re all adults, aren’t we? I’m sure we can sit here without arguing until the rain stops.”

“Actually, I’m gonna go.” TJ scraped back his chair and got to his feet, the soles of his shoes squeaking against the wet floor. For a brief moment, his eyes landed on Cyrus, but they quickly danced away and returned to the rain lashing against the windows instead. “Wish me luck, I guess.”

Cyrus was standing before he’d even decided to follow him.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to talk to him.”

“But, the rain –”

“A little water’s not gonna hurt me,” he said. “But losing TJ will.”

Buffy gagged. “Okay, I know you’re in love and everything, but there was no need for that level of cheese.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Andi said, beaming as she reached out and squeezed Cyrus’ hand. “Go get him, Cy!”

As soon as he opened the door, the rain hit him like a thousand flecks of ice, instantly raising the hair on his arms and turning his cheeks a deep, stinging shade of pink. But there was no going back now. He could see TJ’s retreating form just ahead, quickly fading in the grey smudge of rain sweeping across his vision. If he didn’t move now, he would lose him, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able find the courage to confront him like this again.

So he ran.

“TJ!” The wind picked up his words and tossed them into the sky, becoming one with the rain and sinking into the wet earth beneath his feet. “TJ, wait!”

With his nose buried in the crook of his arm to shield his face from the storm, he chased after the distant speck of white with all the energy he could muster. By the time his hand latched onto the soggy tail of TJ’s coat, his legs were burning, despite the rain leeching through his scrubs, and he could barely breathe enough air into his lungs to spit out a single word. But, luckily, TJ didn’t shove him away like he’d expected him to. He stood there, quiet and grim, as Cyrus caught his breath, seemingly indifferent to the darkening clouds above their heads, and waited.

“I… I need… I need to talk to you.”

TJ looked away. “You’re only making this harder, Cyrus.”

“But you don’t understand!”

“What don’t I understand?” he asked, spraying Cyrus with droplets of rain as he whipped around to face him. “You’re new to the whole coming out thing. You wanna have some fun, figure yourself out… I get it. But I’m not interested in playing a one-time part in your journey to self-discovery. I want something that’s gonna last, okay? A relationship that means something, for once. And you’re obviously not looking for that kind of thing, so –”

“Don’t tell me what I’m looking for!” Cyrus yelled. “Just because I’m inexperienced, doesn’t mean I’m ignorant. I’ve known what I want for a very long time. And for some bizarre reason, you happen to be it!”

“Cyrus –”

“I fell in love with one of my best friends when I was thirteen. I’ve known I was gay for almost half my life. So don’t you dare stand there and accuse me of not understanding the struggles of learning to accept yourself, because I’ve lived it too! And just because I’ve never been with another guy before, doesn’t mean I’m not sure of who I am, or what I want!”

“Okay –”

“And maybe you don’t want the responsibility of being my first boyfriend. Maybe you’re scared it will be awkward and difficult and too much work. I understand that. But that doesn’t give you the right to jump to conclusions and ignore me!”

At this point, TJ was smirking, and Cyrus could feel his anger rising and rising, like a pot of water close to boiling over.

“Are you done yet?” the fellow asked, taking a step towards him.

Cyrus shoved him away and growled. “No, I’m not done yet! Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? I’ve spent nearly thirteen years hiding from who I really am, terrified of getting hurt all over again. I’ve been hiding for so long that I forgot what it felt like to be me.” He shook his head, half-choking on a sob. “And then you kissed me, and I felt like I existed again.”

TJ stopped smirking.

“I don’t know what this means to you. I don’t know if you like flirting with me, and that’s it, or if you actually wanna be with me. Either way, it doesn’t matter… I was a goner the moment you winked at me.” He shrugged his shoulders and laughed. It felt good to be honest. It felt like the rain - crazy and reckless and real. “I’ll admit I’m inexperienced. And awkward. And I tend to say the wrong things at the wrong times.” He smiled. “But I’m also nice. And loyal. And my friends think I’m a catch. So if you still wanna turn me down, that’s fine. But if you decide to give this a chance, you won’t regret it, because –”

The rest of his words were swallowed by a kiss.

Cyrus made a little squawk of surprise as TJ’s lips melted against his own, all of his pent up frustration seeping out of him within seconds, leaving him weightless and airy, elastic and free… He clutched onto TJ’s shoulders and whimpered slightly, losing himself to the melodic whoosh of the rain as TJ pulled him impossibly closer.

“I didn’t think you liked me,” he mumbled between kisses, gently tucking the hair behind Cyrus’ ears. “I thought… I thought –”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry, Cyrus.”

“Hey.” He cupped TJ’s face and pressed their foreheads together, breathing him in. “You have nothing to apologise for. I’m the idiot who made you think you were nothing more than a practice boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

Cyrus froze, his face flushing darkly. “I didn’t mean –”

“If you tell me you didn’t mean to call me your boyfriend, I’m gonna be really upset.”

“Wait, you… You want me to call you that?”

“It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” TJ tilted his head to the side, revealing the wicked slice of a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Like you said, I’ve been flirting with you for a while now. And this is what usually comes after the flirting.”

“What is this exactly?”

TJ shrugged, the confidence in his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Me asking you out?”

“Really?”

“Well, yeah. Unless you don’t –”

“I just chased you through a storm in nothing but scrubs and poured out my heart to you like we’re in a Hallmark movie, and you honestly don’t think I wanna be your boyfriend?”

“Um –”

“You’re such an idiot,” he laughed, palming the back of TJ’s neck and kissing him softly. All around them, the sky shivered and wept, bathing them in tears of joy as they clung onto each other for dear life, laughing and hugging and basking in the rain.

~~~~~

Cyrus tugged the fleece blanket over his shoulders and tucked it under his chin, shuddering with relief as the heat pulsing from the radiator slowly filled the on-call room. He could still feel the occasional drop of rain rolling down his spine, but at least he could also feel his toes again. And the hot cocoa TJ had placed in his hands a few minutes ago was quickly thawing his icy palms as well.

“Thank you,” his said, lips trembling as he took a tentative sip from the steaming cup. The burn was delicious.

TJ wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer, until he was practically sitting on his lap. Despite being equally soaked, TJ seemed to radiate warmth at all times, and Cyrus couldn’t resist snuggling against his boyfriend’s – yes, boyfriend’s – chest.

“You smell like rain,” he mumbled.

“So do you.”

“Yeah. It’s quite nice, actually.”

He closed his eyes, ear pressed against the steady beating of TJ’s heart. The sudden shift from freezing to cosy was taking its toll, making him feel sluggish and loose-lipped. He had no idea what he was going to say until the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“Did you only kiss me to shut me up?”

TJ chuckled. “How could I not kiss you when you were being so damn cute?” He threaded his fingers through Cyrus’ hair, gently undoing all the frazzled knots left behind by the rain. “But I’m sorry for interrupting your Hallmark speech. What else were you gonna say?”

“I was more or less done,” Cyrus admitted. “I was just gonna reassure you that you wouldn’t have to go through the drama of coming out all over again.”

TJ sighed, shifting on the bed so Cyrus was laying across his legs, looking up at him. “I’m sorry for everything I said the other day,” he said quietly, his fingers resuming their careful exploration of Cyrus’ hair. “I just… I don’t wanna be involved in another shame spiral, you know?”

“I’m not spiralling,” Cyrus told him. “And I’m definitely not ashamed.”

“I know.”

“I’m not afraid, either.”

“It’s okay if you are.”

“I’m not.” He reached up and touched TJ’s face, tracing the fine bones beneath his lightly-stubbled cheeks. “You’re so beautiful.”

TJ grinned. “Wow, you’re a sap.”

“Too much?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“Good, because I’m just getting started…”

When their lips were mere inches apart, TJ’s pager started buzzing at his hip, and Cyrus was caught between laughter and tears as he moved off the fellow’s lap so he could check it. All he wanted to do was stay in this tiny room, with the lights low and the rain pattering against the window, and kiss his boyfriend. But when there were little kids with scraped knees and poorly tummies waiting for his assistance, Cyrus didn’t mind letting him go. This was the life they’d both chosen for themselves, after all.

“I’m sorry,” TJ huffed, already half-standing. “Duty calls.”

Cyrus gave him a sleepy smile. “It’s okay.”

“You gonna stay here and rest for a while?”

“Mmm…”

The next thing he knew, TJ was gently prying the half-empty cup from his hands and lowering his head onto a pillow. Cyrus could hear the smile in his voice as he leaned over and kissed the sensitive spot behind his ear, whispering goodbye.

“I’ll come find you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“Now who’s being a sap?”

“Me,” TJ said simply, planting one last kiss on Cyrus’ forehead as he got to his feet.

Before he could leave, Cyrus grabbed onto his elbow and ushered him closer. TJ obliged with a fond little smile, crouching down beside the bed, and allowed Cyrus to kiss him on the lips once more.

“I’ll miss you too,” Cyrus murmured softly, bumping their noses together.

After a few more parting kisses (with Cyrus promising each one would be the last) TJ managed to escape the on-call room, pausing briefly in the doorway to wave Cyrus goodbye and mockingly blow him a kiss. Joke or not, Cyrus still pretended to catch it mid-air and press it against his mouth, to which TJ blushed like a schoolboy and walked backwards into the wall, before stammering a final goodbye and disappearing down the corridor. Cyrus stared at the spot where the fellow had once stood until his eyelids began to droop closed.

He’d barely been asleep for five minutes when the door slammed open again, no doubt leaving a mark where it collided with the wall. His eyes sprang open as he sat bolt upright, only to find Buffy and Andi standing in the middle of the room, pointing at him accusingly with their mouths gaping open.

“You both look ridiculous,” he said, collapsing back against his pillow.

“We saw you kissing TJ in the rain!” Buffy exclaimed.

Andi nodded in agreement. “Yes! We saw you through the window! Cyrus –”

“Okay, okay… We kissed. What’s the big deal?”

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

“Here I am.”

“Where’s TJ?”

“Or should we say, where’s your boyfriend?”

Cyrus shrugged. “Well, considering TJ and I are dating now, I guess you should say that.”

All at once, Buffy and Andi were crowded around him, jumping on the bed and shaking his arms as they bombarded him with a thousand overlapping questions. He didn’t say a word, just sat there and soaked in the attention with a smug little smile, his thoughts slipping back to TJ. The dirty-blond in the dark blue scrubs. The paediatrics fellow. His boyfriend.

And for the first time in almost thirteen years, he actually felt like himself again.

The End.

~~~~~

Thank you again for your patience, @tyrusflavoredtea. I can’t wait to receive more wonderful prompts from you!

#tyrus #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #andi mack #tyrus fics

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kinkyacademia · 6 years ago

Note

Hi there, hope ur day has been wonderful so far! I was wondering if u could write a soulmate AU where All for Ones s/o is a doctor who treats him (but they have no idea and assumes he’s just an injured civilian at first?). Thank you so much and I hope that wasn’t too confusing!💕

You didn’t give me a specific soulmate AU, so I looked some up and chose one :D I love this idea! Also, I have ZERO experience with hospitals, sssoooooo…. this is just a shitpost, a long, LONG shitpost that took over four hours to complete.

PSA: Before you jump on me and say “MINA?!” Mina means “All” in Japanese.

Black Mark AU: You have the exact mark of where your soulmate will touch you blackened along your skin. When you make contact, the mark disappears until either of you die, when it reappears.

~Mod Pasta🍝🍝

It had presented a strangely preventable issue for All for One. Because of how hidden the mark was, he could easily wear lays of shirts to cover it. It had been there for much over a hundred years now, and he effectively hid it. It resembled a puncture mark, and not unlike a donut, had a hole in the middle.

Easy to hide, it was on his lower abdomen. He could wear anything to hide it, even during battles with his infamous brother’s quirk descendants.

It must have been during the seventh one, Nana, that he met you. You were quite young to be surgical resident, but nonetheless you were one working a full shift. You were tired, and running off of strong tea when an injured man came through. He was unconscious, apparently having been found this way, and needed surgery for lacerations of the face and chest.

The procedure didn’t take long, and soon he was breathing normally and his face patched up to almost look new. As soon as he woke up (about four hours later), you approached him and filled him in on what happened. He nodded slowly, although not fully paying attention, and casually folded one arm across his stomach.

“And you should be released in about twelve hours,” You ended with a smile and a bow. He nodded slowly, turning to look away from you with his crimson eyes. He looked half like a businessman and half like an undercover hero with how toned and serious he was.

“Alright. Where was I found?” He gazed out of the window, the street lights illuminating the buildings. It was still around two AM. You looked the information up on your handheld hospital-provided device.

“Uh… The east side of (City), sir. Why?” You raised an eyebrow, and he mulled the answer over before sighing deeply. You quickly rushed to his side, “Don-”

Before you could ask him not to strain his lungs, he began coughing, and his monitors screamed for help. You shouted for anesthetic, pulling enough tubes out of him to wheel him into the O.R.

The problem was dealt with, and he required a feeding tube. Because he was under, you just put it in the most convenient spot, rushing since your supervisor needed to question him and inform him of what happened since you were too incompetent to do so.

It was almost near the end of your shift, and you were changing into normal clothes when your phone dinged. The message was sent to a group chat of all the surgical residents that worked on the slashed-face man. You were simply told to meet in his office, and after about ten minutes, everyone showed up. This couldn’t be good…

Once everyone was there, the chief stared at all of you for a couple seconds. Tension rose and they finally spoke, “Who did his first set of tubes?” One of your colleagues raised their hand shakily with a small “me.” Then he asked for the second, and your heart jumped as you mumbled that you had done it. Damnit, one of you must have failed something…

Everyone else was required to leave. Surprisingly, the atmosphere lightened when they left, and he questioned where you two put the feeding tube. Once he had that information, you were the only one left in the room with him. He cleared his throat, and you half expected him to ask you to sit to take the news that you were fired. You had done the procedure quite quickly, hell, you hadn’t even paid attention to when you washed your hand-

One glance down at your fingers had the answer splayed out to you.

The black mark was gone. It was fully and utterly gone without a trace. Your heart stopped, and blood rushed to your head. The chief saw your reaction and smiled, “Ah, figured it out yourself?”

“I-Yeah… Uh…”

“Go talk to him. His case isn’t that serious, so we won’t be worried about removing you from the team until he leaves. Go on,” He nodded to the door, and you slowly walked backwards until you jumped, back hitting the door. You turned, grabbing it slowly. You were so young, just recently coming into the profession, how could this happen? Soulmates were known to require one of them to move quite quickly, and he looked like he had a lot more important things to do than move near to your hospital.

So you approached his room. He was staring out of the window, eyes now fully open, and face shaved as if he tried to put some effort into meeting you. You pushed your hair back, pressing your lips together. You didn’t even know if you wanted this - you weren’t required to meet him.

Sure, he could find out who did his tubes through records, but you didn’t have to approach him. But you did. You did because you’ve always been empathetic, you’ve always understood that people had things going on beyond what you saw, and hell, he might need you right now. You knocked on his door before opening it, making sure to close it behind you.

“Hello, sir,” The hospital didn’t have a record of his name. He turned his head to you, almost sad in a way.

“Is it you, nurse…” He squinted his eyes to see your name tag, “Sorry, Surgeon (L/N)?”

“Oh, I’m just a surgical resident,” You dryly chuckled to yourself, flattered that he thought you could be that great. He nodded slowly, then looked up to you.

“I know you don’t have my name,” You nodded at his words. Currently he was registered as a John Doe, “Keep calling me John.”

“Oh, ah… Yes sir,” You nodded, then shook your head as you pulled a chair around to sit next to him.

“You can still call me John,” He joked offhandedly, and you actually laughed. You were about to correct yourself, after all.

“Yes, of course. You probably already know my name,” You nodded as a question, and his short nod back was all you needed. He didn’t talk much, but you could enjoy that. The silence wasn’t too tense, but his next words caused it to skyrocket.

“We need to talk alone once I’m done,” His seriousness was instant, leading you to believe that he had conditioned himself into it.

“Yeah,” You enjoyed watching him. His face barely moved when he spoke, “You’ll be out by the end of today, I’ll make sure that’s when I get off.”

You were assigned to a different department until your John Doe was set to go. You had gotten off a couple minutes prior, and you waited in front of the hospital for him. A good ten minutes passed, and you heard your name behind you. Whipping around, you saw “John” in a small black limousine, a lot closer than you had expected. You must have spaced out at some point in the dusk sunlight.

“Come in,” He ordered, but you were nervous to oblige. He waited a couple seconds, watching you glanced back at the hospital to see if it caught his license plate on feed. Usually soulmates were trust-able. You’ve only every heard of them betraying their lover once or twice before. His voice brought your attention back, “I don’t have a reason to hurt you, (L/N).”

“A-Alright,” You nodded, hesitantly approaching the car. He opened the door for you, and you joined him in the back seat. The driver kept it slow to ease your nerves, and John’s attempts at small talk were all extremely one-sided, like, “the weather looks nice today,” and “perhaps we could have dinner there sometime.”

It was almost cute, in an odd way. He was really at a loss for words, obviously not having expected to meet you anytime soon. He coughed when the driver came to a specific stop, “I’d like to offer to take you to dinner, but it’s far past that time.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I had a long shift. If it’s not too much, could you drop me off in front of my place?” You blinked, hoping your large eyes were enough to convince the business man. His eyebrows furrowed, but not because of your question. He nodded.

“Yes, of course,” He looked away from you, thinking about how he his body had even thought someone as sweet as you was a good idea. You were much too good for a villain like him. As the driver took a right, he suddenly turned to you, and halfway through whipping around, he slowed down, catching off guard in a variety of ways, “He’ll need to know where you live.”

“Oh, right,” You told the driver, and he was off in a jiffy. Your soulmate was quite the weird man.

When he dropped you off, he let you out without a word and drove off immediately. He seemed scared of seeming too uptight, and almost like he had forgotten entirely how to function. Once you got inside, you received a text.

-If you are free this Thursday evening, I can book a wonderful dinner.

You raised an eyebrow in disgust, before stupidly remembering that it was probably him. As you texted back, you stopped. A few things weren’t adding up.

That drive you just took was just the driver loosely circling where you lived. He took the correct turn to your house without even asking, and now you unknown caller was the John Doe you were meant to be in love with. Your hands began to shake - what had you gotten yourself into? What had a business man without a legal name been doing in such a rural area as to where the staff found him?

-That sounds great. Where are you thinking of eating? This is John, right?

You knew it was him. No one would propose a date that way other than him. You went to bed wondering who he was, what he was, and received a response sometime as you were getting ready for your next shift that morning.

-John. (Expensive restaurant in Shinjuku), I will pick you up

You glanced down at the response, groaning about how creepy he was. It was easy to pin all his strange behavioral habits on being creepy, but you knew there was an underlying truth behind him. How could a businessman not have a name?

So you gave him an affirmative, returned to work, and tried to forget about the whole incident that was shaping your life.

Thursday rolled around a lot faster than you thought, but the day itself drudged on. None of your coworkers knew about the date except for your friend that worked the desk, “Only a couple hours leeeft,” She cooed as you passed by with viral pathogen readings.

“Until my untimely disappearance, or a sweet date with an awkward guy?” You growled back, and she rolled her eyes with a shake of her head.

“Soulmates don’t do that stuff, (F/N), you’re scared for nothing.”

Nothing. Apparently “nothing” knew exactly when you got off work and that you would even be working in the first place. You swallowed your fear and got into the warm car, John Doe sitting across from you with his placid, watchful eyes.

“Have you ever been on a date before?” He questioned, and you shook your head slowly, pushing your hair back as the car took off. You had tried to at least dress up a little instead of coming out in your usual sweats after such a long shift.

“Dating culture’s never been that lucrative with such an obvious mark like mine,” You fell off into a sour mutter, and he nodded.

“Neither have I. This way we don’t have expectations,” His gruff voice had definitely improved after a week of heeling from his lung wounds.

“That’s kind of optimistic, I can take it,” You smiled to yourself, and he grunted in acknowledgement. The drive was short, and soon he walked around and let you out. He was formal, and to the point. You were seated immediately, and suddenly felt entirely under dressed for this low-lit, formal place.

“Have you been here before?” He inquired, and you quickly shook your head. The food here, quite possibly the best of the best, didn’t even have prices next to the names.

“I’ve never been to this side of town,” You admitted, “My job as a resident only just started, and I rented my apartment a couple days before I met you,” Your eyes wandered the menu. After so many college meals of ramen, potatoes, and dried foods, everything looked amazing.

He nodded slowly, folding his menu and perfectly placing it exactly where he had picked it up, “I’ve been around most of the w-J-ah… Tokyo. I would love to show you sometime,” He didn’t actually seem that enthusiastic, but you forced yourself to smile and nod with a small chuckle.

“Yeah, that’d be nice, huh? What’s your job, if you don’t mind me asking?” Your eyes caught a meal that was right up your ally, and you grabbed a pen from your purse, writing the name down on the inside of your napkin. When you caught his eye watching you, you quickly put it back, “Sorry, I thought it would be better if I had the menu closed, I-”

For the first time you had met him, he chuckled. It wasn’t a lot, but you had somehow gotten him to display an emotion that wasn’t cold or hard, “That’s clever, I like it.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” A smile sneaked onto your face. He hummed in acknowledgement, and the gentle silence graced you until the server came to take your orders. He also ordered a bottle of the house wine, and you felt a twinge of nervousness at his formality. Of course you were meant to be fully compatible, but that was taking it a bit far.

“So, what made you want to be a surgeon?” He caught your attention, and you thought with wide eyes for a second before nodding slowly to yourself.

“Quirks these days are practically being bred to cause harm. My own, called Suture, is great for closing large wounds in the trauma wing,” You rolled your eyes at that, “Nowadays a villain strikes and that’s it. They want to go out with some big bang, so they hurt as many people as possible as worse as possible. Crazy, huh?” You shrugged, and he nodded placidly before slowly placing his arms on the table, fingers interlocked.

“Villains have changed a lot, but so have heroes. I would call you a hero,” He threw the compliment out offhandedly, but it made heat trickle onto your cheeks while you quickly tried to deny it.

“Oh, no, I’m nothing like those guys! They’re all brawn, all smarts, I’m just a part of the pickup,” You couldn’t keep eye contact. He knew how to compliment you very, very well. He wasn’t unlike a dog, watching and observing, picking up cues and using them to his advantage. The hot wine came out, and you drank while thinking of a topic.

“Oh! You never told me what you do, John,” You perked up, and his nosed twitched before he responded.

“I run a loose group of lawyers. Also, call me Mina.”

After a couple weeks of knowing Mina, you transferred to a hospital closer to where he worked and lived. He commonly would travel places for a day or two and then return, and you would always wait for him, making sure the bodyguards were gone so he could just tell you the minimal details about his trip in peace. You hadn’t moved in with him, yet, but he had suggested it. He was still radically awkward when it came to love, but he was working in it. Something was holding him back. Whether it be fear or nervousness, you didn’t know until he came back after an especially long trip of a full week.

“Hey, welcome back!” You chirped, glancing at him from the couch. Instantaneously you pushed yourself up, cup of water clanking to the wood floor of the brightly lit room. Your boyfriend was tattered, lacerations along his chest and a couple on his face and arms. You went to call your hospital, but he grabbed your phone, panting as he shook his head, “What happened, Mina? Say something, sit down, we have to get pressure on this one, this is bad, what happened?”

“Can you help me?” Was all he asked. You paused - he was always so secretive, never telling you much. Finally you had a reason to know, so you nodded and had the tall, burly man sit on the counter while your small hands worked your quirk around as well as using his own strangely useful first aid kit.

As you hand-stitched a wound on his face, making sure to be as even as possible to keep it together, you asked; “I have to know what happened, Mina. You know I won’t sleep until I know what you haven’t been telling me.”

He sighed heavily, and you tutted for him to use less sudden movements. He was always so good at lying and deceiving people, but not when he was around them at least five times a week. He knew he had to love you, but it was hard when he couldn’t share his entire life and viewpoints with you past the “heroes really suck sometimes” and offhanded comments.

“I don’t manage lawyers, I never di-”

“I don’t think that job actually exists,” You whispered, and he huffed. He was worse at lying to you than he had originally thought.

“Only because you are my soulmate, I know I can trust telling you this,” You felt your heart tighten, and thoughts began moving quicker in your head. This felt really important, “For years, ever since quirks even started, I’ve run the underground world.”

“Okay… I also don’t think that’s an available job, Mina,” You didn’t patronize him for lying, but he really needed to be a better joker. Except, he wasn’t chuckling (you had yet to hear him laugh).

“My quirk is called All for One, and I’m able to absorb, use, and distribute quirks,” With your arm steadying yourself against his chest, you didn’t even feel his heart quicken. He was confident in himself, and you began to wonder if he was actually telling the truth.

“So… villain leadership role, okay. So, how can I know you’re telling the truth?” You hummed, moving in between his legs to reach a cut on his neck better. He was still emotionless.

“I cannot have an ID, or else it would be hundreds of years old, obviously, but I do have mine from,” He only moved his arm as he grabbed his wallet from his back pocket, pants being the only thing he was wearing after you had him remove his suit top. He pulled a picture ID of himself out, and you paused your ministrations to glance at it. When your did, your eyes travelled to the date.

He was right. You quickly resumed what you were doing. What else could you do? Your soulmate was a mass villain leading monster, and it wasn’t like soulmates could be happy for very long without each other. You bit your bottom lip, hands becoming shaky, “So… Someone gave you a quirk that let you live longer?”

“I stole it,” He almost sounded like he was confessing to a pope, and perhaps he was in a way. He had waited hundreds of years for you, and you were quite likely one of the most important people in his life, ever. You were the great All for One’s soulmate, and he had decided a long time ago not to kill you. He only got one of you, after all, unlike how he could absorb quirk after quirk and still hold more. You were fragile in his eyes, practically just a civilian, yet much more than he deserved. Even through his twisted, corrupt mindset, he could imagine you so perfectly in his arms, and you really undid his dark desires.

“Right, villain…” You trailed off, “Does it hurt?”

“Hmm?” He raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected that question.

“Does it hurt the person when you take their quirk?” You pulled back to stare at him, and he blinked in surprise. You were such an odd person, and he loved that about you.

He shook his head, “At least I can give them that solace. They go into a coma for a couple days, and wake up without it.”

“Oh, good,” He was shocked. You weren’t yelling at him, you weren’t begging him to change his ways - you weren’t even backing away and asking him not to steal your quirk. This small, naive girl wasn’t mortally afraid of him, the most dangerous villain alive, “It’s not like I can change you, Mina,” You sighed, shaking your head. It was like he had seen a ghost, yet you were the one who was supposed to be surprised. He had been acting quite twisted all along - at least he didn’t sell drugs, and he wasn’t trying to force you to be a part of what he did.

“Yes, ah, of course,” You blinked a couple times in surprise. He had stuttered. You’ve never known him to stutter, so you pulled back with a smile.

“So, I can know the real you now, huh?” You chuckled, and he nodded slowly.

“I’m not a good person, you know that, right?” He made sure you were looking into his eyes when you nodded quickly, “I’ve killed many people. Good people. I’m going to have to send guards to pick you up every day.”

You nodded a little slower this time, “I already see them watching me when I leave. I didn’t think they were for me,” You returned to what work you had left with patching his sorry ass up, “You’ve made your legacy. As your soulmate, I’m meant to support you, and you to me. We can be bad or good people outside of our relationship, but as long as we love each other and can go to crappy downtown dates in the snow, it’s alright with me.”

He was silent until you finished. That was an absolutely mature, yet slightly twisted on its own response. He thought you would want a normal soulmate, just a normal person, but you were fine with who he was as long as he was a good lover?Hell… he would be the best goddamn lover there was. They didn’t call it soulmates for no reason - he had found someone who was willing to stabilize him and be a pillar, but also could accept the empire he was growing that could literally murder all of Tokyo in seconds.

“All do-” You yelped as the man’s hand snaked round your waist, pulling you into a hug. You quickly reciprocated it. He had likely lost anyone else he loved due to age, who knows what was the last time he had one of these. You felt other scars on his back, and traced a couple with your fingers until he let go. He was a long stronger than you remembered.

When you looked up, instead of seeing his usual placid eyes, you saw casual, wider ones with blown pupils.

“It definitely isn’t snowing, but there’s a local band playing-”

“You literally just came here with blood draining out of you like a leech made out with your skin, pizza and movie. Now,” You demanded, and you saw a flash of sternness pass over his face before he laughed, deep voice filling the room. You let him stand back up, using your shoulder to get to the couch while he ordered a guard to get the pizza.

“I’ll have to get used to that,” He commented as you snuggled into his side on the leather couch.

“The what?”

“Not having entire authority.” You laughed, nodding as he turned the TV and started the search for a movie. Your damned insane, villain-leader boyfriend picked a spy movie.

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ruinedthatfriendship · 5 years ago

Text

Start Again

A/N: Okayyyyy so I was talked into posting this, and yes I am aware it is the most trashy fanfiction trope I have ever written, and I was mildly disgusted when I found this in my drafts. 2014 me was a dumbass. This was also evidently supposed to have more chapters that were never completed. I’m actually not sorry about abandoning this one, though...

I’m sorry this exists?

It took too long. Everything just took too long. It took an ambulance too long to navigate traffic, too much time to get her out of the wrecked car. Too much time to clean up her battered face before anyone even recognized her, too long before she got a bed in the ER. Too long before one of the doctors finally realized what was really going on, shoving a couple residents out of the way with a burr hole kit.

By the time they got the pressure down in her brain, and sent her up to surgery, she’d already had one seizure from the bleeding inside her skull, and she’d crashed in the elevator, arriving to the surgical suite with a nurse still riding on the gurney doing CPR.

By the time anyone found her emergency contacts, she’d been in surgery for two hours, without any word. By the time they got to the lobby, the driver of the car that hit her had been pronounced dead.

Simon hadn’t even known she’d set his information as an emergency contact. And apparently, it wasn’t just him she hadn’t told. Like every other detail of that horrible day, he would never forget facing Dianna and Eddie in the waiting room and spreading his hands helplessly, letting them shout at him while the only thing he had to offer was that he didn’t even know. And they were wasting time splitting hairs, couldn’t they see that? It didn’t matter anymore who Demi had been spending her time with or if he was too much older or her boss or anything else, not when they didn’t know if she was going to wake up. They didn’t have time to argue in the lobby of the emergency department, he just wanted to be able to see her.

A nurse had been anxiously watching the face off, clearly trying to remain professional even though this was probably the most gossip-worthy day of her career. “Mr. Cowell, sir, uh, Miss Lovato does have an advance directive in place and--”

“She made it after she got out of treatment,” Dianna cut in tearfully. “She said it was just in case,”

The nurse gave her a polite nod to acknowledge her, and then turned back to Simon. “We need to speak with you--”

“No!” Dianna protested, squeezing her husband’s hand. “That’s my daughter, he doesn’t get a say, I’m her mother, you can say whatever you have to say in front of me.”

The nurse--her nametag read ‘Angelica’--looked at Simon, waiting. “Sir?”

“It’s fine,” he said heavily, hardly believing that any of this was real. “And it’s just Simon, please.”

Angelica nodded, glanced down briefly at the chart in her hands. “Miss Lovato named you as her medical proxy, which means that you have the power--”

“I know what a medical proxy is.” Simon interrupted, feeling shock numb his body while his heart rate increased. Demi, baby, what did you do? “It shouldn’t be me. Give it to her parents, I can’t--”

“We don’t have that power.” Angelica said apologetically. “It’s a legal document that Miss Lovato signed willingly. We can take you back to wait, she should be out of surgery soon.”

“I’m coming,” Dianna insisted. Angelica just nodded at her; she was immediate family too, they wouldn’t refuse her.

A tense elevator ride later had them sitting in hard plastic chairs in a waiting area outside of neurosurgery, the sign itself almost giving Simon a heart attack. Brain surgery, because someone crossed the median while she was driving. And she’d gone to the trouble, sometime so long ago, to put her fate into his hands.

If what Dianna had said was true, that she’d written these things just after getting out of treatment, then it would have been before they were ever together. It would have been while the extent of their relationship was annoying one another at the judges’ desk, back at the very beginning. When the most he’d ever done was hug her and pinch her nose and call her a brat, she’d looked at him and imagined a day like this and signed her life into his hands.

“It shouldn’t be me.” he mumbled again, staring at his hands in his lap. “I don’t know what she was thinking.”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t! I don’t know what you ever thought you were doing with my daughter, she’s my baby and you can’t just take advantage--”

“Dianna,” Eddie murmured, squeezing her hand. His eyes were angry too, he looked ready to strangle Simon, but they were making too much noise in the waiting room.

Demi’s surgery took six endless hours. And when the surgeon finally came out, Simon already knew. The set of his jaw and the look in his eyes wasn’t good news, he could only hope it wasn’t a death sentence.

“Is she alive?” he spat out in a low voice, fists clenched and not sure if he was ready for the answer.

The surgeon nodded shortly, sending a rush of relief through Simon that was quickly tempered by the rest of his words. “She’s still unconscious, and not anywhere close to out of danger. We’re keeping her heavily sedated for now, and you can see her, but I want to warn you, she does have a lot of tubes right now, she won’t...look like you expect.”

“I don’t care.”

“Her vitals are good, but she did sustain severe trauma to her brain. I trust I don’t need to tell you how serious that is, Mr. Cowell. She’s alive and stable, but I can’t make any promises about her recovery until she wakes up.”

“What are you saying?”

“She may have cognitive deficits. We just have to wait and see. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I can take you to see her now.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie asked quietly, holding tightly to his wife’s hand. “What...what can we expect?”

The doctor shot him an apologetic look. “We have no way of knowing, right now. Injuries like Demi’s have had a variety of outcomes, from full cognitive function to brain death. Obviously, given that her responses to stimuli are intact, she’s in as good a place as we can hope for right now. If we were to see any negative effects when she wakes up, it would likely be fairly mild.”

Eddie seemed to relax just infinitesimally at those words, and he was first into the room after the doctor, Dianna on his heels. Simon, exhausted in every possible way, didn’t bother fighting them and followed slowly, trying to brace himself before laying eyes on her.

Nothing could have prepared him, really. She looked peacefully asleep, if not for the washed-out paleness of her skin and the unceremoniously shaved side of her head, a line of stitches crossing her scalp.

Her lips were cracked and parted around a tube in her throat, cuts and bruises and butterfly bandages littering every visible inch of her skin as she lay there, looking tiny and helpless in that hospital bed.

Dianna sobbed and lurched forward, reaching for her daughter’s hand. Demi had a grey plastic clip on one finger, and an IV running into the back of her hand, and hers stayed limp while Dianna held on.

Eddie moved to stand beside her bed as well, one gentle hand tracing her hairline and sweeping the long side of her unplanned undercut off of her forehead.

Simon just swallowed hard, temporarily frozen. Demi belonged on the stage, larger than life with her incredible voice, she belonged laughing and stumbling in high heels and bodily attacking him with the promise of getting him sick. She belonged barefoot in the kitchen with her nose wrinkled up in concentration as she tried to cook, on the floor playing with his dogs, on the couch in a heated debate about Netflix. She belonged with fire in her eyes and love and laughter on her lips, she was not meant to lie here, so fragile and broken.

He found himself moving to the other side of her bed, ignoring the glares of her parents, and tracing the word on her wrist as he reached to grab her hand. “She’s strong,”

The doctor awkwardly returned just then, telling them that Demi was technically only allowed one visitor at a time, and Dianna stayed at her bedside while Simon and Eddie went back out to the hard plastic chairs.

***

It marked the beginning of the worst week of Simon’s life. He cleared his schedule and spent it almost entirely in the hospital, as did Demi’s parents. And if she’d been awake, she’d have scolded all three of them and set the record straight. Without her, and unwilling to alienate her family while she lay unconscious, Simon just endured their anger, pushing back only when they tried to keep him away from her. But he still couldn’t really blame them.

He’d had to give his permission for them to pull her off sedation and remove her machines after the third day. Tonight would be the eighth since the accident, and Demi still hadn’t woken. Her doctors were at a loss, explaining only that sometimes the body needed more time. That she wasn’t quite in a coma, yet. Simon knew what they weren’t saying, though. Her chances of recovery went down with every day she remained in an unconscious state.

For the moment, it was his turn at her bedside, while Eddie had finally convinced Dianna to let him take her home and take a breather. Simon was sitting on the edge of her bed and looking down at her face, which only looked more sleep-like and tranquil as her bruises began to fade. He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, swallowing hard. “Come on, Dem,” he murmured. “If you can hear me, baby, I need you to wake up. Please,” he added in a whisper, fear threatening to choke him.

He’d lived over half his life without her, and she’d come in and rearranged everything so completely in such a short time. And now he was facing down the possibility of her leaving as suddenly as she’d come, permanently, and leaving him to live the rest of it without her. It was a bleak existence he didn’t particularly want to contemplate. One that might require some tattoos of his own to get through it. But it wasn’t going to be like that. She was going to make it through this.

Simon leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead gently, wishing he could hold her properly. She was cold and still so fragile and she smelled like the hospital and faintly like the burning metal of her accident, and he wanted nothing more than to take her home and deposit her in a warm bath, wrap her up between his sheets and hold her and never let her leave again.

But for that, she’d have to wake up.

“You’re such a brat,” he whispered, trying for humor. “Making us sit here waiting on you.”

Demi did nothing but breathe, her heart monitor beeping rhythmically in the silent room. Simon sighed, and squeezed her hand again. “Come on, Demi. You can do this. I love you, brat, just open your eyes.”

He collapsed back into the chair at her bedside, still without letting go of her hand, and bent his head over their laced fingers like he was at prayer. And he hadn’t given himself permission to cry--he didn’t cry--but there were tears falling onto her cold fingertips anyway, and when Eddie roused him later with a firm hand on his shoulder, it was with a bleak expression and red eyes.

Her father said nothing, and Simon just sighed and stood, feeling his back pop in retaliation for sleeping in that damn chair. And he was just about to let go of her hand when he felt the clip on her finger shift. It was a fool’s hope, he’d probably just bumped it with his own hand, but it was enough to glance back at her one final time.

And it was weak and uncoordinated, but her fingers moved, tightening around his hand as best they could, in a gesture no one could mistake. Simon’s heart jumped in his chest, and he turned to Eddie without ever letting go of her. “She squeezed my hand,”

And then Eddie was smiling over his shoulder with tears in his eyes, and Simon glanced down again to find her brown eyes looking up at him with such a quintessentially Demi bemused expression that he almost broke down crying again in relief.

“Hey, love,” he said softly. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Demi coughed, making a face, and looked straight past him. “Dad?”

“I’m right here, Demi.” Eddie assured her.

“Dad, my head hurts.” Demi whimpered, scrunching up her face. Simon reached over to press the call button at her bedside, earning a tentatively grateful nod from her father for it.

Demi dropped his hand quite suddenly, reaching toward Eddie, and Simon tried not to feel hurt. She was here, she was alive, she was awake. She was talking and aware, her brain wasn’t damaged, she was here. He’d take what he could get.

“I don’t understand,” she was saying weakly, looking between Eddie and Simon as quickly as she could without moving her head. “What--I…”

Her doctor and a nurse interrupted her, Dianna hot on their heels. “Baby!”

Demi’s face initially brightened, but then crumpled again in confusion. “Not you,” she was murmuring, almost to herself. She’d let go of Eddie’s hand now, too, and stared down at her own fingers, turning them over in examination almost as if she wasn’t quite sure she was real.

“How are you feeling, Demi?” the nurse was asking, an expression on his face that said he was entirely over the number of people crowding his patient.

“I’m...did I overdose?” Demi asked in a small voice, still not looking at anyone.

“No,” Simon rushed to reassure her, wishing he could be closer than where he’d ended up, almost in the doorway. “It was a car accident, darling.”

Instead of relief, Demi’s face only registered further alarm. “A car accident? Why...why was I driving? I’m sorry, Mama!” she burst out, panic in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to, I don’t know what I did, I--”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dianna reassured her. “You’re okay, baby. The other driver was on the wrong side of the road. Not you.”

“I wasn’t supposed to leave,” Demi whispered, sounding terribly ashamed.

“Baby, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dianna was almost crying again. “You’re okay, Demi. It’s okay!”

“Demi, is it okay if I ask you some questions now?” her doctor cut in, smiling politely. Demi nodded weakly, and Dianna reluctantly took a step back.

“Okay, can you go ahead and tell me your full name, hun?”

“Demetria Devonne Lovato,” Demi returned, still looking down at her hands like she didn’t quite know what to do with them.

“How are you feeling right now, Demi?”

Demi shrugged. “My head hurts. Everything...kind of hurts.” she tried to play it off, but Simon could see the pain in her eyes. “I guess it makes sense if I was in an accident,” she mumbled.

The doctor nodded swiftly. “We can start you on some painkillers. Something non addictive, don’t worry. Do you remember your accident at all?”

Demi shook her head, looking agitated again.

“Okay, what’s the last thing you do remember?”

She hesitated. “Um, therapy. My session in the morning. I’m guessing it’s not today anymore, though?”

“Demi,” Simon started, ignoring all of the looks suddenly shot his way. “You didn’t have therapy that morning, darling.”

Demi made a familiar irritated face, starting to wave him off in her usual fashion, before she paused, her eyes flicking over his form rapidly. “Wait a second.” she said slowly. “I know you.”

Simon’s entire body went numb at her words. “Demi?” he said hoarsely.

She snapped her fingers impatiently. “You’re...I sang for you, you didn’t stand up. American Idol. You’re the judge guy, the rude one...Sa--Si--Simon. Simon Cowell.” She looked momentarily pleased with herself, and then made a face that would have been comical in any other situation. “Why the hell are you here?”

#i refuse to tag and publicize this #please accept my apologies #I swear I can write better than this #don't worry #better fic will be posted after this

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hayjeon · 6 years ago

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Cut Me Open (ft. Yoongi) Part 01 [M]

→ marriedcouple!au, surgeon!au spin-off from CardioPalps → 15k words, rated for sex, possible triggers (talk of divorce/miscarriage/family issues), and medical jargon that took me 5ever to research

→ part 1 | part 2 coming soon

A/N: So the second part is definitely on its way. It just ended up being way too long together to make it a full fic. But please, don’t think that this is how it ends! Stay tuned for the second part!

Love.

Neuroscience and Biology like to tell us that it’s a side-effect of a release of a hormone called Dopamine and oxytocin, the same two hormones released when the guy living under the bridge snorts up another line of coke, and when the horribly suffering and screaming woman holds the human she just pushed out of her vagina for the first time in her arms.

Doctors like to ignore it, ignore the religious and hippie suggestions that “love can conquer anything,” because we, like many other medical professions, believe in science.

We don’t believe those superstitions that if a man is diagnosed with a tumor but learns to love his life and fights for it, he is magically healed of his fatal diagnosis. No, we smile and nod at the patient and his family, congratulate him, and then turn around and walk away because we know that it was the chemo therapy and the gamma rays we shined into his thoracic cavity that destroyed all the stomach cancer cells along with his hair follicles. But what the patients don’t know won’t kill them.

But, aside from love, a reason why the medical field has the third highest divorce rates in the world, is because we doctors are professional line-drawers.

We draw lines for a living. Not the plastic surgeon, sharpie-a-line-over-your-boob kind of line, but a physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental line. Theres always the line, the one that lies between a living patient and a dead patient. There’s always the line that you mustn’t cross with the people on your surgical table, the difference between a bleeding aorta nicked by the slip of the hand weilding the scalpel and a healthy one. There’s the lines you must draw with your co-workers, the ones who you don’t dare call your friends because then everyone would know that you too don’t have friends outside the workplace.

And then, there’s the line you draw with those who you love. Whether or not they’re sitting on your table, brain flap open for you to probe, you must draw lines. You can’t operate on someone who’s close or related to you. You can’t offer to waive fees for someone who you once respected back in high school. You can’t be in relationships with your patients, friendly or sexual.

And you definitely shouldn’t be married to your partner, and co-leader of your department, who currently despises your guts as much as you hate performing rectal exams this far into your career.

You wished you knew that when you agreed to this job five years ago.

You park your car and briskly speed walk into the doors of the hospital at 7am sharp.

Immediately, four people run up to you: Suho, your trusty secretary and friend; Gina, your head nurse; Namjoon, your clumsiest but most hardworking intern; and Jungkook, your most annoying friend, also the head of the Cardio department.

Suho talks first. “Good morning Doctor. I just updated the board on your surgeries today, and told Chief about the updates you gave me last night on the patient with pneumonia. I also prepared your paperwork for you to sign off of regarding the updates and purchases for the neurosurgery department. I’ll come by later to pick those up.”

You give him a nod and lower your voice as you step up into the elevator, signaling the others to take the next one that dings open as soon as your doors close. “Any updates on Yoongi’s side?”

Suho blinks and sighs. “He...he’s hired a lawyer to take care of it. Her name is Ahn Hani, she’s supposedly one of the best in the country.”

You groan, slumping against the railing. “Is she better than mine? Than Solji?”

Suho nods grimly. “Unfortunately, when I looked up the statistics, Solji had suceeded in 244 cases. Hani, well, succeeded in 245. Also...I found that she’s also one of the lawyers who helped Dr. Min with his...lawsuit a year ago.”

You roll your eyes as the elevator dings and opens. “Ah, of course, he had to involve that again. Okay, well, thank you. Please also send me some more information about the merger with the East wing nurses, I want to look more into that before the next head meeting.”

Suho nods and walks away. Jeongguk beats Gina by jogging up to you. “Hey Y/N! Did you see what I sent you last night?”

You roll your eyes, walking down the hall towards your office. “Yes, Jungkook, it was stupid. I’m not going to attend any event as Yoongi’s plus one, much less your baby shower. Wouldn’t you want your first baby shower to be one of peace? I don’t think you want me and Yoongi there.”

He groans. “Please, can you guys just please put your differences aside and just come? She would really like for you to be there, I mean, you were her first resident overseer after all, she’d really be happy to see you there.”

You huff, “As much as I love your wife, I’m saying this because I love her. She doesn’t want me there, unless you plan on uninviting Yoongi. AND--” You hold up a finger to him, when he tries interrupting you. “I know you won’t budge because Yoongi was your resident when you were an intern here, blah blah blah. So, I’ll be the bigger one here, and send you and your beautiful wife a wonderful gift basket of all the highest quality baby products there is, and spare you two from having to witness one of our fights again.”

He sighs, and lets you walk by, as Gina scurries up to you and receives your instructions on the surgery you two were going to perform in an hour. Namjoon just hovers around and waits as he listens in on all the medical jargon. You ask him to scrub into the upcoming surgery, and he happily obliges, dropping his pens on his way out your office door.

Jungkook hovers a bit more, looking a bit disappointed in you, but you shake your head to let him know that you have no intentions of making it to his baby shower, and close the door behind you. “I’m sorry Jungkook,” you sigh, and he nods, giving you your space.

This was your day, work starts as soon as you walk in, a buttload of problems concerning your department, your surgeries, your subferiors, and the worst one of all, your husband.

You sigh and change into your coat before making your way down to the meeting room, and taking your seat in the plush leather seating across from all the other men in the hospital helping run their respective department. Jungkook, filling in for both himself and his wife on maternity leave, sits a couple seats down from you, representing the cardiovascular department. Jimin is seated across the mahogany table, staring down at his notes for his upcoming surgery for his Pediatrics devision. Taehyung and his fellow are seated in the corner, discussing their Neonatal surgery division. Jin is playing some stupid game, sitting behind his “Head of Dermatology and Plastic Surgery” plaque, and the owner of the hospital, Dr. Bang waits impatiently as the rest of the department heads file in one by one.

Suho has faithfully placed your favorite tea, chamomile, on its place and organized your meeting notes in alphabetical order right in front of you. As you flip through the contracts and articles, you bend over to get a closer look when suddenly someone slaps down a thick packet of papers over the ones you were reading.

Frowning, you look up to see your mortal enemy.

“What the hell?” You hiss, keeping your voice low. A quick glance at the papers he slapped in front of you was an alimony agreement. You flip through and realize that he was asking for a clean cut, no separation of property, or money.

He takes a sip of his coffee, not sparing you a glance. “Sign it, and give it to Suho by the end of the week. You make the same amount of money that I do, you’ll be fine.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah right, I see what you’re doing. The house is under your name. I want the house.”

He scoffs, facing you with a glare. “Seriously? I paid the down payment.”

“We had a joint account! I paid the rent!” You hiss, ready to fight some more about this.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, shall we start this meeting?” Dr. Bang interrupts, clearing his throat. He takes a quick glance around the room to make sure of full attendance before he begins to drone about the updates regarding hospital politics.

You and Yoongi decide to pocket the conversation, and you shuffle your papers around, placing the alimony agreement underneath your other documents.

“I’ve scheduled this meeting because we’ve run into a few issues regarding communication within the East Surgery ward,” Chief Bang continues, frowning at the lot of you, “I’ve heard...that there were a couple of issues regarding our efficiency and the cycling of surgeries, am I correct? Dr. Park, do you mind sharing a bit?”

Jimin’s head pops up, and he looks around bewildered. “Uh, no sir, my department is doing fine. We’ve updated our system to the new program you introduced a month ago, instead of using our beepers, and although it took some time to get used to it, I think everyone is adjusting accordingly.”

“Dr. Kim Taehyung, you too?”

Taehyung gives a quick nod, and so do a few more doctors.

“Mr. and Mrs. Min?”

You cringe at the combination of your names. Most of the other people in the hospital besides your close friends didn’t really know, but Dr. Bang certainly was aware of the state your marriage was in. He wasn’t so...supportive of the divorce, obviously.

“We’re fine,” you clench your teeth, signaling for Dr. Bang to move on, and he obliges. Your shoulders deflate and Yoongi leans over to hiss at you, “What the hell, he knows?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Of course he knows, he knows everything.”

Yoongi slumps in his seat, throwing his hands up subtly. “Well there you go again, not even letting me know.”

Ignoring him, you sit through the rest of the presentation regarding new communications, and the chief introduces a new program and a team of IT workers who’ll be handling the new system. They file in through the door, introducing themselves, and then place individual laptops in front of each of you to demonstrate the program. It was a new alert system, voice activated so that with a simple command and without having to touch your phones, all the doctors could send messages to each other, departments, schedule Operation Rooms, and call nurses. Everyone nods thoughtfully as the head of the program, Jaehyun, steps up to the podium and finishes his powerpoint. You watch thoughtfully at the new program.

A tap on your shoulder distracts you and you turn to see Suho leaning over to whisper in your ear, “Chief Bang wants to meet with you in his office.”

“Now?” You frown, and Suho nods, gesturing towards the door. Sighing, you stand and watch as Yoongi doesn’t even give you a side-long glance as he fixates boredly on the presentation. You walk over to the lavish glass office.

“Chief, you wanted to see me?” You ask, lingering by the doorway.

“Ah, y/n,” he says, smiling, “Take a seat.” You oblige, getting comfortable on the leather chairs across from him on his desk.

“Y/n...” he trails off, thoughtfully frowning at his desk, “You and Yoongi...you...have you guys...?” The question lingers in the air and you understand what he wants to ask.

“Ah...uh, well, today Yoongi gave me alimony papers.” You shrug, twiddling your thumbs. “He wants a clean split.”

The chief nods thoughtfully. “Are you going to sign?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know Chief, I really don’t know.”

He leans back in his chair. “You know...y/n, it’s been what, 10 years since you’ve been working at this hospital? I met you fresh out of med school as a wide-eyed intern and watched you two fall in love and I even officiated your wedding two years after that. And I trust you two...” He trails off, and you let him finish.

“It’s time for me to retire, y/n.” He says, and your eyes widen as you lean up. “What? A-are you serious?” You stammer, frowning at him.

The Chief was a general surgeon, who specialized in Cardiothoracic surgery, and worked his way 20 years up to this position as the Chief of Surgery. You’d watched him age during your own stay here, and he was one of the reasons why you didn’t just up and leave to the other hospitals offering you and Yoongi a hefty salary to transfer. This hospital...it was your home.

“Yes,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I’m having issues with my vision these days and my wife, she’s...she’s getting a bit lonely, now that the children are off and married, and she’s demanding more of my time. She wants a divorce, you see, and if I don’t take time off now, then I might lose my marriage.”

“Oh, Chief, I’m so sorry.” You offer, but he waves it off. “No, no, it’s not something to be sorry about. It was my fault...this hospital and surgery wing, I built it with my blood and sweat, and in the meantime I forgot what was really important.”

He leans forward in his chair, grasping one of your hands. “Which is why I don’t condone this decision, y/n. I’ve watched you two, and you’re still in the stage where you can save this marriage. Me...well I’m 20 years too late. You and Yoongi though, I can still see it. I want to try to convince you just one more time.”

You sigh. “Chief, what do you want us to do? We...we tried so much. We purposely began taking one more day off per week to make up for the lost time, and even that fell through because we’re always being called in to work. We tried to get pregnant, and we were so overworked and stressed out that it was just putting even more strain on the marriage. Hell, we even took up surgeries together, and that ended up in a disaster when we accidentally mis-diagnosed our patient.”

You lean back, apologetically removing your hand from his. “I’m sorry Chief, but we were in love almost 10 years ago, when we were in our twenties and fresh out of med school and ready to take on the world. Now...we’ve been working ourselves to the bone for 8 years and leading this division together for 3 within those 8. We’ve...we’ve tried enough.”

He sighs. “Well, the reason I brought you in here was I was hoping you’d offer to try. I want you two to take my position as Chief of Surgery.”

Your eyes widen again, and your mouth falls open. “Ch-chief of Surgery? Are you serious? N-no Chief, you can’t retire like that and just leave us here.”

“Well, I can’t make both of you Chief if you guys are going to get divorced. It’s not professional.” He raises his brows at you and you nod.

“You two have been here the longest out of all of the department heads, and there isn’t one more person I trust more than you guys to be able to continue what I’ve done here at this hospital. I’ve made my decision to leave, and now I want you to promise me that you will try one more time.”

“Try? Try what?” You whisper, already knowing the answer.

“I want you and Yoongi to try and save your marriage, just one more time. Please don’t give up just yet.” He urges, and your heart sinks, as you spin the ring on your fourth finger.

Was it even possible?

Your romance with Yoongi started out 10 years ago when you walked into Seoul National Hospital, wide-eyed and excited to start your first day as an intern. A group of you had stumbled in with fast-paced hearts and flushed cheeks as you giggled and waited for your resident to come in and give you assignments.

Your locker was placed right next to Yoongi’s locker B6 and B7. You’d greeted him politely when he walked in with a sleepy face, and he’d given you a half-hearted smile and no words as he shuffled over to his locker and began shimmying on his scrubs. Surprised at the cold response, you frowned and slammed your locker shut as you lingered by the doorway instead.

“Alright, interns, scum-of-the-hospital-earth and from now on labeled 1 through 17, let’s get a move on,” Dr. Do Kyungsoo had snapped as soon as he walked in.

“You’re from now one named 1, 2, 3...” He goes around snapping and pointing at each intern with a menacing pen tip. You become number 8 and Yoongi happens to be number 12.

“Alright,” he says, frowning at his clipboard. “There are three rules you must follow before I assign you to your individual residents. One, you move when I move.” He leaves the on-call room, and everyone lingers behind, glancing at each other and wondering what the hell happened.

His head pops back in, as he yells, “That means now!” Everyone jumps to action and lockers slam shut and scrub elastics are tied tight as everyone jogs out the door to match Dr. Do’s long strides.

“Two,” he snaps, leading you all to a room with sad-looking bunk beds and cots. “Sleep when you can, where you can. This on-call room is your responsibility and the hospital won’t be taking care of it too often, so make sure you are fully clean as you can be with it. Don’t” he hisses, turning back and pointing his menacing pen at all of you, “Don’t even try to do the nasty in here. I’ll have you arrested for federal public indecency and then I’ll personally neuter both of you.”

Everyone stares at him in horror, as he drops the menacing look again for a neutral one, and continues on. “Let’s go.”

“Three,” he says, walking around a corner to a group of doctors waiting near the Nurse desk and turning with them towards the 17 of you, “don’t try to kiss up.” He glares at one particular girl who’d been trailing after his heels and asking him stupid question. “We already hate you and consider you the scum of the hospital, and no ass-kissing will change that. Save a life first, and you’ll slowly work your way up from scum to a sort of algae.”

You’re lingering at the back of the group as one girl leans over and cringes at you. “I hear he’s called triple D, for Dr. Demon Do, because he’s tiny but is an absolute horror to work with.”

You shudder as he begins reading off the assignments, listening carefully for your name. Each resident that’s standing by him at the desk, who you remember as Dr. Byun Baekhyun, Dr. Kim Jongdae, and Dr. Park Chanyeol, stands there with their coffee cups and smiling a lot more nicely that Dr. Do was acting earlier.

Unfortunately, as Dr. Do rattles off your numbers at random, you don’t hear him call 8. All other three residents walk off with their interns trailing after them, and you, number 12, 9, and number 3 are left terrified as Dr. Do turns to the rest of you.

He sighs, observing your wide eyes. “I’m sure most of you have heard that I’m called the 3D or the triple D here, because I terrorize everyone. It��s true,” he acknowledges casually, to your horror. “But, after I’m finished with all of you, you will be the best interns this hospital has ever seen. So just make sure to keep up. First assignment, we’re gonna go save a life in the ER.”

He walks off with a flourish, and the four of you just warily eye each other as you all pick up into a jog towards the ER.

“Number 8, go grab me some sutures for Patient Mr. Jeong in bed 4, now!” Kyungsoo yells, and you immediately spring into action, grabbing a tray, a needle, gauze, and surgical thread and wheel a chair over to the cot.

A patient there is lying down with a grimace as a huge gash on his leg is being cleaned by a nurse. “I can take it from here,” you assure her, and she gives you a sweet smile as she hands the gauze and alcohol pad to you. That was when you first met Gina, your current and trusty surgical nurse. You loved her to bits.

Sitting down, you scoot up and begin cleaning the wound. “Alright Mr. Jeong, I’m gonna be cleaning and dressing your wound today, alright? Later, a nurse will come by with some antibiotics that you need to take orally. You said you got caught on a nail at your work?”

The patient nods painfully, croaking, “Yeah, I was trying to run over to get an order on time, and snagged my leg on this huge ragged nail that was sticking out of one of the walls. It was my damn fault. I’m such a klutz.”

You smile, and after administering some anesthesia to the area, begin to pinch the skin together and begin suturing. You’d practiced so much at home with some sausages and pig skin, that doing this was normal practice for you.

“Are you an intern here?” He asks, trying not to think about his wound.

You nod, smiling. “It’s actually my first day.”

He grins, “Ever see anything like this?”

“Yes,” you laugh, “cuts and bruises are a common thing in the ER. You’re in good hands.”

Cringing, he murmurs, “I feel a little nauseous. Is that normal?”

You finish the stitch, cutting it and starting a new one. “Yes sir, the anesthesia is probably flowing through your system, and you’re probably a little dehydrated as well. We’ll start an IV drip once I’m finished.”

He nods, his eyes closed and frowning painfully. “I-Is it a little hot in here?”

“Hey,” one of your fellow interns walks up and hovers over your shoulder. It was the guy you first said hi to. “Uh, did you take a look at his charts yet? Dr. Do asked me to give these to you.”

“My hands are a bit preoccupied right now,” you say as you focus on cutting the thread. “If you’re not busy, can you read them out for me?”

He grumbles, “I am.” But opens the file anyway and begins scanning the contents. “Mr. Jeong SaeHyun-ssi, 56 year male, came in for a cut on the upper thigh, and received stitches. What’s taking you so long?”

You roll your eyes. “Can you just read the charts?”

He gives you a dirty look and keeps reading. “Uh...wait...WBC count is off the roof,” he mumbles, glancing at your patient.

“Oh shit, y/n!” He stops you as your patient immediately goes rigid and begins choking, his breaths rugged and loud as his back bows off the table. Yoongi drops the papers and immediately runs over to the other side and holds down the man as he spasms. “Fuck, it’s the tetanus!”

You also drop your needle and tray and rush to the man’s side to hold his arm down. “What?! No! He already had an antibiotic shot and is scheduled for another dose!”

Yoongi grunts as the man begins flailing his limbs, shaking the cot side to side, “Well, seems like that shot was a little too late!”

“Nurse?! Please, help me hold him down!” You yell, and let go of his arm and exchange it with the nurse who anchors him to the bed, while you reach down and feel his abdomen. It’s rock hard, not from the muscles, but from the shock. “Oh my god, he was talking about nausea and fever. He’s having a seizure! Code Blue! Someone page Dr. Do right now!”

One of the nurses who’s come by to help, frantically helps keeps the man’s legs down. “Dr. Do just scrubbed in for a surgery. We can’t reach him!”

You panic, “Oh my god, if Mr. Jeong doesn’t get the attention he needs his airways will freeze and he’ll die of oxygen starvation.”

“Y/N! Focus!” Yoongi yells, as the monitor begins beeping like crazy, “It’s started, you’ve got to perform a tracheostomy on him or he’ll die!” The nurse reads out, “His BP is dropping by the second, Doctor.”

“H-holy sh-shit,” you run a hand through your hair, biting your lip, “I’ve only read about it in textbooks, it’s a m-major surgical procedure and we haven’t gotten a chance to t-train, or to w-watch, I can’t--I don’t know--”

“Y/N! You can do this! The only one in this ER who can do it right is you. Hurry!” He orders the nurse, “Bring a tracheostomy kit! Pump 100mg Phenobarbital and 2 milligrams Lorazepham.”

“The Lorazepham isn’t working, and the Pheno isn’t working fast enough. We have to do the tracheostomy first, Doctor, or he’ll die of oxygen starvation.” Gina tells you, frantically trying to stop her muscle spasms.

“Here,” a nurse runs up with the kit, and hands it to you. Your hands shake with it, and you stare up at Yoongi, who’s now manually pumping air into the man’s mouth, gives you a nod.

“You want to make an incision vertically, about two fingers long, one inch above the collarbone,” He instructs, staring at you with a steely look.

You nod, and lean in, measuring about two fingers up from the man’s neck base, and press in, cringing when immediately blood begins to flow out. Nurses rush to press gauze against the blood and Gina swoops in to cauterize the bleeding veins.

“Alright, good, cut through the fatty tissue and the muscle wall, and then you’ll see a white-ish cartilage-like material, that’s the---”

“Thyroid,” you cut him off, nodding as you keep cutting. “Got it.” The nurses clamp the tissue to the side.

Yoongi nods, maintaining his pumping. “Good, now all you gotta do is make a smaller incision, no more than a couple of centimeters to allow the tube in, laterally. Avoid the trachial bones.”

You nod, making the incision cleanly, and immediately you’re met with a whoosh of air. You scramble to grab the tube and place the outer cannula through the hole, and then seal it with the round cuff to secure it in place. And immediately, the patient draws in a huge breath of air, and the beeping begins to slow.

“BP is stabilizing.” The nurse reads, patting you on your back. “You did it, Doctor.”

You collapse onto the chair, breathing heavily, as the nurses surround the patient, closing up the wound and delivering the patient’s final doses of medication.

Yoongi hands off the plastic bag valve to a nurse, and steps around the cot to stand in front of you. You’re staring off somewhere into space, and he just watches you calmly. “Are you--”

“What the hell is going on here?!” Doctor Do storms into the ER, dressed in scrubs and removing his surgical cap. He glances over Yoongi’s shoulder to see the patient lying on the cot with a tube sticking out of his neck. “What the fuck?” he observes the procedure, and glares back at the both of you.

“He was having seizures, and his airways were muscle-locked because of the Tetanus. We had no other choice, Dr. Do.” Yoongi says, and you just stare up at the both of them in a haze.

“Why didn’t anyone check his charts?” Kyungsoo hisses, flipping through the pages. “Who was responsible for checking them?”

You stand, about to take responsibility when Yoongi steps in. “It was me, Doctor Do. I was supposed to bring them to y/n when you asked me but I saw her doing sutures already and helped out a patient with their Penicillin dose before I went to go get the charts. I’m sorry.”

“No!” You frown, pushing Yoongi aside and bowing to Dr. Do, “It was me. I was too excited to be doing my first actual stitches that I forgot to read the test results after his chart. I saw all the signs, the rigid abdomen, the heated skin, and the light nausea, but I just attributed it to a first-time reaction to the anesthesia...I’m so so sorry...” You blink away tears as you meet Dr. Do’s angry gaze again.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t have time to be standing here and trying to figure out who did it. A doctor must always check the background of the patient before doing any procedure, alright? Now both of you, get scrubbed.” He turns and begins ordering a surgery.

“Uh,” you scramble up to him, “Dr. Do? What do you mean? You assigned us to the ER for the entire day.”

He frowns at the both of you lingering by the bed. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Get scrubbed, this patients gonna have to get surgery for the infection, doesn’t he? Since he’s your patient, you get to scrub in.”

You and intern #12 meet eachother’s eyes, mouths dropping open at the opportunity. Dr. Do begins walking briskly towards the OR and you two both scuttle after him, a skip in your steps. “Y/n,” Dr. Do comments, “Good job at the tracheostomy. It looked good.”

You blush as the three of you step into the sterile room and begin dressing. “I’m going to go check on my patient I just helped do a tumor removal on, the both of you stay here and help the nurses prep the patient. Watch, and observe what they do.”

He exits the room, and the both of you let out your breaths as you begin pulling on your protective gear. You see intern #12 struggling with the strings on the back of his scrub shirt.

“Here,” you breathe out, stepping up, “Let me help.”

He doesn’t say anything and just peers at you as he turns and hands you the strings. You tie them for him, going down his back with the other strings. “Thank you,” you whisper, “That guy wouldn’t have lived if it weren’t for your encouragement and guiding.”

He nods, and solemnly turns around, gesturing to tie your strings for you too. “It’s fine,” he says, from behind you, and you can feel the tug of the strings. “You did good, intern 8.”

“Y/N,” you say, and hold out a hand, and he takes it. “Yoongi.” He says, and hands you a mask to put on. You smile at him and he gives you a sort of small smile before he puts his mask on.

“Hurry the fuck up! After this, you guys get to pay for making a stupid mistake by doing rectal exams all night!” Kyungsoo calls from inside.

You both exhale and take a moment before stepping into the OR.

That was how you met Min Yoongi.

Falling in love with him, well, that wasn’t hard.

After that first time where he’d literally coached you through your first procedure as an intern, the two of you were a whirlwind, working together like a well-oiled machine. You completed each other’s sentences, pointed out each other’s mistakes, quizzed each other and were the top duo of the entire intern program within the hospital for the next year as interns.

“Yoongi and y/n,” the other residents and interns called you two, “the dynamic doctor duo, the second gen of triple D’s,” they’d laugh as you two scrubbed in on surgeries together, answered resident questions together, and even got the top marks on the intern test together. You two were unbeatable.

And naturally, you became residents at Seoul National, and the years following that were years of excitement and big changes. You’d both followed in Kyungsoo’s footsteps to choose neurosurgery as your specialties, and just like he’d predicted, were the best damn interns the hospital had seen, and had followed on to become the best damn residents the hospital had seen.

“Bipolar forceps,” Yoongi grunts as Jongdae, one of the promoted attending Doctors, watches the both of you perform a tumor removal with a hawk eye. The nurse gives him the forceps and he flips open the circular bone flap of the skull you had drilled.

“Exposing the dura. Scalpel,” you request, the tool was handed to you and you lean in, making a tiny incision on the thick flap of skin that protects the brain, and Yoongi swoops in with the bipolar cautery, burning closed any bleeding veins that might distract you. “Suction,” he says softly, and the nurse sucks away any extra brain tissue that’s revealed as you take scissors and gently cut away a flap of the dura.

“There’s the tumor,” you murmur, pointing at the white mass a few centimeters down from the skull. Yoongi leans in again with his forceps, burning away any open veins and you move alongside him across the patient, sucking and cutting away any unnecessary brain tissue and exposing the circumference of the tumor.

Yoongi continues to cauterize the veins and the tissue, holding it taught as you cut away at the non-bleeding tissue of the tumor. And together, you both snip away at the pale white tissue, working seamlessly as a team, without Jongdae needing to step in to help. “A little bleeding there,” you point at a section and Yoongi steps into immediately cauterize the area, carefully sucking away any excess blood to clear his field of vision while you continue to cut away the rest of the tumor’s tissue.

Finally, after agonizing minutes, the final cut is made, and no excess trauma or bleeding is shown, and everyone in the surgical ward breathes a sigh of relief as you smile and drop the tumor into the metal plate. “Finished. Reattach the bone flap,” Yoongi nods and replaces the removed dura with some material and then replaces the bone flap and drills in the metal plates that keep it intact. You then follow up with stapling together the skin of the head back, right where it should be. Once the final staple is completed, Jongdae nods at the both of you and motions for the nurses, “Please finish up here.”

“Good job guys,” he breathes as he walks out of the ward and begins removing his protective scrubs. “That was...pretty seamless, didn’t expect any less of the both of you.”

You smile and nudge Yoongi who just stoically nods at Jongdae’s compliments. Kyungsoo comes in with a little smile, nodding at the both of you. “Heard you performed a tumor removal all on your own. Good job you two.” He gives you a quick thumbs up and the both of you grin back as you receive yet another compliment from the devil.

You two were attached by the hip, and after an entire six months of shy smiles and inside jokes, he finally asked you nonchalantly if you’d ever want to grab dinner together.

“But Yoongi!” You mock him, laughing as you can visibly see him die a little on the inside at the thought of actually asking you out on a date, “We’ve gotten dinner together so many times before!” Clasping your hands in front of your heart in exaggerated mockery, you snicker at him as he rolls his eyes, toeing at something on the hospital floor.

“I mean,” he grumbles, hands shoved into his white coat pockets, “Like something to actually count as dinner, not cup ramen shoved down our throats in a matter of minutes in the on-call room. Dress nicely, all that stuff.”

You laugh, sauntering past him. “Alrighty then, pick me up at 6?”

He nods without even looking at you, and you laugh again.

That night, he’d showed up reluctantly with a bouquet of purple Irises, and you’d received them happily as you let him into your apartment. “Mmm,” you take a big whiff of the flowers and place them in a vase. “You remembered?”

He grumbles, “Yeah, you said they were really pretty that one time our patient’s mom brought them in for her son.” You smile at him, and smooth down your dress as you pull on your heels. “Ready?”

He finally looks at you, looking down at your black dress that accentuated your curves, and your nude heels. Your makeup was light, and natural, and your hair done nicely, different from the bun you always had when you were working at the hospital. “You...you look good,” he says lowly, and his eyes rake over your figure, and you have a thought to just ditch the nice dinner and jump him right then and there. After months of incessant flirting and sensual glances, you could eat him up right then. He was dressed in a nice suit, trading in the boring blue scrubs you always saw him in for a nice gray pair of slacks and black dress shirt, and a matching gray jacket to top it off. His black hair was tousled nicely, effortlessly, and he looked so good.

But you swallow it down and smile prettily, whispering a quiet, “Why thank you,” and let him lead you to his car.

You had always assumed that Yoongi was the type of guy to take you to a nice steak and wine dinner and call it quits, but actually he knew exactly what kind of person you were when he pulls up to the date night.

“Sushi?” You frown as you step out of the car. “I didn’t know you like sushi.”

He helps close the door after you and leads you into the expensive looking restaurant. “I have a friend who works here,” he grins gummily, “and he agreed to let us choose our own sushi, and get this--we get to cut our own and play with the knives.”

You smile wickedly as you scramble after him. “Min Yoongi you know me so well.”

After a night of yummy sushi and learning expensive sushi cuts from Yoongi’s friend, you leave the restaurant full and sated, a little tipsy off of the expensive sake he ordered you both.

“How do you afford all of this with a resident salary?” You ask, frowning as he signs the receipt.

He chuckles, “Uh, I get a little help here and there.”

You joke, “Don’t tell me you’re a heir or something.”

He just laughs it off and leads you outside, to where his car waits. He drives you two to another place, and you laugh as he pulls in. “Classic,” you giggle, as he parks next to the Bodies exhibit that’s been touring the area for a while now. It was an anatomical exhibit with preserved bodies, fetuses, eyeballs, the likes. He just grins at you, “You’re a workaholic, and you love bodies. Couldn’t think of something more fun to do on our first date.”

He tucks his coat over your bare shoulders as you two walk into the exhibit and you lean into him as you both peruse the aisles of jars and showrooms.

“Why haven’t we done this sooner?” You whisper at him, and he turns to look at you with a look so dark and earnest, that your knees begin to shake a little. Halfway through the exhibit, you stopped looking at the preserved body parts and more at him, wondering where and how the hell Yoongi had dropped into your life to become the man you’ve always dreamed of. A little aloof and grumpy, yes, but he was a great friend, partner, and cared a lot more than he let on.

If he’d taken you to a traditional dinner, your hopes would’ve been crushed. And if he’d driven you after to a musical symphony concert, or a regular movie, like other dates have done in the past, you would’ve been disappointed that he didn’t know you better. But this first date was the day you knew you wanted to marry Min Yoongi.

He stares at you for a long time before whispering back, “I wanted to make sure,” he says lowly, and reaches over to grip your hand. “It was a bit scary at first.”

“What was?”

“How alike we are.” He fiddles with your fingers, turning your smaller hands in his and gnawing on his lip. “How well we fit.”

You step forward, gripping his hand. “Yoongi,” you murmur, even though you two are far away from the other visitors at the exhibition. “Let’s go home. Please.” You stare up into his eyes and bite your lower lip subtly, and it takes him just a moment before he’s gripping your hand and heading straight for the exit to his car.

You can’t keep your hands off of him, giggling as he grips your upper thigh from the driver’s seat and you retaliate by leaning over and nibbling on his ear and tonguing his jawline as he presses on the gas to get home. “Don’t s-stop,” he murmurs. You two run up the stairs, laughing and grabbing butts and whatever skin you can before he’s punching the code in and throwing his apartment door open. You don’t even get a chance to admire the size and beauty of his place.

He barely gets the door closed before you throw off the jacket around your shoulders and pounce on him, and he presses you against the door, tongue searching your mouth earnestly and swiping across your lips desperately as moans and ragged breaths are released into the darkness of his studio. He groans at your taste, and you moan loudly as his hands rake lasciviously over your breasts and stomach.

His tongue works wonders against your swollen lips, drawing out moans and licking boldly into your mouth as you suck on his lower lip.

He quickly works the zipper of your dress down as you unbutton his black dress shirt, not even bothering to slide it down his shoulders in your desperation, but just roaming your hands wide across his white milky torso, scrapping your nails lightly as he tongues against your exposed neck and collarbone. “Hurry!” you ask him, quickly removing your straps and letting the dress slither down your body and pool at your feet. You step out of them and jump as Yoongi catches you, pulling your thighs tight against his hips as he walks you blindly towards his bedroom.

He drops you onto his mattress and you laugh as he grins at you and quickly undoes his pants and climbs over you, starting to kiss you at your bellybutton and tickling you as he climbs up your body. Reaching behind and unclasping your bra, his gaze grows darker as he stares down at your naked torso.

“So beautiful,” he mutters, cradling them in between his hands and fluttering kisses all over them and tonguing at your heightened nerves until you’re breathing heavy and stuttering his name, your core clenching around nothing and the wetness making you uncomfortable. “Yoongi,” you moan, grabbing at his boxers, “please, I need you...”

He understands quickly and obliges, looming over you on his elbows and distracting you with a kiss as he removes your underwear and swipes a finger up your folds to feel your wetness. You’re panting and moaning incoherent things, desperate for the feeling of him in you, for him to touch you, to kiss you. The pressure he puts against your clit with the swipes isn’t good enough, and you mewl for him to hurry.

“Fuck,” he breathes, groaning as he settles between your thighs, “You’re so wet. How long have you been waiting for this?”

“Too long to remember,” you whine, hiking your thighs up over his hips and anchoring him to you. He groans and your voice hitches in your throat when he finally slides into you, fitting into you like a glove. Your jaw hangs open on his shoulder and your hands are gripping whatever you can grab, the hair at the base of his neck, the bicep that’s pressed against your cheek.

“Holy shit,” you croak, throwing your head back at the pleasure. It’s dark and you can’t see him but his groans huskily tickling your ear let you know he’s going as crazy as you are. He presses in and out, slowly taking his time and rocking his hips against you in a way that stimulates your clit, rolling his hips against you when he sheathes in and then pressing on his downstroke when he moves out. You retaliate by leaning up and mouthing at his neck and his collarbone, sucking hickey’s into the pale unmarked skin like your life depended on it.

You remember that night you were almost moved to tears how he loved you, held your body like fine china, kissing and drawing moans and sweet promises from your lips like he couldn’t live without them. He’d moaned your name and muffled his moans when he came by kissing you hard, nibbling lightly at your lower lip as his hand came to tangle in your hand and his hips stuttered.

He’d murmured “God I can do this for the rest of my life,” against your lips before he fell asleep, and you’d watched him fall asleep, smoothing back the black locks of his hair behind his ear.

He was beautiful, in a way that you’d never expected yourself to be attracted to. His skin was absolutely pale and milkish, so clean and white that you wanted to spend the rest of your life running your lips and fingers and tongue over them and marking him as yours and learning everything about every inch of his body.

He had smaller eyes, that crinkled when he smiled, but were dark and held so many promises and loyalty in them. His eyelashes that framed them were as dark as his hair and his eyebrows, so black and thick that you couldn’t resist running your hands through them as he dreamed.

Although a bit on the skinnier side, Yoongi’s body was beautiful as well. The arm thrown over your waist was still thick and had definition, and his torso well built and broad enough to make you feel like you could sleep on his chest forever. Which you did, at least that night.

And the next morning, he’d woken up to you prancing around in his black dress shirt, making breakfast with a sweet little smile. That’s how it all started, as cheesy as it sounds.

Dating in the workplace, was difficult, at the least. But it helped that you worked in the same hospital, and your schedules were more or less the same, being able to enjoy your days off together at home, or even just sleeping together on the same bed in the on-call room whenever you were both available.

It wasn’t forbidden for residents to date each other, as long as the relationship didn’t deteriorate performance. And in you and Yoongi’s case, your performance soared together, conquering complicated surgeries and hundreds of patient care issues together as a pair. You both weren’t too romantic elsewhere, and it was your own personal enjoyment to be able to finish eachother’s sentences and complete the most difficult surgeries without a hiccup.

Getting married with Yoongi was the easiest part of your relationship. Saying yes was so, so easy.

He’d been thinking about it since the first night you shared together, and two years into your relationship and three into your friendship, he invites you nervously over to his place and cooks you an amazing dinner with wine and candles and the works, and gets on his knees, proclaiming his undying love for you.

He wasn’t good with words, but it was moments like these that he saved whatever sappiness he could muster up with his skinny little body for all at once.

“I think...” he begins, watching the way your eyes widen at the sight of him on one knee. “I think a lot. And it’s sometimes hard for me to just feel emotions and stuff. I wasn’t raised like that, and I never really had an experience that forced me to do anything otherwise. But you...y/n, you...you make me feel. You make me excited to see you, you make my heart race when you perform your famous whipping stitch,” he laughs as he reaches up to cup your face and wipe away a tear with his thumb, “and you make me never want to live anyway else, besides the way I’m living right now, here with you.”

“Will you marry me?”

You’re crying ugly tears and getting your makeup all messed up, but you nod as you whisper, “Yes,” and let him slip on the beautiful big wedding ring and stand from the chair to meet him in a passionate kiss.

That night, with your wedding ring the only thing you’re wearing, he proclaims his love to you through his actions, through his hands and his lips and his touches, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you submit to the ecstasy of being completely and actually loved by someone so wholeheartedly.

You felt at that moment, that you had conquered the world. You had a great job, an even better workplace, and the best fiancee you could ever ask for. He was your partner in crime, your trusted best friend, your husband-to-be. He was your everything.

Planning the wedding...was easy.

Both of you weren’t complicated, nor extravagant people. You simply chose a nice venue, chose steak as the dinner, a normal white wedding cake, a nice dress that complimented your figure, and you both had a great relationship with the Chief, so you asked him to officiate the wedding. Your friend took your pictures for you, and you were able to make your wedding playlist in 30 minutes in the waiting room right after a surgery. A couple of your fellow residents and childhood friends were the bridesmaids and thankfully, the ones without medical jobs that sucked out the life and time out of their days, were able to step in and plan the rest of the details of your wedding like the color of the silverware and the texture of the table covers.

No extra musical quartets to play your wedding song, no extravagant flowers besides the nice green ones decorating the tables and your bouquet, and your honeymoon was going to be a nice week-long trip in a tropical island, far far away where the both of you could just enjoy the moment together.

Simple.

You found and planned to buy a house, which is when you discovered that Min Yoongi came from a pretty well off family. It was a nice four bedroom place, with a big kitchen and an even bigger living room, and since the both of you were were always tired and busy, you made the finances to hire a maid and gardener to come every weekend and clean your house inside out.

The only part was...his parents, weren’t easy. At all.

His father was a strict businesswoman, with a degree in law and economics who’d started his own company from scratch and had built it up to be one of the biggest tech companies in the country. His mother, although not a working woman, was a daughter of another mogul who’d raised her with all the perfect etiquettes required of heiresses like her.

Meeting her made you almost piss your pants, as you fiddled with your coat for the upteenth time that day, and Yoongi reaches over to grip your hand in a firm hold, leaning over and murmuring, “You look beautiful, don’t worry. She’s gonna love you.”

That, to this day, was probably the biggest lie your husband ever told you. Well, in addition to the whole “til death do us part” lie he told you at the altar. But you’d go through a thousand of those lies if it meant you didn’t have to deal with his mother.

She was a fierce-looking lady, with eyeliner sharper than you’d ever been able to master, and pearls hanging from her dainty neck that looked like they’d be shiny and strong enough for her to choke you with. She’d walked in with a piercing stare, giving you a once over at your new Givenchy dress and Chanel coat, and pursed her lips before taking a seat. Damn, an hour of preparing completely unappreciated in seconds, 3,000$ down the drain.

Yoongi’s father was a bit more loveable, a tired old man who loved to take you camping and outdoorsy stuff that his mother refused to even talk about. You enjoyed fishing and hiking with him whenever you got the chance. But Yoongi’s mother...she was a whole different story.

The moment she approved of your marriage, she took over. She planned another wedding, much bigger and more lavish than the first friends-and-family-only one you and Yoongi had originally planned for. She hired one of the most popular wedding planners to come in and re-do the entire thing, renting out a traditional huge church for the event and re-doing the entire sanctuary in draping colors of white and pale pink and gold.

The wedding cake was taller than you, and the food was made by a Michelin star chef who had dozens of professional waiters and waitresses at his beck and call to deliver the plates going around.

She invited almost four-hundred guests, all important men and women in Yoongi’s father’s business. Potential investors, politicians, local celebrities and moguls, the Board of Trustees, important managers and team leaders from the company, and even families that shared good relationships with her own.

Immediately, your week was chock-full of scheduled facials, nail salon appointments, dress fittings, and meetings with the planner that your mother-in-law insisted on attending.

The only thing she let you choose in the entire wedding was your underwear, which you insisted on not wearing the thong that would probably render you sterile for the rest of your life.

But you gritted your teeth through it as she drove a whirlwind through your once-normal marriage, and you smiled through clenched teeth and did the whole six hours of greeting and nodding and waving alongside Yoongi. Little did your mother-in-law know that at the end of the night, you fucked Yoongi in her kitchen while she was out drinking with her friends.

It was your dirty little secret.

Your once-normal house was sold quickly and she insisted on you two moving into a huge estate that was much closer to hers, and immediately hired the both of you a set of maids, gardeners, and cooks to make sure the “house was running properly” since you never “have time to do it anyway.”

If it meant that she’d stay out of your house and not force the both of you to move in with her, you were satisfied.

All you needed was Yoongi, and you had him through it all. He was the one who coaxed you not to panic when his mother forced you to do a chemical peel for your skin that made you want to die of pain, and assured you that it would all be over, and even offered to run away with you whenever you wanted, whenever you decided that doing this and putting up with his mother and her antics wasn’t worth it all.

But it was, worth it all. He was worth it all. And so you insisted on just doing it. Your marriage and your happily ever after was worth all the hours and hours of scrubbing your skin clean and lasering your body hair off and squeezing into a corset for your wedding dress.

You were determined to make sure your marriage with Yoongi was perfect.

Which was probably why when Dr. Do Kyungsoo decided to amicably transfer 5 years later from his promotion into attending status, and 3 years into your marriage with Yoongi, he chose the both of you to head the department in his place. You two were surgeons who worked well together, were happily married, with leadership skills and great relations with the Chief, and it also helped that the both of you together had incredibly high surgical success rates.

It was a no-brainer, pun intended.

And so you step up, pack up your stuff and move into your own immaculate offices side-by-side, enjoy the perks of being the leaders of the neurosurgery department, with your own assistants and resting rooms, able to access even more surgeries and benefits.

But also, simultaneously, 3 years into your marriage with Yoongi, was when the questions started.

“When are you planning to have children?”

“Are you guys thinking of expanding your family?”

“Have you been taking those uterine enhancing vitamins I sent to your house last week?” Your mother-in-law would call you, and you’d wince, scrambling up to the fridge in your office to suck on the plastic pouch of useless Eastern medicine as you mumble, “Yes, mother. Everyday now.”

She huffs over the phone. “Why can’t you get pregnant yet? Have you and Yoongi been trying, even?”

You sigh, “Uh, mother, I can assure you that Yoongi and I have been doing this together, and we will take it at our own pace. I promise you, I’m thinking about this rationally.”

“Rationally doesn’t mean you agree to leading the department together with your husband. Rational means you, as a woman, let him lead and take a break so that you’re not always running around that hospital and making your uterus less elastic.”

You don’t even bother explaining how wrong that was medically, because the uterus did not loose elasticity because you were working harder, as she continues to berate you for not taking the traditional role of a wife.

It...it was complicated. You were raised in a family much different than Yoongi’s. Your parents were high school lovers, who’d married right after graduating college and started their family with your older brothers. After having you, and after 10 more years of marriage, they’d decided that it wasn’t worth it, and that the problems that continued to arise within your family weren’t solvable.

So they divorced, shuttling you and your two brothers in between them for holidays, and you’d lived your life getting used to having two sets of clothes, two desks, two houses, and two bedrooms. You couldn’t complain, there were children out there with much worse circumstances than yours. But nonetheless, the brokenness of your parents marriage was probably why you were so desperate to prove to everyone that you weren’t like them.

You wanted to be different. You saw how your mother had rotted at home, lonely and waiting for her surgeon husband to return home. He rarely called once he got promoted to Attending status, and was always late to family events. He always missed dinner, and you distinctly remember walking out into the living room late at night after peeing, and seeing your mother asleep at the dining table, a full meal laid out for him as she slept on the spot next to him.

Staying at home, rotting away like that...it wasn’t your thing. You wanted to be great, you wanted to excel and prove how good you were, not only to yourself and your own family, but even to Yoongi’s mother. Because of your parents’ divorced status and not-on-the-wealthy-side financial state, she’d looked down at all of you when you first met her a while ago.

But then Yoongi had graciously taken a moment with her the night after, explaining to her calmly how hard working you were, how you refused to let him help you with your debt, working tirelessly and passionately to support your parents and work off your debt and bills. Only then did she agree to the marriage.��

“...make sure that Yoongi is eating his vegetables. I know I hired you both a chef to make sure you both got your nutrients. He knows and I’m sure he’s doing a great job, but Y/n, a wife should be cooking for her husband from time to time. Go make him some chicken bone healthy soup, I hear its very good for the male body...” she continues to babble on as you see your office door handle twist open and Yoongi lingering in the doorway.

You spin in your chair to look at him and he smiles apologetically at you.

“My mom?” He mouths, and you nod sadly.

He walks over and leans against your desk, and you lean forward and press your forehead against his stomach, breathing in his scent. You stay like that for a moment, the smell of Yoongi’s skin calming you. Although the both of you used the same body wash and laundry detergent, there was still something so Yoongi about his smell. You could never replicate it, even though you sometimes secretly spritzed his cologne in your bedroom when you missed him a lot. Hoping that maybe his scent rubbed off on you in the process was all you could do.

The phone is still pressed against your ear as you mumble out acknowledgements to his mother and he chuckles as he smooths your hair back with one hand. He lifts your head to lean down and deliver a deep kiss, one that makes your lashes flutter and your heart stop.

You open your eyes to him staring down at you funny, and then a big grin stretches across his face as he holds the mute button down. “Hey,” he grins at you gummily, “let me sit on the chair.” He lets go of the button.

You frown and continue to talk to his mother as you oblige and get up out of the chair to perch against the edge of your desk while he gets comfortable. He grips the back of your head and pulls you down for another searing kiss, one that makes you smile and frown confusedly down at him.

He just grins and presses the mute button again, “trust me,” he whispers, and begins to kiss at your jawline.

You hold the phone away from your ear and out of earshot as you hiss, “Oh my god, Yoongi, no.”

“The doors locked,” he murmurs as he stands up and curls over you against the table to grind his hips against yours. “Keep talking to her.” he says, and his eyes glint with mischevious intent as he continues to travel down your torso. One by one he undoes the little buttons on your blouse, kissing and licking at each new inch of skin that’s revealed. He doesn’t even bother taking off your bra, just hiking it up out of the way and immediately diving and tonguing at your nipples until your struggling to keep your harsh breathing under control and your practically dripping down your thighs.

“Always so sensitive here,” he smirks, flicking a thumb over your sensitive nipple.

His mother’s still droning on and on about how your gardener was the best, whatever awards he’s won and what she thinks he should do with your backyard....all while her son is currently getting comfortable in between your legs.

He pulls up your pencil skirt and snaps the waistband of your panties against your hip, grinning up at you cheekily when he sees the dark spot that reveals your wetness to him. Without even pulling them off, he pushes the band aside and slides two fingers into you without warning, making you choke on whatever agreements you were babbling into the phone.

“Yes, mother, I think so to---” you completely cut yourself off, literal seconds away from moaning out loud into the receiver. You immediately punch your finger into the mute button, glaring down at Yoongi. “What the fuck?” you hiss, staring at the weighted phone in your hand as you can hear the light crackling of her frantic voice on the other end. “Yoongi, oh my god, we’re gonna get caught.”

“Not if you keep quiet,” he says, lightly kissing the skin above your bellybutton and continuing to languidly move his fingers within you, curling upwards to press against that spot that has you curling into him, gripping his hair for support, the phone still dangling in between your fingers. You keen, “Oh Yoongi,” you’re shuddering at the onslaught of such direct pressure and squeezing your eyes shut at the sensations.

The transition from residents to Attendings had been busy, and you’d been coming home with Yoongi only to collapse onto your beds without any energy for anything else. You were starved.

His mother’s voice crackles loud enough to draw you out of your haze. “Shit,” you mutter and turn off the mute, “Y-yes mother, s-sorry, I choked on some water there.”

Her voice calms down as she hears you on the line again. “Oh Jesus, I thought you’d passed out or something. Don’t do that again, you’ll stress out your body and stress isn’t good for the baby. Anyway, what was I saying, oh yes. The gardener wants to install a fountain that’s made out of genuine Greek volcanic rock....”

You tune her out as your head tips back and your eyes close to the feeling of Yoongi’s mouth close over your clit, hot and slick against the drenched fabric of your panties, and making you tremble at how quick he drives you to the edge. Your heeled feet are perched on the handles of your chair, and your clothes in a complete mess. The only thing you can focus on is making sure you mumble a “mhm,” for your mother-in-law to know you’re listening and anchoring Yoongi’s face against your core.

He moves his tongue slowly, tracing patterns into your flesh, making you all hot from the inside out and making your thighs tremble with the exertion of trying not to buck into him.

Clenching your jaw, you determine, is the best way of not letting any noises escape and you angle the receiver a bit away from your nose and mouth to make sure his mother doesn’t catch on the heavy breathing.

Your breaths are labored and shuddery, trying to compensate for the overwhelming sensations Yoongi drives through your system, his hands cradling your hip and the other roughly palming your breast and raking down your body to curl into you once again and press right against the spot only he knows this way. His hair is twisted tight beneath your fingertips but it only spurs him on, and you can literally feel the smile that he grins into your core, as he becomes even more naughty at the nasty thought of you accidentally letting his name slip as a moan in a conversation with his own mother.

But you manage to hold it in, cumming fiercely and silently, tears pricking your eyes as you curl into Yoongi’s mouth and your jaw hangs open in a silent scream as he tongues and laps at your wetness through it all.

You’re still shaking and shuddering as you come down from it, and Yoongi waits, leaning back in your leather chair with a satisfied and triumphant grin, his lips shining slightly from your wetness, and you snap.

“I-I’m sorry, mother, but I h-have to go. There’s an um, emergency p-procedure I have to perform! Right now! Sorry, I’ll call you later, so sorry, bye!” You ignore the frantic questions and slam the receiver down on the cart, and pounce on Yoongi, kissing him and roughly tugging at his hair and grunting in to the kiss to let him know how much you hated and loved him right now.

“Fuck,” you mutter, tonguing at his lips that are still salty with your taste. “You’re so much nastier than when we first married.”

He chuckles huskily against your lips. “Says the one who’s kissing me right after I ate you out.”

You grin down at him. “Switch,” you command, and he obliges, and you put your clothing somewhat back in place before taking his seat and unbuckling his pants. He’s already hard, probably from eating you out and the excitement and thrill of doing so when you’re on the phone with his mother, and you sneer at that.

You grip him at his base, squeezing tightly and slowly jerking him off. He bites his lip as he watches you, leaning against your desk. “You think you’re real cute huh?” You sneer, leaning forward to wrap your mouth around his tip and suck harshly, making him moan and buckle, his hands flying into the edge of the desk and in your hair.

You detach, though, before he can get any further pleasure from it and stare up at him. “You know that if we got caught, it wouldn’t even be you in trouble, but me?”

You reach over and grip his balls, playing with the weight in your hands and rubbing the space right where his cock meets the heavier skin. He groans, biting his lip and you smile wickedly when you feel him jump within your hands. “Fuck,” he groans, watching you with narrowed eyes. He knew he deserved it, and he was loving every bit of it.

“Next time,” you lean forward and wrap your lips around him again, sucking harshly and then pulling away in a tease, “You’re gonna fuck me in her house, make sure that she knows it’s not me thats nasty, but its all you.” You finally oblige, leaning in and swallowing his length as far as you can, letting him settle heavily against the back of your tongue. You swallow around him and fight the urge to gag, your other hand coming to his base and stroking whatever else you can’t reach with your tongue and mouth.

Yoongi’s completely at your dispense now, moaning and clenching his eyes shut as his breaths become labored and his hand becomes a bit too tight in the strands of your hair. But you ignore it, rubbing the texture of your tongue against the underside of his cock and moaning to send vibrations straight down his length.

“Oh sh-shit,” he buckles, “T-too much, t-too fast y/n.” He cringes, but you keep going, bobbing your head back and forth and smoothing your tongue harshly against the spot right on the underside of his cock that makes his stomach muscles clench underneath your hands.

He cums within seconds of doing that, groaning loudly and fisting his hands in your hair. You continue to stroke him through the orgasm, letting his cum drip down your tongue and you swallow loudly around him, making him buck forward from the extra stimulation. “Fuck,” he breathes out, grinning as you stand and wipe your lip, “That was hot.”

You roll your eyes, walking over to your closet and stripping off your ruined undies. The offices were nice, and personal, but even better because you and Yoongi could get some actual work done together with the nice locks they provided on your doors. You kept a stash of clean laundry here just in case you needed them for surgeries and important meetings, but your underwear stash was getting suspiciously depleted faster.

While you’re putting on a clean pair, he surveys the contents of your desk as he observes the packet of Uterine Vitamin Eastern medicine juice. He cringes as he turns over the packet and surveys the contents printed on the back, grimacing at the odd combination of multiple herbs and spices.

“No wonder you tasted bitter when I kissed you,” he curls his lip in disgust, “what the hell is in this thing? Are you sure it’s not doing the complete opposite of enhancing your vagina?”

You sigh, closing the closet door. “Imagine what it’s like to have your mother call me every night to remind me to take them.” Walking over, you slot yourself snugly in his arms.

His voice vibrates in his chest, calming you as you press your cheek against it. “You know, just say the word, and I’ll tell her to stop. I can go tell her that I’m the one who has sperm issues or don’t want kids or something. She’ll stop and listen then.”

You shake your head, closing your eyes as Yoongi’s chin comes down softly against the crown of your head. One more thing you loved about Yoongi, was that he was the perfect height for you to snuggle into his neck. “I don’t want you to lie to her.”

His chuckle buzzes against your ear. “I mean, it’s true that we want to wait a little bit, right? With the department changes that are going on and all...it’s okay to wait a little isn’t it?”

Resting your chin on his chest and peering up at him through tired lashes, you pout, sighing. “But if it happens, I guess it happens. I’m happy either way.”

He leans down and pecks your lips. “Me too. I’m happy either way.”

To think about where it all went wrong...well that’s not easy.

You’d spent three amazing years alone with Yoongi, enjoying your time together as residents, then promoted to Attendings. And although the transition into becoming department heads together was anything but simple or easy, especially with Yoongi’s mother nagging and turning her nose up at your decision every chance she got, it was still bearable.

But...maybe it had been the extra stuff in your lives that had driven you apart.

Your google calendar looked like a kid had just drawn squares everywhere with different colors. Your schedule was a mess, not that Suho was anything but organized, he was great. But your schedule was chock-full of important meetings, orientations, interviews, and even hospital events that took up a lot of your time. All you wanted to do was go back to your surgeries with Yoongi, but naturally being a bit more organized and better with human beings than Yoongi was, you ended up taking a bit more of the official part of the job, while he was equally stressed out by the extra patient-meetings and demanding surgeries.

You couldn’t complain about having to just attending meetings in person and greeting people and sipping champagne while Yoongi was having to deal with rude and stressed out patient families and even a lawsuit regarding one of the surgeries his patient claims could have been done better. Which, was ridiculous, because you and everyone in the entire country knew that Yoongi was one of the best specialists to deal with that patient’s tumor the way he did.

And neither did he, even though he stumbled in half awake into your home at 3am in the morning with eye bags dragging down to his chin and equally so weak from not being able to eat or drink anything during his surgeries, collapsing onto the couch.

But you still tried. You made sure that the both of you had Sunday’s off, no matter what, calling in favors from other departments to make sure that your positions were covered.

Sundays...naturally became a routine.

You both were up before 7am, just by habit. Yoongi would go into the kitchen and sip on some coffee silently while you went on your morning jog. By the time you got back, Yoongi was taking a nap, which is when you’d shower and get ready and leave the house together by 8:30 towards his parents’ place.

From 8:30 to 9, you’d help his mother prepare an obnoxious breakfast, full of beautiful cooked eggs, perfect waffles, little salmon and cheese crackers, and even sometimes she whipped out the caviar.

And together, you’d prepare for Yoongi and his father, who would just discuss a few things here and there while the women cooked. And then until 10, you and Yoongi would share coffee with his parents while his mother nagged you about children and his father would tell one of his fishing stories.

By noon, you’d both be back home, and Yoongi would groan about how tired he was and collapse into sleep again, and you’d quietly read a book or clean until he woke up around 4, and you’d go watch a movie together. It didn’t matter what movie, but you both just sat there in the darkness watching whatever stupid indie film was popular that week in your local theatre.

Since it was dark after the movie finished, you’d both make your way over to a small diner or something to grab a bite to eat. And then you’d curl up together infront of the tv or the fireplace and just silently cuddle.

But at one point, the cuddling didn’t feel as warm anymore.

Yoongi stopped bringing home flowers randomly. Instead his first words to you when he entered your office or when he came home would be something about the hospital. Sometimes, he was forced to even miss out on the precious Sunday times together because he was called in for an emergency procedure only he could do. Or you’d have to bail and reschedule your silent Sundays together in order to make it to an important hospital event.

The sex...well it was just sex.

You both tried changing it up here and there. But being married for three years...really had depleted a lot of your options of your boundaries and the things both of you were comfortable doing. The 15th time doing bondage and tying your hands to the bed just wasn’t as exciting as the first. Just...naturally.

And that was probably where it went wrong.

You accepted it, just acknowledged that things becoming like that were normal for any other couple. Great. But what your mistake was, you didn’t do anything about it. You didn’t dare ask him to attend marriage-counseling with you, in fear of disrupting the silence and peace you finally had obtained with his mother, and also, you had access to his calendar. It was impossible to do it together without his mother somehow finding out. She had his calendar too.

Little by little, you stopped asking. You stopped pressing him to take time off for dates, to separate and designate some time for just the two of you, without having to worry or talk about work. You stopped telling him about your day. And instead, you began to resent the way he always somehow managed to turn a blind eye to the passive side-comments his mother gave you.

It became a nuisance to hear that his partner in surgery was a beautiful new graduate who was all busty and fresh and innocent and remarkably good at surgery, and conveniently, working right next to him.

It also got busier. The hospital began a new TV program to raise public finds for the free clinic. The chief had brought up the idea, proposing a weekly talk-show-ish program where doctors and PA’s would sit at a panel and discuss important health issues and offer the best advice. Naturally, as one of the senior representatives of the neuro-department, and as a woman who was used to being on screens, you were asked to be on the show.

As your life picked up faster than ever, you had totally missed that, somehow, the marriage you had dreamed of, and had protected with your life, was crumbling with every step you took in your polished Louboutins.

And then, you took a test. Six weeks after your last pregnancy.

The two lines on the stick you peed on shined bright blue back at you, and you bit your lip as tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of finally starting a family with Yoongi. Almost four years of marriage, and you’d finally decided to stop taking the pills. You knew he wanted children, he’d always stare longingly at the children in the park or linger in the children’s toys section in the department stores.

But it had finally happened.

Telling him was glorious, he’d cried and kneeled and kissed your stomach until you were giggling and telling him to stop, and he was cooing promises of a family and eternal happiness and gratitude to you.

Telling his mother...well...was pretty extraordinary. Once she knew, she gathered all family and friends, including...basically everyone at the hospital, and had announced at a brunch party that you and Yoongi were expecting.

But nonetheless, it lead to a month of a happy marriage. Yoongi began delegating, switching his surgeries off to others to make sure that he was home to have dinner, often bringing home the same bouquets of flowers that you used to receive back when the both of you were interns. He began decorating, and even though you’d laughed and told him that it was still technically risky in the first trimester, had settled for buying a white crib and completely stocking the closet with unisex products, like shower products and carseats and diapers.

The sex was better. Yoongi refused to do anything to you even a smidgen above vanilla, scared to do anything to the baby.

“Yoongi,” you moan, head thrown back as he rocks his hips into you, “Spank me.” Begging had always been a secret little kink of Yoongi’s, but this time, he was adamant about not doing anything to stimulate “even any amount of pain for my wife.”

“No,” he pants, holding his upper body above yours, careful not to drop his weight on you. “What if it hurts the baby?”

You roll your eyes, throwing your legs around his back and pulling his hips close so they roll against your clit deliciously, and you curve your spine up into him so that your chests rub together. Moaning, you shake your head. “It...it’s okay.” You pant, and Yoongi finally finally relents....into doing doggy style.

“Switchin’ it up,” he grins, sliding back into you with a moan, and you roll your eyes half from frustration and half from pleasure.

It was fun. It was four weeks of feeling glorious, four weeks of feeling like finally, you had your marriage back. Yoongi was back to his normal, chippy self, finally able to get some more sleep and not throwing himself into his work. Your own work schedule was now a bit more lenient, people understanding when you had to skip out on important meals or appointments because of morning sickness. Co-workers and other subordinates were gushing constantly with blushed cheeks at how jealous they were of your marriage, congratulating you with every chance you got. The mother-in-law had finally stopped hounding you, and instead showed her interest by constantly ordering catalogues to your home about baby products. It was still meddlesome, but it was definitely better than calling you every morning at 9 am to make sure you took your uterine enhancing vitamins.

And those four weeks, you might have completely forgotten that your marriage had gone through a rough patch. No, a gaping hole and a horrible mess that you both had somehow just glazed over with the thoughts of a baby. You should’ve known that it was too good to be true.

After a particularly hard day of meetings, you suddenly felt a sharp pain in your side, and wince as you stumble a bit. Suho is at your side, a worried look in his face. “Y/N,” he says, “are you okay?”

Cringing, you take a breath before hesitating. Normally you would have dismissed it for a momentary cramp or a twinge from hunger. But this...you felt something was wrong. Your heart begins to beat faster as your breath becomes short. “S-Sehun,” you whisper, grabbing his arm for support. “I need Sehun, now!”

You’re ushered into his office and Sehun comes to meet you halfway, a frown on his worried face. “Y/N,” he murmurs, “You don’t look well.”

You’re crying, anticipating the worst. “I...” you pant, worriedly looking up at him. “I don’t feel good, I-I felt a sharp pain in my side, like a cramp, and all of a sudden...I-I don’t know S-sehun, please just check, I’d f-feel so much better if you would just ch-check...”

“Okay, yes, of course,” he murmurs, urging you towards the table.

You settle against the cushion, the papers rustling behind your back as you lay down and you hike up your blouse near your ribcage so that Sehun can smear the gel onto your abdomen as he turns on his Ultrasound.

The next few moments seem to happen in slow motion.

“Y/N...” he trails off, turning from the screen to you. His eyes are sad, his face fallen completely as you stare at him in horror. “It...it was embedded in your fallopian tube. If it had stayed there...” he breathes out at your stricken expression, “your tube would have torn open. Its a miracle that you miscarried it naturally.”

You lay there for a moment, staring up at the blank white ceiling, the bright lights bruning into the back of your skull. And that day, you quietly cancel the rest of your schedules and trudge back home, dazedly walking into your place and seeing that Yoongi’s shoes are in the doorway.

You pad into the house, hoping that he’d be waiting there with the news, or even if he didn’t know yet out of Sehun’s politeness, just waiting for you to fall into his arms.

But when you walk into the bedroom, you see a lump of hair and a tired, limp Yoongi sleeping soundly.

And the sight breaks the dam. You crumple onto the floor, shoulders racking at the sight, and you press your fist into your mouth as you attempt to silence the shudders and cries that pass your lips. The tears dribble down endlessly as you rock yourself back and forth, holding your abdomen close as you pray silent prayers and apologize, over and over and over.

That night, you fall asleep on the bathroom floor, after hours and hours of just crying and staring at the dots of blood on your underwear.

Months later, all the sad smiles and apologies have stopped and you and Yoongi have lapsed completely back into the same routine.

Wake up, eat, work, sleep.

“So,” Wendy grins at the camera, flashing the audience a big smile, “Y/N,” she turns to you, “I think the rest of the panel and the audience have desperately wanted to know since the day you joined our show. What is your marriage like? I assume that being married to another successful surgeon isn’t easy. How do you and Dr. Min manage to make it work?”

You smile nervously, curling a hair behind your ear. “Uh,” you chuckle, “I-I don’t really have any secrets.”

Wendy laughs, just playing along to the script. “Oh, don’t tease us Y/N, we know you have a few tips! Please, c’mon, the female audience has been dying to know since your husband guested on the show with you.”

You clear your throat, plastering on a smile. “Well...it may sound generic,” you begin, “but rule number one, never go to sleep angry.”

Wrong.

“Rule number two, always make time to have personal dates, and personal time together.”

Wrong.

“And rule number three, always remember...never forget the way you fell in love.”

Wrong.

Yoongi comes home that day, dark circles down to his mouth and not even bothered to have changed out of his dirty scrubs, the door slamming and locking shut behind him. He leans heavily against the doorway, eyes shut as he groans and kicks off his shoes.

You’re in the living room, waiting for him, but he doesn’t even see and breezes past the area straight for the bedroom.

You set down your tea and pad after him, watching him slowly undress as he walks, leaving the soiled scrubs behind him as he stumbles into the bedroom. He faceplants straight into your shared bed, naked except for his boxers.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, tossing the scrubs into the laundry hamper. “We need to talk.” You grab a fresh set of boxers and a t-shirt for him to wear. Walking forward, you nudge his shoulder until he groans and sits up.

“What.” he says tiredly, cranky as you hand him the clothes.

Frowning, you cross your arms. “I know you’re tired but this is important.”

He wipes his face with his hand, lingering and pressing down a bit on his eyes and temples before tiredly frowning up at you. “Go.” He breathes out, and you fight the urge to pick at his tone.

“Today,” you whisper, taking the seat at the vanity across from the bed. “The show asked me about my marriage.”

He just watches you, elbows on his knees as he clasps his hands infront of him. “Mhm.” He mutters.

Swallowing, you cross your legs, blinking down at the grey of your sweats. “And...I lied.”

Time seems to stop. You know he knows. Yoongi graduated at the top of his class. He was a genius, and was married to you long enough to have everything about your relationship engrained in his bones. He wasn’t stupid.

“What...” he trails off, taking a moment to choose his words carefully. “What did you say?”

You notice he doesn’t repeat the word “lie” again.

“I told them we were perfect.” You whisper, eyes tearing up for the third time that day.

You had finished up schedules quite quickly and had rushed home, excited and giddy that hopefully, today would be the day that would transform everything back to its rightful place. Yoongi’s schedule was clear and that would mean only one thing.

From 6pm for an hour, you’d showered, shaving and exfoliating, and then had put on a mask while you styled your hair, and had taken utmost care to apply your makeup beautifully and choose the outfit that you’d never thought you’d be wearing again at this age. And then you’d waited.

Sitting against the couch, you had waited, and waited, and waited, calling Yoongi to no avail. At 10pm, and the fourth hour of him not picking up nor responding, you’d given up.

“Do you remember what today is?” You whisper, shoulders drooping with the effort. It was just so...hard. You couldn’t take it anymore.

He doesn’t respond, and you answer him before he does. “Our anniversary. Yoongi, its our fourth year married...did...did you forget?” You ask him, eyes brimming with tears.

His mouth falls open a little and that’s enough to answer your question that hangs in the air. “Oh Y/N,” he says lowly, eyes sadly looking up to you. “I-...I’m so sorry, there was an emergency Craniotomy and my phone was off the entire day and...” He sighs, head falling down. “I’m so sorry.”

You notice that he doesn’t make the effort to stand up and walk over to you.

And just like that, you realize that the few feet that stand between the bed and the vanity, and subsequently you and your husband, exemplifies the way you both grew apart.

All the frustrations, the resentment, the hatred, the pent-up-anger comes up all at once.

“I....I want a divorce, Yoongi.”

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