#(it was drained she got antibiotics everything is good now)

[pebbles-scatter]

update on my kitty cat: she sit on my lap

btw. in case y'all didn't know. i got a kitty cat.

her name is smokey (via the neighbors who used to take care of her before they had to move suddenly) and she's a bit of a bitch but also a sweetie

[faofinn]

8. Persistent Fever

Part 1 | Part 2

With the drain in, Finn’s obs came up to a more acceptable level, the sedation they’d given him helping to keep him settled whilst they did it. With that sorted, they’d let Fao clean and even close the cuts to his head, talking softly to his brother as he did it all. He knew they’d bent the rules for him to let him do that, but he appreciated it. It certainly helped Finn out, and the nurse commented that he’d not been that settled or content. 

They’d got him a place on ICU, and soon enough he was taken up there. Fao followed wearily, feeling exhausted and overwhelmed. Finn was still very sick, that much was obvious. He knew ICU was the best place for him, but it was still worrying. Nobody wanted their brother in intensive care. Fao was worried about his seizures, too, but they said Steve would see him whilst he was admitted to try and control them. 

His fever was the most worrying, seeming to not get any better even with all of their treatments. It would take time, but for the moment, it was less than ideal. 

Steve appeared after a while, Finn’s case perplexing him. The discussion he'd had with the ED hadn't shed any more light on it, but the scans hadn't shown anything he was too concerned with. Of course there was the matter of his infection, the antibiotics he'd already been on apparently having done nothing. The chest drain was a necessary evil, but Steve couldn't help the worry about it and his seizures. Finn wouldn't be conscious, of course, but it wouldn't be pleasant for him to pull it out. 

Fao had settled at Finn’s bedside, exhausted from a long night and not a lot of sleep. He’d ended up resting his head on the bedrails, just to close his eyes for five minutes. At least he’d still be close to Finn, able to settle him if needed, or speak to the staff if they needed anything. 

Steve sighed as he saw the brothers, reminded of their first meeting so many years ago. He cleared his throat gently. "Knock knock."

Fao lifted his head, hair falling in his eyes. “Oh, Steve. Sorry, wasn’t asleep, I swear.”

"You don't need to apologise." He said with a smile. "You deserve the rest. How are you getting on?"

“Ah, y’know. Glad he’s got a bed now.”

"Yeah, of course."

“He’s settled now, at least.”

"He's had some sedation, hasn't he?'

Fao nodded. “And he’s finally stopped fighting it.”

"Bless him. I'd got a bed organised for him for the morning, your mum had said he was starting to struggle with absences and the paracetamol wasn't helping with his fever."

“When she called me tonight I assumed it was the big seizure we’ve all seen coming, but of course he had to be different.”

"Of course, it is finn, after all."

“Never a dull moment.” Fao said drily. 

"That's very true."

“I suppose he couldn’t let me have all the fun.”

"You and Harrison caused enough stress, I don’t need him joining in, and I bet She and Fred don't either." Steve managed to joke. 

“How is Harrison?” He asked. “Haven’t spoken to him in a little while.”

Steve's smile grew forced. "He's getting there. He's struggling a little with everything, but you know what that’s like."

“All too well. I’ll text him.” Fao said. “I’m guessing you’ve come to see Finn, I’ll stop distracting you.”

"Came to see both of you." He said softly. "There's not much neuro-wise I can do at the moment."

“Both of us? I hope I don’t need a neurosurgeon.” Fao joked weakly. 

"I'm not on the market for more patients." Steve joked back. 

“Good.” He murmured. “I’m good with my head intact, thanks.”

"Though I'm sure Sheila would be surprised to find you did have a brain." He teased, moving to Finn’s side. "Finn? Just Steve, you're okay."

Finn gave a groan, taking a moment to manage to open his eyes. He finally focused on Steve, gave a grunt in acknowledgement, and then rested his head back down. 

Fao reached across to squeeze Finn’s hand. “Steve’s checking up on you, eh?”

"It's a stupid question, I know, but how are you feeling?"

Finn made a noise, his voice muffled by the mask. "Tired."

Fao huffed a laugh. “You and me both, kid.”

"I don't blame either of you."Steve said. "Aside from tired? Any pain?"

"No." Finn shook his head. "Fuzzy."

"Like before seizure fuzzy, or after fuzzy?"

That was too much effort. "Both."

Fao couldn’t help but smile. “Always helpful, Finn.”

"How many have you had now?" Steve murmured, looking through the notes. "Right, I'll ask them to keep an eye on it, I'll change the lorazepam to immediately if he does. What's the valproate doing? Hmm, I'll add that too, his other levels are good, that's fine."

Steve trailed off, making a few notes before returning his attention back to the brothers. "Right, a bit of a plan for you two. They're gonna keep the sedation going anyway, make that a bit more comfortable for you, Finn. I'll increase your normal meds, the new one we're trying, and that should help keep them away. If you do have a seizure, we've got that management plan in place and ready. I've written you up for more pain relief too, so just ask. You don't have to wait until if you have a seizure." 

It was too much for Finn to pay attention, but he nodded all the same. "'Kay."

“Thank you, Steve.” Fao said, taking it all in. 

"Is there anything else you need from me? Or want me to do?" He asked gently. 

“No, no.” Fao murmured. “Other than tell the staff I’m a doctor that works here, none of them recognise me.” He couldn’t help the little laugh. “And obviously just keep looking after Finn.”

"I saw you'd managed to sort his lacs out, you did a good job." Steve said. "I'll make sure to let them know."

“They were great in ED.”

"I'm glad." He gave him a genuine smile. "I'll pop back later, see how the two of you are getting on."

“Thanks, means a lot.”

He hesitated before he left. "Hars wouldn't mind a text, and you're always welcome at ours."

“I’ll text him. Gotta keep myself entertained whilst sleeping beauty gets his rest.”

"Of course." He laughed. "Take care."

“And you.” Fao murmured, turning his attention back to Finn. 

Finn gave a grunt in acknowledgement that Steve had left, already mainly asleep. He struggled to get comfortable, tossing his head in frustration. 

“Here, let me help.” Fao said, standing up to fuss with Finn’s pillows. 

He caught Fao's eye as he helped, frustrated and tired and feeling rubbish. Fao fixed the problem though, and that earned a sigh in content, one thing less to complain about. 

With the pillows fixed, Fao moved to stroke through Finn’s hair, leaning over the bed to press a kiss to his forehead. He was still absolutely burning up, despite everything they’d done, and his hair was damp with sweat. He wasn’t quite as aggressive and delirious as he had been, but he certainly wasn’t well, and it seemed like everything they were doing wasn’t doing enough. 

Biting his lip, he sat back down, worry churning in his stomach. He kept his hand in Finn’s once he was settled, lifting it to press a kiss to his knuckles. 

“Love you, Finn. Don’t do anything stupid, please. Let’s get rid of this fever, it’s not doing you any good at all.”

[nathank77]

9/20/24

3:10 p.m Added to

My ear has been popping like crazy and I'm worried it'll require surgical intervention... cause Flonase isn't helping. Nor is any decongestant medication.... they could actually be worsening it for all I know and it's still my right ear. Sometimes it pops 20 times before it stops.

For all I know, I never needed that antibiotic.... all I know is the popping did stop a little on it but then started again while I was on it. I also still feel the burning down below but it isn't constant. I don't think I should be on antibiotics for a while. And my ear has had slight pain and felt full I guess. Pressure for sure.

I really have to get a mri and see whats happening bc it's not always an infection but I'm worried about the procedures to clear the eustachian tube if it is infact that....

I'm also worried the burning won't stop entirely and it start up again constantly. It comes and goes. I'll have to go on antibiotics if it doesn't stop eventually....

My sleep has been good but I dont expect it to last. I'll just appreciate 4 days of falling asleep easily.

Everything I wrote below still applies. Life is a dread. I met with the new therapist, I do like her tbh. But you know let's see how quickly she leaves me..... I'm in a practice so I mean Maybe they'll fit me with someone else but I was in other practices.. where they didn't do that... I do like her a lot actually.... but I mean I can't trust her.

I'm back on the original 6 horse pills for white mulberries as of the last hour, lets see if I can get any silence. I want to take 10 pills and see what 5000mg feels like compared to the other ones that are 500mg per serving equivalent to 5000mg....but then it get costly and if it doesn't create silence then what's the point?

I don't really want to be here, everyday is the same. Boring, lonely, miserable and hallucination filled.

I keep thinking about my mom and dad getting older and how I'm not spending time with them... especially my dad and it's like if only my brain damaged neurons would act normal so I could do more stuff... if only my body would stop having other issues requiring a million different Dr's and appts.

If the burning doesn't stop in 5 days I got no choice but to go to the er or my Dr and get more fucking antibiotics.

I don't even want to think about the surgeries for eustachian tube dysfunction... I mean it's been 3 weeks now. I wake up and it starts popping. Sometimes I'm just chilling and it starts popping. I mean eventually if it doesn't drain itself, you have to have surgery. I may have to have tubes put in my fucking ears. That's fucking scary and my eardrums may not heal. It's fucking terrifying.

I'd love to spend more time with my dad and step mom and the kids but I have money issues between all these supplements I got to buy to maintain some form of mental health and then gas is expensive. Food is expensive. My bank account looks bad to have 11 more days left of the month.

I can't cope with the anxiety of all of it bc sure seeing them more would help but then I'd spend more on gas and have more nights of anxiety insomnia before going. My mother is always so hard to tolerate....

And I mean I want a gf. When I used to live out of the house seeing my mother was great. Now it's like I live with a drunk.

I'm just exhausted and constantly worried.. and I don't think I'll ever find someone.

I really think I should commit suicide. I don't want to keep trying.

I'm surviving, not living... and there is a big difference, and that's all I've done my whole life and idk if I'll ever get to live but I'm sick of constantly fighting.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Time for Ed's first three weeks of recovery! So many juicy opportunities for angst, fluff, and domestic hurt/comfort here to add spice, life, and flavor to your art!

The first three or four days will probably be the hardest part for Ed. He's going to feel happy, and looking down at his chest will make him smile even under all the dressings, but he's going to be sore and tired and it'll be a struggle to do much more than sit around and sleep. Every day he'll wake up sore and exhausted and be like "ohhhh fuck is this my life now?" It's frustrating but he'll feel a bit better every day!

He will not be able to shower until the drains come out. He'll feel gross and uncomfortable and will be Big Upset about it. Sponge baths and having Stede help him wash his hair in the sink will help.

Ed can expect minimal to moderate pain levels. I usually sat around a 3 out of 10 during that first week. If you want more angst, trying to push himself to do things before he's ready will make him feel way worse. To describe his pain: my chest itself felt like a very deep heavy sunburn, and the pain in the incisions was deep, tight, and burning. The drain sites (which will be two small incisions under the main incisions below his armpits) will probably be very tender.

Ed's daily routine should include a lot of rest. He won't be super hungry during the first few days, and he might have an upset stomach. He'll be cold and might have trouble getting warmed up. He should have painkillers (I only needed the heavy stuff on the first day and have just used Tylenol since then), and his surgeon might send him home with antibiotics too. A few times a day, depending on his surgeon's instructions, Stede will need to help him empty his drains and record their output. It doesn't hurt but it's gross - Ed will Not Like This.

As long as everything's looking good, Ed will be able to get his drains removed after about 4 days to a week, though if the fluid output is still high he might need to keep them in longer. Getting the drains removed varies for each person, but for me, the nurse clipped the stitches holding them in, told me to take a deep breath, and pulled them out as I exhaled slowly. It was uncomfortable and a weird feeling (the drains are WAY bigger than you'd expect - there's this big thick part that goes basically the entire length of the incision), but not necessarily painful. One of my drains had some fluid collecting near my body, so the nurse had to manually strip the tube first, and she warned me that the difference in pressure this caused would cause its removal to sting a bit more. I wouldn't describe it as painful, but some people are more sensitive to the feeling than others!

The first time Ed gets to see his chest will be at this appointment, and it's awesome! He'll be bruised and swollen, but it'll be awesome to look down and just see him.

Ed's incisions will not need dressings at this point, but he'll need to keep compressing his chest to lower the risk of developing a fluid or blood buildup under his skin. He'll be 100% more comfortable when the drains come out and he's not got a bunch of plastic hanging out of his body all the time.

The bolsters over Ed's nipple grafts will be able to come off after about a week. It's easy, they just cut the stitches holding them down, and Ed won't feel a thing. At this point, his surgeon will be able to tell him if his grafts have survived or not. If everything's going well, they'll actaully look a bit gross, especially since Ed's a brown guy and most of the reference pictures he'll have seen will be on white guys. Scabbing, discoloration, loss of pigmentation, and general grossness are all 100% normal, and skin grafts look worse before they look better.

It is beyond normal for Ed to be a bit wigged out by his nipple grafts. Skin grafts look scary as hell and it's a freaky thing to see on your body. He may need Stede to help him care for them, and he may worry about the daily changes he sees.

Daily care for his nipple grafts will need to be added to Ed's routine for a while. He'll need to apply a thin layer of Aquaphor ointment and a small pad of an oil emulsion dressing over each graft to keep them moist and help them heal, and cover everything with a bandage. How long he needs to do this will vary depending on his surgeon's instructions, but probably a few weeks. The most important thing with his nipple grafts will be to leave them alone other than dressing changes and let them do their thing, but after the three-week mark, issues with nipple grafts are very rare.

Ed can shower again! This is a game-changer. He'll need to be gentle and stand with his back facing the water so he doesn't soak the grafts. He might still need help with washing his hair because raising his arms is still difficult.

At this point, Ed's job is to rest, relax, and get gentle activity! He still needs to take it very easy. Around the three-week mark, his pain levels will probably be low, but he'll still be sore when he wakes up and if he pushes himself too far, it'll still really hurt. But he can now do many things (cooking, light cleaning, etc.) with minimal discomfort.

Likely discomforts for Ed at this point: finding comfortable sleeping positions is still super hard. His incisions will still be very tender to the touch. He might have to add an anti-allergy medication to his routine thanks to the constant irritation of having adhesives on his chest to cover the grafts (I found out I have a mild adhesive allergy!). If he pushes himself too far too fast, he might get lucky like me and develop pneumonia or another lung problem from pain making it too hard to take deep breaths. There are many opportunites for drama here as Ed gets frustrated with himself for not being able to go right back to normal.

Ed will need to keep compressing his chest for about 6 weeks, depending on his surgeon's advice. Different surgeons have different recommendations for what to use, but in general he'll have his choice of things like compression vests, Ace wraps, surgical binders, or even his old binder or sports compression shirts. If Ed has any kind of painful history relating to specific binding methods, that can inform his decision.

As he enters his third week of recovery, Ed is doing great! He's feeling better every day, and at this point, he's able to enjoy many of the daily activities he loved before surgery as long as he's being gentle with himself. The next update will be for the 3rd-6th weeks of recovery!

A Guide for Writing Ed's Top Surgery!

I'm getting my top surgery on July 3 (whoo!!!) and I'm using this as an opportunity to gather info for fic purposes. I love writing Ed as a trans man, and I love everyone else who writes and draws him as trans, so I wanted to share the notes I'm taking to help others who want to draw or write Ed's top surgery experiences! I'll update this as we go in sections (pre-op, the surgery itself, and initial recovery).

This is all just my experience with getting a double-incision with free nipple grafts surgery, and it's from a US perspective. Your mileage may vary and this definitely isn't meant as a medical guide. If you're having your own top surgery listen to your surgeon, not me.

Pre-op guide below the cut!

In the months before his surgery:

Getting insurance approval for top surgery in the US, depending on where you live, can be incredibly frustrating, dehumanizing, and painful. Ed will need at least one letter from a therapist or other mental health provider, and he'll probably feel very frustrated about being treated like a child who is unable to make his own medical decisions. I had several insurance denials, needed to switch insurance companies (currently having to settle for one that's more expensive in every other way but will at least approve this surgery), and needed three (fucking 3!!) letters from mental health professionals to get my approval. Hard to overstate how much it sucked and how much it makes you feel like the people writing state and insurance laws see you as a stupid child. Ed will very likely have Lingering Issues about this experience.

Ed will need an initial consultation to confirm he's a good candidate for surgery. Mine was quick and easy!

Once he gets his approval, or once he decides to pay out-of-pocket, he'll get his surgery date! Depending on his clinic, this could be years away or it could be as soon as a couple months out, so anything is realistic for your story. You could lean into the joy of a date that's sooner than he'd expected or he could be frustrated by the whole process grinding to a halt.

His pre-op appointment:

The pre-op appointment is when Ed will meet his surgeon and get the details for his surgery date. Mine was almost two weeks before my surgery. He'll also receive packets of information and his post-op check-up dates. If he smokes, he should be tobacco-free by this date.

This is when Ed and Stede will be able to ask any last-minute questions. Ed can ask here if the surgeon will be willing to give him heart-shaped nipples, but they'll probably say no

This appointment is also when Ed will be struck by the reality of having post-operative drains and not being able to shower for a week. This will be deeply upsetting for him

Ed will probably be very nervous for this appointment (what if something goes wrong and he can't get his surgery?) but he'll be relieved and comforted by the whole experience. The mood in the whole plastic surgery center, for me, was downright fucking jubilant, all the nurses who saw my name on the chart were congratulating me and telling me how happy they were for me! This WILL make Ed cry

The week before his surgery:

It begins to sink in that Ed is about to have major surgery. He's excited, of course, but he'll be a little nervous too! Stede will need to give him lots of cuddles and promise to take good care of him

They'll need to make lots of Ed's favorite comfort foods to freeze so he has something to eat when he can't raise his arms well enough to cook

Ed should practice doing things without lifting his arms above his shoulders. He'll have a great time stomping around and pretending to be a dinosaur

He'll want to prepare a selection of comfy clothes he can wear without raising his arms. Stede's robes will be perfect

The biggest struggle for Ed during his recovery will be the boredom. Stede should help him build up a stock of video games, books, Lego sets, sketchbooks, and model building kits to keep his hands and brain busy!

They should prepare Ed's sickbed. He might be more comfortable sleeping upright on the couch or in an armchair propped up by pillows. He'll have to see how he feels after surgery and what positions are most comfortable, so getting both the couch and their bed ready is a good idea!

At some hospitals, including mine, you won't know what time to arrive at the hospital for your surgery until the day before, when they'll call you to let you know (they do this based on surgery room flow to ensure you arrive at the right time). Ed will find this stressful; Stede will HATE it.

Ed may need to shower with a special antiseptic skin wash the night before and the morning of his surgery. He will not enjoy having to get up at the asscrack of dawn to shower

The night before Ed's surgery, he and Stede should pack bags, just in case. Top surgery is an outpatient procedure, but just in case anything goes wrong and Ed has to stay overnight, it's good to be prepared. A change of comfy clothes, a book, and Ed's Nintendo Switch are good things to pack. Ed will also love taking a stuffed animal to keep him company after Stede can't go any further with him (and he can use the plushie to cushion the seatbelt on the car ride home).

Ed's super excited and everything's set for him! Good luck, Ed! 🥳

[hotshotsxyz]

4x13 Coda

(read it on AO3)

Buck hears the shot in a distant sort of way. It doesn't register until Eddie jerks forward from the impact, his blood spraying. And even when it does, Buck's frozen. He's helpless to do anything but watch the confusion in Eddie's eyes shift slowly to horror. Their gazes meet and Buck is breathless. A moment later Eddie crumples to the ground and Buck wants to scream but he can't. He can't move, can't think, can't anything. And then he's being thrown to the ground, too.

He finds Eddie's eyes again and can't look away. Eddie reaches for him and his heart shatters. There's a weight on Buck's back, but it's shock that's pinning him down. He's screaming at himself to do something! But it's like he's encased in amber, stuck in the moment that he realized what had happened. Eddie's eyes slip closed and the moment shatters.

"Eddie! Eddie!" Buck screams.

He tears himself away from Captain Mehta's hold and crawls beneath the firetruck towards him. He aches to run straight to Eddie's side, but the gunshots are still coming and he'll be no good to Eddie dead. He waits until he hears another shot ping off the truck, then dashes out and pulls Eddie back as fast as he can. Another bullet tears into the pavement beside them, but miraculously they both make it under the truck without additional injury.

Eddie's breathing, but his pulse is fluttery and weak. Buck wastes no time tearing his shirt open so he can get to the wound.

"You're gonna be okay, Eddie, I promise," Buck mutters. "You've just got to stay with me, okay?"

There's so much blood. It coats his hands and Eddie's chest. Buck worries it's more than Eddie can afford to lose. He puts pressure on the entry and exit wounds, but there's not much else he can do without any equipment.

Eddie's eyes flutter open.

"Hey, hey, there you are," Buck says franticly. "Stay with me, Eds."

"-uck?" Eddie slurs.

"I'm here, Eddie, I'm here, I've got you. I just need you to stay awake for me, okay?"

"Hurts."

"I know, I'm sorry," Buck says. "But you have to stay awake, do you understand?"

"'M trying," Eddie says, but Buck can already tell it's a losing battle.

"Can someone get me a med kit?" he yells.

"We're pinned down!" someone shouts back. "PD is two minutes out!"

"That's not good enough!" Buck roars.

"Buck," Eddie says, eyes suddenly clearer.

"Eddie, you're gonna be okay," Buck repeats.

"Tell… Chris – "

"Tell him yourself!" Buck says. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

"I love him," Eddie forces out.

"He knows," Buck says softly. "But you're going to tell him again, anyway."

"You… you'll take care of him?" Eddie asks.

The blood is flowing, too much for his stained hands to stop. Too much, too fast. "Until you get better, Eds, yeah, I will." Tears are streaming down Buck's face now, but he doesn't care.

"Good," Eddie says breathlessly. "That's…" his eyes slip shut again.

"No! Eddie, no! Come on, stay awake, stay with me. I can't, I – " Buck stares at his hands. It isn't enough. He isn't enough. Eddie's going to die here, and it'll be his fault. He drops his face against Eddie's blood slick chest and lets out a sob.

Suddenly there are hands on both of them, pulling them from beneath the truck. Two paramedics that Buck doesn't recognize are rolling Eddie onto a backboard, and Buck finds himself frozen again.

"If you're coming with us, hurry up!" One of the paramedics yells. He runs after her, catching Eddie's hand as he falls in step with the gurney.

They pile into the ambulance and it takes off at a breakneck pace. One of the paramedics wipes the blood from Eddie's chest to attach electrodes while the other packs the wounds with gauze and prepares to run a line. Buck's helpless to do anything but watch. It feels like the first moments after the bullet tore through Eddie's shoulder all over again.

Buck's sense of time must warp, because they're at the hospital in what feels like seconds instead of minutes. There's a flurry of activity, then Eddie's gone.

Covered in Eddie's blood and slumped in a waiting room chair is how Bobby finds him. Buck's not sure how much time has passed, but the blood on his hands is drying even as his eyes don't.

"Bobby," Buck whispers. He's sure his expression is stricken.

Bobby pulls him to his chest, mindless of the blood. "Captain Mehta called me," he says. "He told me what happened.

"Eddie," Buck says, thankful for the excuse not to look Bobby in the eye. "He- he-" Buck can't get the words out.

"It's okay, Buck, I know," Bobby says.

"It's not okay! Bobby, there was so much blood. T-too much." The tears are falling in earnest now and there's nothing Buck can use to wipe them away because his hands are covered in Eddie's blood and so is his shirt. "I couldn't stop it, Bobby," he whispers brokenly.

"You did everything you could," Bobby says. "Everything. When Eddie pulls through, it'll be because of you."

"If," Buck says dully.

"You can't think like that."

"I can't lose him, Bobby," the desperate words are torn from his chest.

"I know," Bobby says, and Buck thinks that maybe he really does.

Bobby holds him silently for another few minutes as he cries before finally pulling back a little. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay? I brought a spare shirt from the station."

Buck follows him wordlessly to the bathroom. He looks in the mirror and blanches. He's covered in Eddie's blood, even more than he'd thought. It's sprayed across his face, and there's even more caking his forehead. His shirt is soaked too, and not an inch of the skin on his hands is visible. He feels like he's going to be sick.

Scratch that, he is going to be sick. Buck darts to one of the toilets and empties the contents of his stomach into the bowl. He dry heaves twice more before his body seems willing to let him stand. He returns to the sink and carefully avoids meeting his own gaze in the mirror.

The water runs red.

"Christopher," Buck says suddenly, once he and Bobby have returned to the waiting room. There's still blood under his nails and spatters of it on his pants, but the worst of it was washed down the drain. "I have to call Carla."

"Do you want me to?" Bobby asks.

Buck shakes his head. "It has to be me," he says. He pulls out his phone and shakily dials the familiar number to Eddie's house.

"Carla," he says as soon as the ringing stops, not waiting for her to say anything.

"Buck, what's wrong?"

He scrubs a hand across his face. "It's bad, Carla," he says shakily. "Don't turn on the news, okay? Chris doesn't need to see this. He – I have to be the one to tell him, okay?"

"Buck, what happened?" Carla asks, more insistent this time.

"It's… Eddie was shot," he says finally.

"Oh, god, is he…" Carla trails off. Yeah, Buck wouldn't want to say it out loud either.

"We're at the hospital," he says. "Eddie's in surgery. I don’t… it'll probably be awhile before we get an update."

"Oh, Buck," she says softly.

"Just don't tell him yet, okay? Let me do it."

"Okay sweetie," she says. "Do you have someone with you?"

"Bobby's here."

"Good," Carla says. She pauses for a moment, as if deciding whether or not she wants to say something else. "Are you okay?" she asks finally.

Buck chuckles humorlessly. "I'll text you if there's an update," he says, then hangs up the phone. He's probably going to regret that later, but he can't think about himself right now or he'll fall to pieces, and he can't afford that.

The rest of the team joins them in the lobby. Hen wordlessly presses a coffee into Buck's hands and Chim claps him on the shoulder. He's numb to it all but he nods his thanks anyway.

The minutes drag, but the hours go by far too quickly with no word about Eddie's condition. It had been morning when… ithappened, but it's quickly approaching late afternoon. Buck promised Eddie he'd take care of Chris, and that's exactly what he's going to do, but it will kill him if he has to leave this waiting room without knowing Eddie's fate.

Finally, though, a doctor steps through the waiting room door and calls, "family of Edmundo Diaz?"

Buck's out of his chair like lightning. "I'm his proxy," he says breathlessly. He sees Hen and Chim exchange surprised looks out of the corner of his eye but pays them no mind. "Evan Buckley?" His own name comes out like a question.

"Right, Mr. Buckley," the doctor says. "Mr. Diaz lost a great deal of blood. The bullet broke a fragment off his scapula which nicked his axillary artery. The surgery was touch and go, but ultimately a success. With significant rest, fluids, and a round of antibiotics, and barring any complications, we expect Mr. Diaz to make a full recovery."

Buck sags in relief, feeling like his strings have been cut. "Thank you," he says, infusing the words with as much gratitude as he possibly can.

"You're welcome, Mr. Buckley. We'll be transferring him to a recovery room within the hour, and you can see him then, although it will probably be at least a few hours before he wakes up. A nurse will come and get you."

Buck wants to say something else, thank the doctor again, maybe, but all he can do is nod. The doctor claps him on the shoulder, then leaves. Buck returns to his team, all of whom have stood in anticipation.

"He's going to be okay," Buck says. His eyes begin to water all over again, but it doesn't matter as his family wraps him in their arms. "He's okay," he whispers again, this time just to himself.

Buck texts Carla the news, then calls Pepa and Abuela to tell them. He feels a little guilty for not having called them earlier, but at least now they won't have to worry unnecessarily. They both promise to get there as soon as possible, despite Buck's protestations about the dangers of the hospital.

Pepa arrives just as the nurse tells Buck he can see Eddie. He looks between the two of them, torn.

"Go," Pepa says, making the decision for him. "He needs you. I'll have your friends update me."

Buck darts in for a quick hug. "Thank you," he says.

Seeing Eddie unconscious in a hospital bed feels so wrong, but it's so much better than it could have been. Buck let's out a sob of relief and collapses into the chair next to the bed. With little hesitation, he clasps Eddie's hand in his own.

"I can't even get mad at you for this one," Buck says, letting out a watery chuckle. "You always manage to end up in the hospital going the extra mile for a kid, though, don't you? Too damn heroic for your own good."

Buck brings Eddie's hand to his forehead and closes his eyes.

"Thank you," he says softly. "I know you fought to stay with me. Us."

He doesn't say much after that, just holds Eddie's hand until the sun begins to sink in the sky outside the window. Finally, he stands. Buck loathes to release Eddie's hand, but he made a promise.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he says, another promise he plans on making good on.

When he gets to Eddie's house, Carla immediately wraps him in a hug. Buck wants to collapse in it, to fall to pieces, but he can't. Instead, he whispers a soft assurance to her, then goes to find Christopher.

"Buck!" Christopher exclaims brightly, and Buck's heart breaks all over again.

"Hey, Superman," he says roughly, kneeling to give him a hug.

"What are you doing here?" he asks. "Are we having a movie night?"

"We can watch a movie if you want. But first I've got to tell you something."

Christopher must hear something in his voice, because he frowns and asks, "What's wrong?"

"Your dad…" Buck wants to throw up again. "… is not coming home tonight."

"What happened?"

Buck can't lie to him, but he can't tell him the whole truth either. "Your dad got hurt on a call. It was pretty bad, but the doctors at the hospital fixed it. He's going to be alright, but I'm going to take care of you until he feels better, okay?"

Christopher sniffs. "When Mommy went to the hospital…" he says quietly.

Buck pulls him in for another hug, running his hand through Christopher's hair. "It's not going to be like that, buddy, I promise. Your dad's going to come home."

Carla stays long enough to make sure Buck eats something and takes a shower, then leaves with a promise to come back in the morning so that Buck can return to the hospital. He wishes he could bring Christopher with him, but it's just not safe.

Putting Christopher to bed is a familiar routine, but doing it with the knowledge that Eddie's not in the next room over or on his way home from a date feels wrong. Chris is subdued, and Buck knows he is too. Still, though, he reads him a story and makes sure he has his favorite stuffed animal before tucking him in and kissing his forehead.

"I love you, Buck," Christopher says.

"I love you, too, kid."

He turns off the light but leaves the door cracked so the hall light can spill in. He knows he should sleep on the couch, but hell, he's already stolen a pair of Eddie's sweats and an old army t-shirt to sleep in. What's a bed in comparison?

Buck slides beneath the covers and top sheet and buries his head in Eddie's pillow, breathing in deeply. The smell is familiar and comforting and altogether not enough, and for the first time since this morning, Buck allows himself to break. He sobs into the pillow until finally, sleep claims him.

Buck wakes to a knock at the door. He assumes it's Carla, so he slides out of bed and goes to answer it, making a quick pit stop to check on a still sleeping Christopher first. He opens the door and –

It's not Carla.

The woman at the door is beautiful and carrying what looks to be a bag of pastries and two coffees. Her face, currently wearing a surprised expression, is vaguely familiar, but it takes Buck a minute to place.

"Shit," he says, eyes widening when he finally figures out who she is. "You're Ana."

"I am," she says. "And you are?"

"God, I'm sorry, come in," he steps back to allow her through the door. "I'm Buck."

At that, she smiles. "I've heard so much about you!" she says.

"Ana, I'm sorry, I should have made sure someone called you. I didn't think."

She reads him as easily as everyone else seems to. "What's happened? Where's Eddie?" she asks.

Buck tells her. She's the picture of a perfectly worried girlfriend, collected but concerned, fingers resting across her lips.

"Do you want me to stay with Christopher?" she asks when he's done.

Buck shakes his head. "I promised I'd be here. Go see him," he says. "I'm sure he'll want you there."

She nods, then hands him one of the coffees along with the pastry bag. "Take these then," she says. "I'm sure you could use them more than me."

Buck thanks her, and then she's gone. He sags against the wall.

A few hours later, after Christopher's up and has eaten breakfast and Carla's arrived, Buck heads back to the hospital. He was torn between staying and going, but then he'd gotten a text from Bobby telling him Eddie was awake and Carla and Chris insisted he go.

His palms are sweaty when he arrives, and he wipes them on his borrowed jeans, stolen from Eddie's closet. He's nervous, although he doesn't know why. He finds Bobby and Abuela in the waiting room.

"How is he?" Buck asks immediately.

"Okay, thanks to you I hear," Abuela replies.

"I didn't do anything," Buck says looking at the ground.

"Don't go saying that to him," Abuela says. "He'll pull his stitches trying to smack some sense into you."

Bobby places a hand on his shoulder. "You saved him, Buck."

Buck aims a watery smile at them both. "Is Ana with him?" he asks.

"She left a few minutes ago," Bobby answers. "Go see him."

"Don't one of you want – "

Abuela pats him on the arm. "Go, nieto, he needs you."

"Thank you," Buck says earnestly.

Eddie seems to be sleeping when Buck gets to his room, so he knocks gently on the door frame. His eyes flutter open and Buck has to stop himself from audibly gasping. It's the first time he's seen them since they were under that firetruck.

"Eddie," he whispers.

"You just gonna stand in the doorway?" Eddie teases gently.

Buck could cry. He takes three large strides across the room, then wraps Eddie in the gentlest hug he can manage. Eddie stiffens for a moment then relaxes, carding his free hand through Buck's hair. "I'm okay," he promises.

"I know," Buck says, speaking past the lump in his throat. "I just had to see for myself." He releases Eddie and sinks into the same chair from before. Immediately, he feels cold.

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds, brow furrowed. "Is that my shirt?" he asks finally.

Buck snorts. "Well, mine didn't quite make it through yesterday, and I spent the night at your place, so yeah, I helped myself."

"Looks good on you," Eddie says. Buck raises an eyebrow. He must still be on the good drugs.

"How are you feeling?" Buck asks.

"A little surprised, to be honest," Eddie says. "Probably still in shock, too. How's Christopher doing?"

"He's okay," Buck replies. "He wanted to come to the hospital, but I convinced him to stay with Carla instead. We owe him a phone call, though."

"Thank you for taking care of him," Eddie says.

"You know I'd do anything for that kid."

"I do." There's a strange look in his eyes, one that Buck can't quite place. "I broke up with Ana," he says after a few beats of silence.

"What? Why?" Buck asks.

"Something Carla said a few days ago. It kind of clicked when I was bleeding out on the pavement."

Buck sucks in a sharp breath. "Eddie – "

"Sorry, sorry, I know I shouldn't joke. I don't really remember most of it. Just hitting the ground and seeing you." He gets a far away look on his face and Buck takes his hand to ground him.

"It's okay, Eds, you don't have to talk about it."

"I do have to thank you, though."

"You really don't," Buck says.

"You saved me."

"I nearly lost you."

Eddie squeezes his hand. "I kinda feel like we've had this conversation before."

Buck chuckles wetly. "I guess we kinda have."

"Then you know how it ends." Eddie fixes him with a meaningful look, pinning him with his gaze. Buck couldn't look away if he wanted to.

"Yeah, I do," Buck whispers.

"Good," Eddie says.

This isn't over, Buck knows. There will be doctors appointments and physical therapy and probably a whole mess of PTSD to deal with, not to mention a shooter who's still at large. But sitting here, holding Eddie's hand, the unspoken promise of a future hanging heavy between them, Buck thinks that for once, everything might just turn out okay.

[transsergio]

Emily's Top Surgery (Read on AO3)

Penemily / Gen / 4038 words

Emily has top surgery and their loving, perfect, beautiful girlfriend Penelope is their caretaker.

Notes: I refer to Emily as Penelope's girlfriend intentionally; Emily is a non-binary lesbian and in this particular story, is comfortable with the gendered term "girlfriend". However, if you see Emily referred to as she/her at any point, that's an editing mistake on my part and I mixed up their pronouns with Penelope's. I went through this a couple times to make sure I gendered them correctly, but one might have slipped through the cracks!

Also feels important to say that Dr. Dolan is a totally fictional doctor and not a reference to any real life surgeon

-

Surgery Day

Penelope has seen her team through too much already. Kidnappings, stab wounds, bullets – their jobs aren’t exactly arts and crafts. Yet, she thinks this might be the most nervous she has ever been. She’s been rapid-fire tapping her heel for the last hour and forty-five minutes, and trying to distract herself with her cell phone. Morgan texted a couple times to check in (once on behalf of Reid), but otherwise, radio silence. The few messages mean more than she can say; she is intimately familiar with how busy they are on a case. But she really wishes any of them were there to squeeze her hand right about now. She’d even take Strauss.

In the middle of Penelope’s billionth Candy Crush level, a doctor materializes in front of her. She startles and fumbles her phone trying to click it off. “Is it over? Can I see them now? How’d it go?”

As the doctor peels his surgical mask off, she sees he’s laughing at her. That’s good, right?

He says, “Everything went just fine, Ms. Garcia. Emily’s in the recovery room now, and we’ll let you back there about twenty minutes after they wake up. They’re going to be a little groggy and maybe nauseous. It all depends on how their body reacts to the anesthesia. They’ll most likely sleep for the rest of the day, but make sure to keep up with their medications, alright?”

Penelope nods fervently. “Absolutely, Dr. Dolan. Can do. Will do! And I’m sorry to ask this again but I really have to make sure, the whole operation was totally fine? Nothing went wrong? Everything…chopped off okay?”

The doctor stifles a chuckle. “Yes, Ms. Garcia. Everything went exactly as planned, no complications as of yet. We’ll see you tomorrow for Emily’s one day post-op appointment to check the surgery site and switch out the bandages for a binder, and then for their first week post-op. Okay?”

Penelope smiles back, still nodding along like Emily’s health depends on it.

The doctor shakes her hand and ducks back into the surgical ward, leaving Penelope to update the group chat.

“Emily’s out!!!!!! Doc says all good!!!!!! Will be with them soon 😍💖🥳”

She types almost as quickly as her heart is beating.

Penelope makes it through another few rounds of mobile games and desperately refreshing her Twitter feed before she risks checking the clock. It’s been half an hour. Shouldn’t Emily be awake by now? What if they never wake up? Could someone be permanently anesthetized? Reid would know. Maybe Penelope should call Reid. No, she can’t do that. They’re all off in Texas trying to catch a serial killer and she doesn’t need to distract them, not when they’re already down two team members. Kevin Lynch is pretty good, she hopes. She’s seen his work and it’s adequate. Nothing like the multi-tasking Penelope pulls off, but in the same ballpark. His boyfriend, Grant Anderson, vouched for him. It was unnecessary, and maybe Kevin shouldn’t have sent the person who got Elle shot to sing his praises, but at least they knew Grant. Kevin was a stranger from another department. A back-up.

“Penelope Garcia?” A nurse calls as she emerges from swinging double doors.

“Yes, right here!” Penelope chirps. She leaps to her feet and scurries over as quickly as her heels will allow.

The nurse walks her through the recovery ward and the steps to Emily’s post-op instructions. Emily has four different prescriptions already filled and two cannot be taken at the exact same time while one is an antibiotic and the other is just for nausea which they might not need and –

“This is all written down, right? Sorry, my head’s just like, woo, swimming right now,” Penelope says. Her eyes are wide and darting frantically between the curtained beds. She hates the fluorescent lights. Her skin is buzzing with all the sour electricity. The nurse assures her they’ll send them home with physical copies along with phone numbers in case of emergency.

They round the nurse’s station and finally, come to Emily. They’re shifting slightly in their bed, leaning forward and sipping at a dixie cup of water. They're groggy and slow, with the IV still in their arm. Penelope’s glad they don’t have a mirror – their bangs are scattered over their forehead in three wispy chunks, a way Penelope knows Emily hates.

“Hey sweetheart,” Penelope coos. She leans over the bed's plastic siding to kiss the top of Emily’s head, and run her fingers through their dark hair. Emily leans into the touch.

They croak, “Hey,” and cough to clear their throat, wincing all the while.

“That’d be because you were intubated,” the nurse says. “Take plenty of cough drops and you should feel much better.”

Penelope assures the nurse they will while Emily drifts in and out of focus.

“Did it work?” they ask.

“Did what, Em?”

“M’surgery.”

“Oh! Yeah, totally. You’ll see in a little bit. You’re just sleepy.”

“M’kay,” Emily says. Their head lolls back into their pillows as the muscles in their face tighten.

“Emily, what would you rate your pain out of ten?” the nurse asks, coming closer with her clipboard at the ready.

“Uh, five? Maybe six.”

Penelope looks to the nurse. “Is that bad? That sounds bad. I thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt right now.”

The nurse jots down a few notes before she answers. “It’s not unusual. We’ll up their pain killers before we remove the IV.”

Penelope plants herself firmly at Emily’s side in the meantime. They’ve redressed Emily in their own clothes, an oversized button-down and sweats. Well, Penelope assumes they put Emily’s bottoms back on. The blanket is still tucked tightly around their body like they’re some kind of soft, hot mummy. They stay like that for another fifteen minutes, Penelope working her nails through Emily’s scalp as they try to relax.

When Emily rates their pain at a four, then a three, Penelope helps the nurse settle them in a wheelchair. They roll a few feet into the hall before Emily claws for Penelope’s arm.

“Where’s the barf bag?” Penelope asks. She has her hand out and ready for the nurse to pass it over, and swings it into Emily’s face.

Emily, thankfully, does not puke. Their slow, steady breath crinkles the blue plastic bag, but all they fill it with is air. They keep a tight grip on the thing for safekeeping, even as they’re helped into the passenger’s seat of Penelope’s car.

“You ready to go home, lovebug?” Penelope keeps her voice low and sweet, like dark honey. Emily nods and Penelope grants her wish, starting the engine and turning out of the parking lot.

-❤-

One Day Post-Op

Penelope holds her breath as the nurse unwraps the medical bandages. She wonders if Em is doing the same. While she’s watching them, Emily’s eyes flit between her and the floor-length mirror fastened to the exam room wall.

The nurse is talking, and they’re both supposed to be listening, but who could expect them to? Emily has spent a couple grand (after insurance) and something like four years waiting for these next seconds. Penelope is just as invested, if not more, in Emily’s happiness. She’s not going to get the camera out, but wonders if she should just in case Emily cries.

Their eyes follow the final bandage as it unravels from Emily’s form.

And Emily’s mind goes quiet. They have two, deep red swoops where their chest used to bulge. Above and below, their body is nothing but smooth skin. They thought this would feel like shock. Like disbelief that they were finally here. Instead, it just feels right, as if this is the way it’s always been and some crappy daydream is over at last. They giggle, and Penelope glows like the sun has risen.

“Wow,” Penelope says, soft. She’s wrenched with admiration.

The nurse is smiling in the corner. She takes out a roll of Steri-Strips and measures them against Emily’s new scars. Scars! Emily finally has scars!

“Now the bruising should lessen in the next three to four weeks,” the nurse says. Oh, bruising. Emily almost hadn’t noticed. Their body is splotched with patches of yellow, green, and purple as if it’s trying to camouflage itself, but Emily’s not hiding from anything anymore.

They’re given more practical information, like how often Emily should be walking to avoid blood clots, how high they should lift their arms, how much they should be carrying – most of which tells them to stay reclined, arms down, to sleep as much as possible, but get in ten minutes of walking every few hours. Penelope hears more of this than Emily does, and again, they’re given written instructions just in case.

Emily takes one last look before the compression vest goes on. This will be the most uncomfortable part of the process, thank god. Emily chose a surgeon who used a tighter suture method rather than the typical drains intentionally. Still, the fit of the binder is exciting. Emily’s never had something lie flat on them before. Their body now falls in one fluid line without anything, even nipples, to interrupt.

“Em?”

Emily snaps to Penelope, who is standing and holding the door for them.

“Oh, right,” Emily says with half a laugh and a daze in their eyes. They thank the nurse, and the receptionist, and a passing surgeon that isn’t even Emily’s on the way out. This is the most gratitude Emily’s ever contained in their life, and they need to flush it through their system.

“And especially you,” Emily gushes as Penelope helps buckle their seatbelt. “You’re amazing. I can’t believe you’re taking time off for me, or that you’re not stir crazy already. Thank you.”

Penelope grins like she might burst, and can’t answer just yet. She gets them safely onto the highway for home first. “Of course I’m here for you, dumb-dumb! Not only because you literally can’t do anything for yourself right now, or because the hospital said you couldn’t have the surgery without having a caretaker, but, well – okay, maybe half for those reasons too. But because I love you. I’m so happy for you, and how happy you’re going to be, and that this is so good for you. I love you so much.” Penelope sniffles.

“Maybe you should have said all that before we left?” Emily asks. “You’re gonna cry the whole drive back, babe.”

Penelope swats at them. “I know, I know! But you’re on a strict schedule, my lovely angel, and you need your meds in like, thirty minutes.”

Emily laughs and catches Penelope’s hand in their own. They squeeze it tightly and press their lips to Penelope’s fingers. Emily only releases when Penelope tugs their grip toward the steering wheel.

“Next stop, Recoveryville,” Pen jokes.

-❤-

Five Days Post-Op

Emily is more or less comfortably laid on their couch. They have an arsenal of pillows stationed behind them, under their arms, and at the bend of their knees, and Penelope’s militant care routine keeping them afloat. For the last four days, they’ve done nothing but watch French art films together, eat ice cream, and order takeout. It’s been a nice break, Emily realizes. One they didn’t know they needed.

Penelope emerges from the kitchen with a bag of Doritos and a bright blue DVD in her hands.

“This looks like a bribe,” Emily says with a wry smile.

“That’s because it is. I am in no place to object to your choice of movies, especially after I promised I wouldn’t make fun of the accents anymore. But I was sorta hoping this would be a good opportunity to manhandle you into watching a real classic.” Penelope blocks the television in her pink pajama pants and Emily’s Yale hoodie. Penelope is well aware that Emily loves when she wears their clothes; she has to be doing this on purpose. And it’s working.

Emily bobs their head from side to side, considering the offer. “Alright, shoot. I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

Penelope slaps the movie cover over her face. Mamma Mia! (2008) Dir. Phyllida Lloyd.

“Oh, god.”

And Penelope reemerges, scowling. “Hey! I didn’t complain when you made me watch that sad movie about the woman with the dead family. This time, no one’s dead! And they’re in Greece! Okay, admittedly no one wants to hear Pierce Brosnan sing, but if you ignore him and focus on Meryl Streep the movie gets a lot better!”

This is not the first time Emily has heard argument on behalf of Mamma Mia! and it likely isn’t the last, either. Movie night in the Garcia-Prentiss household is in a state of constant debate and usually decided by a fair and unbiased coin toss. Emily considers it a miracle that Penelope’s lasted this long without putting up a fight, and considers it part of her generosity as their caretaker.

Emily scooches themself into a more upright position. “Trois coleurs: Bleu is a beautiful movie and you said you liked it, first of all. And I thought we were watching my movies because I’m the one healing.”

Penelope hesitates. “…Yes, but I may have also been doing a little eensy weensy bit of work at the same time because they’re also like, really slow and boring and Kevin needed the tiniest, tiniest bit of help on the Texas case.”

“Traitor!” Emily is aghast. “What about the deal?”

The deal, of course, was the promise they made each other after their third movie night. Emily was texting throughout The Muppets Take Manhattan and not entirely invested in Kermit and Miss Piggy’s wedding. Penelope was hurt, Emily was confused, and didn’t fully get it until Penelope fell asleep twenty minutes into Deux ou trois choses que je sais d'elle. From that point on, they agreed to compromise more on movie selection and to pay undivided attention to the films they did pick.

“You passed out! I thought the deal was void if you weren’t awake during your own movie!” Penelope said.

“Why didn't you wake me up?” Emily argued.

“Oh, yeah, I’m going to wake up the person who just had surgery so they can pay attention to the third sad foreign movie of the day. You need your rest, and Kevin has maybe half of my inimitable skills!” Penelope’s words were jumbling together as she went up an octave. “I know I’m on vacation but the team needed help and I didn’t want to abandon them with some computer monkey who doesn’t know the first thing about my system, much less the way the team works, and isn’t even a regular assist on cases like me and—”

Penelope is cut off by three short raps at their front door. A welcome escape.

“Pen!” Emily calls after her. “We’re not done here!”

“I think we are!” Penelope shouts back. She passes down the hall and peers through the peep hole, though, she really doesn’t need to. She recognizes the voices on the other side.

“We’re not too early, are we?”

“It’s two in the afternoon, genius.”

“I mean in days since Emily’s operation. They might not be up to company.”

“Then we’ll say hi to baby girl and head out, no big deal.”

Penelope swings the door wide open. “Definitely say hi to me, definitely do that!”

Morgan and Reid stand in their building’s hallway, Derek carrying bags of Chinese food, and Spencer juggling some sort of gift basket. Their eyes are tired and Derek’s stubble is looking rougher than usual, but they perk up in the light of their friend.

“Hey, there she is,” Morgan says. He comes in for a tight hug as he and Reid crowd themselves inside. “How’s everyone holdin’ up?”

“Peachy keen,” Penelope says. She squeezes Derek’s shoulder and leads them back to Emily by Reid’s hand. “Look who missed their favorite co-workers!”

“Hey, guys,” Emily says. Their heart warms at the sight of them. “What’re you doing here?”

“Now how’s that any way to greet a friend?” Morgan laughs. He lowers their takeout food to the coffee table and dives onto the couch beside Emily. “You been good to Garcia so far, or do we have to put the hurt on you?” He playfully punches Emily in their arm, and they cower in mock pain.

“Hey, no roughhousing!” Penelope scolds. “If anyone pulls any sort of muscle in the next twenty minutes, you’re all in timeout.”

Emily and Derek snicker in their seats and launch into the most recent case details. It’s a lot of the gory, icky stuff that Penelope doesn’t want to know unless she’s in her bat cave, so she takes Spencer and his basket into the kitchen.

“Doritos, huh?” he notices the bag Penelope drops on the counter. “You were trying to get something from them?”

Penelope answers with her head stuck in the fridge as she paws to the back for Spencer’s La Croix. “I may have wanted to watch one of my movies today, and I may have offered chips in payment.” She fishes a couple cans of LimonCello out, and huffs. “So what’s all this?”

“It’s from JJ. She wanted to come herself but didn’t think bringing Henry over was the best idea,” Spencer explains. He holds his drink gingerly with both hands and peers into the basket. It looks a lot like the one Penelope used for JJ’s baby shower, and is also definitely the same basket. Inside are a few bags of beef jerky, chocolate, a backscratcher with a little pink hand at its end, and an airline neck pillow with the Texas flag patterned over it.

“Awe. I’m definitely baking her cookies,” Penelope says. She leans back against the counter and eyes Spencer up and down. “Tough case?”

Spencer shifts from side to side and looks into the dark pit of his La Croix can. “Not much worse than usual. It was just… long. And Emily would’ve been a big help. None of us speak Spanish.”

“But you didn’t want to call right now,” Penelope guesses. “It’s all over though, right? All good? Everything wrapped up with a bow for good luck?”

Spencer nods and purses his lips. He looks over his shoulder to the living room, where Derek is describing something with his hands and Emily watches, wide-eyed and entertained. Spencer says, more to himself than Penelope, “It’s always good to be home.”

-❤-

Two Weeks Post-Op

“Emily Elizabeth Prentiss!”

Emily freezes with one arm reaching desperately above doctor-recommended height, and another gripping the cabinet door like their life depends on it. They press their forehead into the shelf, groaning, “That’s not my middle name.”

“I can make up whatever name I want! You know what Dr. Dolan said, and this is so far out of bounds!” Penelope stands in the kitchen threshold with her hands on her hips. She sighs and tugs Emily away from the cereal cabinet by their waist. When their arms are safely lowered to their sides, Penelope puts on her serious face, with her seriously furrowed eyebrows, and her serious frown on her lips. She asks, “Do you, like, want to injure yourself? Is this your new favorite hobby?”

Emily is petulant. “No, I want breakfast, and it’s on the third shelf. Let’s just pretend you got it for me, okay?”

Penelope grumbles her frustrations under her breath as she pulls down the family size box of Lucky Charms. She flurries around the space until she’s collected a bowl and spoon and settled them on the other side of the kitchen counter, where a bar stool and carton of milk wait for Emily.

“Sit,” Penelope orders. Emily complies with a glint in their eyes.

“Thank you,” they say, saturating their words with genuine love.

“Oh, stuff it.” Penelope pecks a kiss to their cheek regardless. She tries not to think about how cute Emily is when they’re smug, but it’s a losing battle. The way their nose scrunches, the smirk; not helping. Instead, Penelope picks a smidgeon of a fight.

“Your hair is greasy.”

And Emily’s face falls flat and exasperated. They let their spoon rest in the pool of marshmallows. “Can we do this after I eat?”

“Oh, lovebug. Absolutely not,” Penelope smiles knowingly. “You haven’t washed it in like, four days, which tells me that it’s not as easy as you said it was. Y’know, I was wondering who said washing your own hair was too much work immediately after having an operation? It would have to be someone super smart and beautiful and funny and—”

“It was you, Penelope. We all know it was you.”

“Funny; it was, wasn’t it?”

But Penelope lets them finish their cereal. She was about to eat her own Eggo waffles, after all. Once the dishes are rinsed and in the washer, she marches Emily straight into their bathroom. The tub thankfully doesn’t share a wall with the toilet, making it easier for Emily to scoot in next to the faucet. Penelope folds Emily’s towel (the towel that is dark purple, and not spring green, which Penelope keeps carefully out of the splash zone) (unlike Emily, who does not mind if their towel is damp long after it should be dry, and probably growing some type of mold) (okay, it’s not growing mold, but Penelope insists that it will eventually become mold-ridden if Emily doesn’t start hanging it up more consistently) along the side of the tub. Emily fits the towel under their neck, and Penelope guides them into position.

“Your hair is so thick,” Penelope comments.

Emily says, “You tell me that once a week.”

“Because it is. Now close your eyes.”

Penelope detaches the removable showerhead and lets the water warm her hand. When it’s a comfortable temperature, she douses Emily’s head. She maneuvers carefully around Emily’s forehead to avoid hitting their face, though Emily’s eyelids flutter when they worry the stream is near. Penelope thinks with their long eyelashes, they look like butterflies about to take flight.

She works the shampoo in with a gentle, but thorough touch. It’s when she rubs the lather into Emily’s scalp that Emily lets a soft moan break, and Penelope smiles. She takes pride in her work, whether she’s at her desk or in her soapy bathroom.

The shampoo swirls down the drain as Penelope rinses Emily free. Emily opens their eyes and tries to sit up, but Penelope pins their shoulders to the tub.

“Hold on! I haven’t conditioned yet.”

“Isn’t shampoo enough? We’re going to be here again in three days. It’s a hassle.”

Penelope does not think so. For the low price of two-thousand dollars and the risk of post-op complications, Penelope’s seen her girlfriend relax for the first time in, maybe ever. She’s going to drag it out as long as she can. Which, for right now, means dumping a handful of conditioner into her palm and rubbing it through the tips of Emily’s hair.

The final rinse is cleansing, like the weight falls from Emily’s shoulders. Penelope swipes the towel from Emily’s neck and cocoons their hair inside. She manages to keep their shirt dry, for the most part. Emily sits up with a pain in their shoulders, and does their best to hide it.

“What’s wrong?” Penelope prompts. Their best is not nearly good enough, not when Penelope has the analytical eye of someone who loves them. Penelope plants Emily on their shared bed for the first time since their surgery, already grateful to have a little of Emily’s smell in the room again. She sits behind them and overlaps their legs with hers. Penelope digs into the knots wound through their back as if she's torturing for information.

“It’s almost like you have a stressful job or something,” Penelope says.

Emily snorts. “Yeah, something like that.”

Penelope massages her way down until Emily feels looser under her fingers. She leans her head into the crook of Emily’s shoulder and presses a kiss to their skin. “We could ask for more time off,” she offers.

Emily slouches against Penelope’s body. “We could. But we have to go back at some point.”

“Let’s pretend we don’t.”

Emily exhales. “Sounds good to me.”

[zephyr-together]

it’s been exactly one month since top surgery! here’s a summary of what all went down! disclaimer: please do not feel that you need to feel pressured to remember things from this post or any other, your doctor should instruct you on the most important things to do or not do, and also this is my experience and everyone’s will be different! 

I saw Dr. Kenneth Wolf! I highly recommend him if you’re in the area or able to get to him, very skilled and very cheap (only was $5400, $5900 if you get nipple grafts which I ended up deciding not to have) there is a 250 lb weight limit though, they weigh you the day of surgery so if you’re unsure if you’ll be able to make it I’d suggest seeing a surgeon who operates more on plus sized folks

he was/is SUPER booked, I had my consultation in October and had to schedule surgery in June. this made me confident I made the right decision though because of how many people go to him, and having to be stuck in the body I didn’t want for a lot longer than I thought made me more eager to have it so I wasn’t as scared as I would have been otherwise. that being said, it might be smart to ask ahead how long the wait time is so that you can save during that time! because I didn’t know about the wait I had already had most of my money that I got together since last June so I could’ve had it about four months sooner, but hey everything worked out in the end :) 

speaking of saving money, for this doctor there’s a $500 down payment that I paid when I went to the consultation visit (if you’re out of the area they can do consultation over email btw!) the rest was collected about a week and a half before surgery. I have a debit card so it had to be split up in three transactions. I’m very thankful they worked with me on that!

I went into a small room where the doctor met me, marked me up and took my picture. then he said the anesthesiologist would meet me, which she did in a few minutes and went over a bit of questions/paperwork and took me to the operating room! 

I lied down on a table with my arms out, it felt like I was an alien getting vivisected, that combined with my needlephobia made that a bit scary but I’ve been waiting so long so it was exciting too. they had me hooked up to an IV but I think they did that while I was under because I felt the needle go in and then out. and then in a minute I was out! 

I wasn’t aware of this because it was during the surgery but they have a machine to massage your legs to keep up circulation and I had a tube down my throat too. when I woke up the first thing I hear is “the surgery was a success!! :D” and it felt like a weird dream because of anesthesia but in what felt like a few minutes I was almost as awake as normal which was surprising because I was out of it for hours after getting wisdom teeth out so I thought this would be way worse in that way

I had three intense sensations when I woke up: nausea, tightness and hunger. they asked right away if I was nauseous and gave me an alcohol patch to put on my nose which immediately took the feeling completely away. I had a very specific craving for Burger King’s impossible whopper, I think that’s because of not being able to eat I wanted something substantial like meat (vegetarian so closest thing to it) and something QUICK because hungy 

the tightness was pretty intense and unexpected, I felt desperate to rip off my surgical vest but they assured me it’s actually fairly loose. I think it’s just the incisions that give you a tight sensation but what you see and feel on your body is the vest so your brain says that’s the culprit I think. as time went on I ended up feeling desperate for the vest actually but I’ll go into that later

when I got the whopper I’m VERY thankful my dad who met us after picking it up also got the milkshake because I couldn’t produce saliva at all and didn’t know that would happen. I think that’s from having the tube in my mouth. I also could barely hold anything with my left hand because of that being the arm I had the IV in, but both the no saliva and limp left hand things went away in a few hours I think

by the time we got home which was I think an hour and a half after I woke up, I had really intense pain in my throat and under my armpits. the painkillers they gave me eventually kicked in about an hour or so after I took them, I’d suggest to bring them to surgery maybe if possible so you can take them asap, I think I wouldn’t have had that at all if I did, at that level of intensity anyway. for my throat I basically went nuts and drank water, had popsicles, ice cream, fruit, cough syrup, etc and it went away in 2-3 days or so

speaking of the pain under my armpits, that was from the tubes in me to drain extra unwanted blood and puss and stuff like that, it sounds super awful but I wasn’t allowed to remove the vest for five days and I’m naturally sweaty so I didn’t even know there were tubes in me or that I was draining until like four days later. I was stuffed with tons of gauze under the vest so eventually when I did notice the drainage we pulled out the dirty ones and pushed in some clean ones (they provide you with the same kind of gauze). the main awful thing about it was just the idea of having tubes in me, it didn’t bother me so much when I thought it was part of the incision haha...

now that I complained about the tube and throat pain I will say the “pain” for me of the actual incision area was almost nothing for me at all, just a bit of a weird tingly or pokey sensation every so often and that’s all really. but again everyone is different ! 

appetite was funny because it felt like I’d feel really hungry and eat hardly anything and feel good! another post suggested to have pineapple to help with bruising and I think it worked because I ate pineapple constantly and had pretty much no bruising at all

also I hope this isn’t too gross but I couldn’t pee and I was constipated. it wasn’t too much trouble because for the. pee I could just push and it’d come and for constipation that’s a problem that happens for me in general. both took about a week to wear off. they’re side effects of anesthesia I believe. other side effects I had from that were my legs and arms would feel pretty sore at times and my legs were wobbly, they said that I’d need to move my legs around a bit every once in a while to prevent clotting and I got a bit nervous about that so I ended up going for two walks a day! probably not needed to do that much but I think it helped speed up leg recovery 

after that more intense pain was gone after just a few hours I felt fine to watch shows and play viddy games! I thought I’d be zonked out for days or something but I was pretty alert after just a few minutes of coming out like I said. I could’ve probably drawn or made plushies too but it just felt so weird to move my arms at that point and was probably for the best I didn’t and just watched stuff and played games and slept a lot. it felt a bit frustrating how boring it was at times after a week or so but I just focused on how much of my life I’ll feel good now because of this so the recovery time isn’t that bad knowing that

five days after the surgery I had my first post op appointment! this was for the doctor to inspect the incisions, give us ointment to put on the scars and more gauze, and to finally be able to throw away all of the gauze that was under the vest! at this point I was allowed to take off the vest to replace the gauze and put ointment on as well as shower, and was given bandaids to put on the tubes for showering. however the sensation of not having the vest on at this point was SO horrible to me, I felt like a doll that was being pulled and unraveled apart, it made me want to throw up too so I took a shower as fast as possible and then just opted to get my hair shampooed at salons every other day for a couple weeks, so in retrospect I could have not gone five days with no shampoo but nothing can go absolutely perfectly after all!

a couple days later I ran out of oxycodone and tried replacing it with motrin which gave me three vivid nightmares in a row of having really bad fights with my parents and friend over dumb things which sounds silly but it messed me up emotionally and I kept sobbing uncontrollably out of nowhere that I felt like such a burden to take care of. I thought I was just emotional from the surgery but as soon as I switched to tylenol that went away completely! I don’t think it’s that motrin is bad because I looked it up and it’s a rare side effect, it’s just either that my body specifically doesn’t like it or it was the way it was combined with the antibiotic I had 

the second post op was to remove the tubes and it was 13 days after the first post op. they said if you live out of the area you can remove the tubes yourself so I’m very thankful we’re in the area haha. the left tube came out so smooth and quick that I didn’t feel it even come out at all! the second hurt for a second but I think because it kept getting bent backwards but it didn’t hurt too much. the tubes were SUPER wiggly and actually pretty flat so I think they’re constantly improving them to make them less and less noticeable. 

I was told I had to use the bandaids on my holes for showering and keep gauze on them too for just two more days and I could also throw the vest away then. I still felt too sensitive to get rid of the vest yet and wore it for another week, I still have it in case I want it for now (been going without it for about three days at this point) it still feels very strange without it since it feels like it’s holding you together but I think no matter how healed you are it will a shock to your body to not have that on anymore...also the “holes” from the tubes are more like slits which just look like slightly more open areas of the incisions so it’s barely noticeable. there’s some swelling where that used to be but that’s going down! 

now at this point where I’m at, I still feel best putting ointment on with gauze and bandage wraps I bought as a transition from the vest to nothing under the shirt which seems to be working pretty well! it might be that I’m autistic that I’m so sensitive to that feeling and had to have my vest on longer and now this instead of nothing. also I took three weeks off of work initially (I work a desk job) and asked for a couple more weeks of working from home before going back to the office to be able to adjust

also I will say if you live alone, I think you can handle surgery and taking care of yourself if you’re determined, as long as nothing you need to use to feed yourself and whatnot is up too high, too low, or too heavy. but if you can I’d highly suggest staying with someone who can help take care of you, it really helps easy the transition. in my summary I will say there was almost no pain at all but a whole lot of WEIRD stuff I wasn’t used to, but in the end it’s not a whole lot to deal with, considering! 

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

The leg burn story

So some people wanted to know about the leg burn story.

Before we get into this, you guys should know that I was a working scientist at the time that this story takes place. I was in biotech. I knew perfectly well how skin works. I’d taken multiple classes on how skin works. I’d worked with skin-derived cell lines in the lab. No part of this story can be blamed on ignorance.

Another thing about me is that I get very cold hands and feet, and I HATE being cold. I hate it so much, so my bedtime routine, ten months out of the year, involved taking a simple hot water bottle, ignoring the ’water should not exceed 70C’ warning, filling it with boiling water straight from the kettle, putting it directly between my feet and trying to sleep. So on this particular day I take my old, thinning rubber water bottle, remind myself for the tenth time that maybe I should replace it soon, fill it and go to bed, and, very unusually for me, manage to go directly to sleep.

So when I’m dreaming like ‘my leg really hurts, that’s weird’, and then wake up to find it actually does hurt, I have no idea how long my trouser leg has been completely soaked in very hot water. I’m not the most alert riser, so it takes a bit of time to respond, but eventually I’m like ‘I should probably do something about this’ and go run it under cold water.

I maintain that nothing I’ve done up to this point is stupid. Burns are the risk I take for warm feet and they are WORTH IT. This is all perfectly reasonable risk-taking in the name of comfort and I stand by my decisions.

It’s everything that happens after this point that is stupid.

So I’m looking at this burn that’s taking up about half of my shin. The skin had lifted off rather than forming a blister, which is unfortunate, because I, as previously mentioned, am a biologist, and immediately think ‘infection risk’ when I see compromised skin of any kind, and this is a LOT of compromised skin. A few things occur to me.

- I do not know the temperature or exposure time of this burn.

- I do not have the medical training or experience to assess the severity of this burn.

- There are bits of trouser fibres embedded in my leg now, which is gross, and not great,infection-wise.

- I can’t see any exposed muscle or anything, so you know what? This is probably fine. I can treat this and go back to sleep.

Now, I live fifteen minutes’ walk from a hospital, the hospital attached to the very university I go to every day, and this burn hasn’t compromised my ability to walk. I live in a country with a medicare system, and could go to the hospital and get this burn assessed and treated for free, by professionals.

I do not do this, because I have, inexplicably, forgotten that hospitals exist. But if I remembered, I probably wouldn’t have bothered them with something so simple anyway.

Twenty minutes’ walk in the other direction is a chemist. A place to buy burn creams and antiseptics and appropriate wound dressings and so forth. I must also have forgotten that chemists exist, because when I find nothing usable in my tiny personal first aid kit, my immediate thought is not ‘I should wait for the chemist to open’, it’s ‘oh, there’s stuff in the kitchen I can use’.

So I clean the wound as thoroughly as I can with water, hen prepare to sterilise it properly. I do not own any medical antiseptic creams, so I, a professional biologist who knows how skin works, looking at a burn the size of my hand whose severity I cannot assess, grab the household cleaning disinfectant, dilute it to about one-tenth the strength I’d use for cleaning, and sterilise the wound. This is fine, I think. This makes logical sense, and isn’t an incredibly stupid thing to do.

I don’t have any proper non-stick burn dressings, and certainly none of appropriate size, so I grab what I do have -- cling wrap from the kitchen. Now, cling wrap is a perfectly good thing to guard a wound with if you genuinely don’t have access to a proper sterile wound dressing. But if you can get one of those from a nearby hospital, you probably should. Something I have still forgotten about as I pull out the cling film, briefly assess whether its lack of sterility is a problem and decide, to be safe (to be safe??), that I should disinfect this, too. So I use more household disinfectant to do this.

And then I put this disinfectant-covered plastic over my open wound.

And tape it down.

Finally, I think to myself. Now I can put dry sheets on my bed and go to sleep. It just sucks that I can’t use a hot water bottle until this burn heals. I hate having cold feet.

The next day, my housemate’s mother, who works in aged care and has dealt with plenty of burns in her time, is visiting. She notices my limp, and the red swelling above my ankle. “Are you alright?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” I say, because I burn myself all the time and this one isn’t really a big deal. I’m fairly sure this burn is superficial at this point, so if I just let it heal, it will be fine.

“You’re limping,” she says.

“It’s just a small burn,” I shrug.

She asks if she can see the burn. I see no reason why not. She looks at the flesh under the disinfected cling wrap, the red and swollen skin around it, and up at me. “What did you do?” she asks.

I explain about the hot water, but this is not what she wants to know. I’ll take you to the hospital,” she says.

At this point I remember that hospitals exist. But there seems no point in troubling a doctor over something I’ve already dealt with, so I shrug it off. “It’s fine,” I say.

She purses her lips in that judgy Mum way that mums have whenever you do something clever and improvisational that will certainly save trouble in the end. She indicated the red skin around the wound. “This is infected. You need antibiotics.”

“Oh, no,” I say. “I’m pretty sure that’s just irritation.”

“Why,” she asks, “would there be this much irritation?”

“Because some of the disinfectant probably got in there?”

She looks at me. Looks at the wound. I can see her not wanting to ask, not wanting to know, but she has to. “What did you disinfect the wound with?”

Hope in my generation and the future of humanity slowly drains out of her eyes as I explain the treatment procedure that had seemed to make so much sense in the middle of the night. She stares at me for a bit, then gets up and leaves the house.

When she returns ten minutes later with burn treatment supplies, I remember that oh yeah, chemists exist. She patches it up properly, having done this many times for old people who can blame things like dementia for their bad decisions, and circles the swollen area on my leg with a marker. “If the redness spreads out further than this line, it’s an infection, and you need to go to hospital,” she says.

“Okay, but I’m sure it’s fine,” I say. “It’s just a burn, it’ll heal quickly.”

“You’re supposed to go to hospital for any burn larger than a fifty cent piece,” she tells me.

“That can’t be right!” I say. “I burn myself all the time! If I did that I’d never be out of the hospital!”

The look she gives me informs me that this is not in fact the genius rebuttal I think it is.

Anyway, the wound wasn’t infected and the burn must have been superficial because it healed without so much as a scar. Which feels unfair, in a way. I feel like the universe should have punished me at least a little for my hubris.

And yes, I still use hot water bottles in the same way.

[neworleansspecial]

Summary: Nancy isn’t coping after Tim’s death

Warnings: implied alcohol abuse, suicide attempt, ptsd, emeto

WC: 4.5k // AO3

Tags: @heartofmarjan​ @bristrandd​ @blakestrand126​ @fedoralaura11

-

Nancy has to be dragged away from Tim.

She tries to work on him, save him, do something for him, even if it’s already too late by the time they follow Owen’s scream to Tim’s body, pinned beneath a massive piece of ejecta. Nancy drops to her knees by his side and grabs for it with her gloved hands.  When she can’t move it, when her gloves begin to melt into her skin, she peels them off her burned hands and feels frantically for his pulse. 

“Starting compressions,” she cries, getting up on her knees, but she doesn’t know where to put her hands. The ejecta had initially covered Tim’s chest, right where she would do CPR, but has since melted through his body to singe and sink into the dirt. She thinks she might be screaming when she grabs Tim’s scorched face and tries to wake him up.

She cries, she screams, desperate to help him, desperate for someone to do something, until Owen says something and Paul and Judd grab her arms to pull her away. She fights them. Of course she does, because she’s a Goddamn paramedic and she needs to get to Tim to save him, but they’re both holding her back as Marjan and TK move to block her view. There’s tears in their eyes. They have no right to cry when they won’t let her see him, help him. Save him. She has to save him. 

“No!”

Owen stands in front of her so that all she can see is his worn face and blue eyes, not Tim. Not even the people blocking Tim. Just him, and he puts his gloved hands on her shoulders above Judd and Paul’s hands. 

“Nancy,” he says gently, “there’s nothing we can do. We’re going back to the station now, okay? Let Tommy patch up your hands on the way.”

“We can’t leave him!”

“There’s nothing we can do,” he repeats. “Judd, drive the ambulance?”

“Sure thing, Cap.”

Usually Tim drives. Nancy makes an inhuman wail and doubles over, only held up by Paul and Judd’s strong grip, until they carefully lower her to the dirt. She claws at her face in her grief, desperate to feel something, until they seize above her burned wrists and hold her still so she can’t hurt herself anymore. 

“Breathe, Nancy,” Tommy says as she kneels in front of her. She has her medical bag. Did she have that when they came over and found Tim? Why didn’t she help? “It looks like second degree burns, you’ll need to go to the ER, but I’ll get it all cleaned up and bandaged for you.”

“Tim needs to go to the hospital,” Nancy counters. 

No one responds to her.

She stares down at her hands as Paul holds her right still for Tommy to rinse with saline and wrap heavily in cool white gauze until she can’t move her hand at all. Paul steadies her left. She’s been made useless as they guide her to the back of the ambulance, where Tommy helps her onto the gurney and sits beside her as Judd goes to start the engine. Everything is very quiet. Nancy prefers this to fake condolences when they wouldn’t let her see or help Tim, and curls up on her side on the gurney so she doesn’t have to look at Tommy. 

“There was nothing we could do,” Tommy says. 

“I think I’m tired of hearing that.”

They drive for a long while, to the point that Nancy realizes they’re at a clinic and not the station. “It’ll be faster than the ERs,” Judd says when he opens the doors. He and Tommy help Nancy down from the gurney and the truck bay, and lead her into the clinic. They stay with her while she’s seen. She’s given medicated ointment, painkillers, and antibiotics, as well as a fresh dressing on her burned hands. Looking at them, they remind her too much of Tim’s skin and she has to turn away. 

Then they take the ambulance back to the station, where Nancy has to meet with Owen and the department chief and tell them what she saw. What she did. They all stare at the bandages on her hands the whole time. Finally, she’s allowed to go sit with the rest of the crew and hold a pillow to her chest while they talk. 

She says they should have saved him. Worked on him. Helped him. 

“There wasn’t enough of him left to work on,” Judd says sadly. 

She wants to hit him. Instead, she throws the pillow at him and goes to clean out Tim’s locker because no one else will. It’ll be difficult with her hands, but it isn’t as if anyone else will do it. No one really cared about her and Tim except for Michelle, and she’s not here anymore. 

Oh God, Nancy has to tell Michelle. No one else will think to call her. 

She carefully takes down all of Tim’s hoodies, a feat made difficult by her bandaged hands, and cries until Tommy comes to help, and promises to look after Buster. She also offers to drive Nancy home, something which she has no choice but to accept since she can’t drive with her burned hands. She doesn’t want to be comforted. This is something which Tommy seems to sense. There is no radio, no speaking. No nothing. 

When they get to Nancy’s house, she hands over her phone with sad eyes. 

“Can you call Michelle for me? I need to tell her.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Tommy says. 

She helps Nancy out of the car and into the house, fiddling with the keys much slower than Nancy is usually able to do this, and lets her in. 

“Do you need anything else tonight?”

Nancy shakes her head. She wants a shower, but she can’t take one with the bandages like this and refuses to ask for help with that. After a long moment, Tommy leaves. Now, Nancy is completely alone, and she collapses on the floor to sob. 

The next morning, she wakes up to a knock at the door. Nancy fumbles with the lock and the knob for a moment before opening it to see Michelle, red-eyed and somber. “I thought we could both use some company.” In her arms are grocery bags full of ice cream and tequila, so Nancy steps to the side to let her in. 

Michelle eyes the hand shaped bruises on Nancy’s biceps from the restraint, but doesn’t say anything. Instead she sets up two glasses full of tequila and spoons for the ice cream on the couch, with a soft offering of help if Nancy needs it. This feels like breakup protocol, but cold ice cream and hard liquor don’t seem like such a bad idea to soothe the burn inside of Nancy’s chest at the loss. For her, there is no grace period in which it doesn’t seem real. She touched his body. She burned her hands trying to help him. She could not save him.

“Owen tells me they had to pull you away.”

“I had to try and save him.”

“I would’ve done the same.”

Nancy manages to get the glass to her mouth and drains it all in one go. Michelle wordlessly refills it. They will likely get fucked up, and pass out on the couch, but it’s not as though Nancy has anywhere to go. Everyone got a few days off for the grief, and Nancy has a couple weeks while her hands heal. She’s lucky she doesn’t need grafts or it would be longer. Instead, she’ll simply get blisters and pus for a while, and then it’ll turn into scars spanning the entirety of her palms.

“Who’s taking care of Buster?” Michelle asks. 

“The new captain took him in. I think she feels guilty.”

“She should. She lost someone.”

They pretend it’s fair to blame Tommy, because that’s easier than blaming no one, and Michelle starts drinking straight from the tequila bottle. Luckily there’s another, which Nancy begins to do the same from. It burns going down in a new sort of way, but Nancy loves the sting of it and the way her head begins to get too fuzzy to really feel sad anymore. She falls asleep next to Michelle and wakes up alone.

Tim’s funeral comes a week later, when the firefighters of the 126 are out fighting some wildfire. None of them come home to attend. Nancy, whose hands are somewhat healed and require much less thick bandaging, is able to dress herself and pull her hair out of her face before she goes. She wears sensible flats instead of heels because Tim always said she walked like a baby deer in her heels. This is true. She thinks it would honor his memory to stand up straight and serene rather than stumbling and losing her balance like a drunkard. 

The thought reminds her that Michelle has left some alcohol in the house for her, so she hunts down the bright pink bottle of fruity vodka and brings it to her lips. Drinking doesn’t burn as much as it used to, and she downs the equivalent of four shots with ease, licking the remnants off her lips after. It will make the funeral easier to bear. Then she goes out and sits on her front porch, under the bright blue and unfairly sunny sky, and waits for Tommy, who promised to drive her. 

Tim’s family will be at the funeral, Nancy realizes, and the thought terrifies her. They’re going to ask her why she didn’t do more to save him, and she will simply look at her burned hands and shrug because she has no answer. She did all she was able before she was stopped. Part of her knows, rationally, that there was nothing to do; Tim was dead before she got to him, they say, but most of her believes there was something she could have done. Anything, really. She doesn’t believe herself to be blameless in this, and she doesn’t expect others to believe it either. 

“How are you doing?” Tommy asks in that gentle voice that everyone who called Nancy with condolences has used. “Been sleeping okay?”

“Fine.”

Tommy doesn’t comment on her unusually brusque behavior, which is good, because Nancy is too exhausted and hurt to try to put on the niceties and act like she hasn’t been on a small bender between drinking and her painkillers for the last few days. Michelle has been kind enough to stop by a couple more times, so the two of them could grieve together. Unlike the current 126, Michelle will be coming to the funeral. 

When Nancy and Tommy arrive, she gets out of the car and joins Tim’s family. They had asked her to be a pallbearer, and though it broke her heart, she said no. She can’t carry his corpse to the grave. There is a large procession, given the times, and Nancy takes Michelle’s hand while two police cars lead the funeral procession. Four paramedics from another house, people who vaguely knew Tim, carry his casket. Their white masks look so awful compared to the dress blues everyone wears for the occasion. 

Her own feel too itchy and tight without Tim beside her to make a joke, and Michelle leans close to whisper in her ear. She expects reassurance. Instead, Michelle murmurs, “Have you been drinking?”

Nancy doesn’t bother to respond. Of course she’s been drinking. Her best friend is gone, and without him, she doesn’t know how she can ever walk into the firehouse again. She doesn’t know how she can live again. It feels like the past few days, she’s been wading through glue, waiting for some miracle news that Tim is alright. 

He’s not. 

The tears come quietly instead of the loud, ugly sobs she’s suffered through recently. Michelle squeezes her hand. Tommy takes the other and holds on tight. Between the two of them, they attempt to anchor her, but it feels too much like being dragged away, so she lets go and crosses her arms protectively in front of her chest.

Her eyes burn and her cheeks wet her mask while the procession goes on, ending with Tim’s flag being taken off the coffin and handed to his mother so he can be buried. This is it. There is finality in his burial, proof that he will never ever be coming back. The feelings of the past week all hit at once and Nancy’s legs give out. Michelle and Tommy have to hold her up. Though she doesn’t much want to be touched or held in any capacity, she allows them so she can stand through Tim’s funeral, and leans against Michelle when it’s over. 

“Let it out,” Michelle says, and the sobs come once more. They’re the same ugly, desperate things as the night it happened, but no one is cruel enough to accuse her of theatrics. Thank God. She couldn’t handle her pain being questioned right now, she knows, and it’s lucky that Michelle shoos away anyone who comes to ask. She seems to sense how fragile Nancy feels right now. “I’ve got you. It’s going to be alright.”

“No, it’s not! He’s dead!”

Everyone quiets at her shout, and Michelle guides her away from the crowds to grieve in peace, if there is such a thing in a world without Tim. 

It’s another two weeks before Nancy is cleared to return to duty, although part of her wants to just stay home rather than go to a firehouse where Tim no longer works. Still, she puts on her uniform and pulls back her hair to drive herself, something she hasn’t done since she was injured. She needs to go grocery shopping, she thinks, but it doesn’t seem very important in the wake of the past few weeks. 

She’s vaguely hungry when she parks and walks into the firehouse, especially once she smells the pancakes Paul is making and the nice syrup Marjan has cracked open. “We made a little welcome back breakfast,” Mateo explains. He’s dusted with flour. “Pancakes with the good syrup from Cap’s farmer’s market, and powdered sugar, and raspberries, your favorite!”

Raspberries were never her favorite. She ate them voraciously as an inside joke with Tim, who was really the one to like them. Nancy forces a smile and a thanks even though she feels hollow inside. Judd asks if she wants a hug and she says no. His arms will remind her too much of that night, and she can’t afford to break in front of everyone any more than she already has. She’s too sober for this. She can’t drink on the job, though. So instead she sits down with the team for a delicious breakfast that she can tell they poured a lot of love into. 

It tastes like sawdust. 

She eats it anyways though. Judd gives her a second helping, which she carefully picks through to make it look like she has more than she does. They all usually take seconds, sometimes thirds, because of how much energy the job takes. Everyone else certainly has plenty. Tommy gives her a look. Nancy looks back and gets up to scrape her plate into the trash. They don’t put her on dish duty today. 

Marjan follows Nancy to the rec room and sits beside her on the couch. They don’t speak. It’s much easier to be quietly upset than it is to talk about what losing Tim felt like, which Nancy knows everyone will be asking. She completely broke down in front of all of them, and regardless of how rational that may have been, she doesn’t want to contend with trying to relive all the agony when she’s just learning to push it down with lots of alcohol and little sleep.

“Do you have nightmares?” she asks Marjan. 

“Sometimes. They’ve gotten worse since… I dream of him, as I’m sure you do.”

“Every time I close my eyes.”

Marjan nods and holds out her hand. Nancy takes it, only because she doesn’t know what else to do, and revels in the small amount of comfort for as long as Marjan will give it to her. It’s nice to just have something instead of being asked if she’s alright, or instructed to talk about the death of a loved one. Owen wants Nancy to go to a department counselor to talk about it, but she imagines that unleashing the beast will only make things that much worse. She doesn’t want to deal with letting that monster out of its box any more than she already has. 

 The two of them stay together in a heavy silence after that until the bell rings, and Nancy rushes to the ambulance in the bay. She goes to hoist herself into the truck, passenger side, and her heart stops. 

Tim isn’t here to drive the ambulance. 

She freezes until Tommy comes up behind her and places a hand on her back. 

“You alright, Gillian?”

“Fine.”

Nancy goes to the other side of the truck and pulls herself into the cabin, having to briefly adjust the seat for her longer legs before she can drive. It feels like erasing Tim from the ambulance. It feels like abandonment. But she does it nonetheless, and ignores the tears that wet her cheeks as she pulls out of the bay to follow the fire trucks. Tommy sits beside her, when there’s no patient in the back of the ambulance, and luckily doesn’t comment on Nancy crying. It hasn’t been long since Tim’s death. She thinks she’s allowed this. 

When they pull up to the call, it’s at a pool, because of course it is. Some little kid slipped and fell, breaking her leg and hitting her head. It’s broad daylight and nowhere near as hot as it was that night, and the pool is a classic neighborhood rather than a rooftop. It’s not the same at all. But it’s close enough that Nancy freezes up completely. All she can think about is Tim’s body next to that kid on a backboard.

“Gillian.”

Nancy shakes her head and goes to kneel beside the patient to help Tommy. The fracture isn’t too bad, but the head injury is bleeding a lot. Head injuries do. Nancy secures a c-collar over the child’s neck and gently feels the injury on the back of the head. 

“Six inch lac,” she reports to Tommy. “Minor swelling.”

She avoids looking at the pool because it hurts to think about. So she focuses on the child, someone she can save, and pushes all her emotions as far down as she possibly can to make this easier. 

They load the child up onto the stretcher and her mother joins Tommy in the back of the ambulance. Once again, Nancy faces the daunting task of sitting in Tim’s seat and doing his job, but much to her surprise and upset, she doesn’t feel it as strongly. That in of itself is a betrayal. Of course she drives, does what she’s supposed to, but it’s too easy in a way that makes her want to throw herself out of the car entirely. 

The rest of the shift is the same, and as it gets easier to get behind the wheel of the ambulance without crying, Nancy hates herself a little bit more. She shouldn’t be forgetting him so soon. She wants to slam her face into the lockers and remember his laugh and think about her best friend as he was alive, not the night he died. All her memories of him are too heavily tainted by the sight of his corpse and it simply isn’t fair. 

She starts drinking more, though she’s careful not to drink before she has to be on shift. It is the only time in which she gets any peace of mind, any quiet to her thoughts. She’s willing to do whatever it takes to ease the pain, and this helps. She doesn’t go out to the bar with the squad, because she knows they’ll notice her drinking too much and mourning Tim’s absence, instead going home to drown her sorrows in solitude. 

She takes a lot of baths, too, and realizes one night when she nearly passes out in the water that she could have died. Such a thought ought to scare her, but instead it brings a strange amount of relief. If she’s dead, she won’t have to be in pain anymore. On a logical level, she recognizes the danger of this feeling, and she wants to tell someone. She wants someone, anyone, even Tommy to see how badly she’s spiraling, but at the same time, she doesn’t want anyone to know until it’s too late to do anything about it. 

That night, she sits on her bed with a bottle of pills and a decanter of whiskey and considers it. This is the coward’s way out, and there is nothing here to make her remember Tim in her last breaths. These few weeks without him have been hell and she just wishes she could tell him one more time how much she loves him and what his friendship meant to her. He was her world at work. Her best friend. Her lifeline. She doesn’t know if she ever told him any of those things, but at least now she’ll get the chance to. 

Nancy makes a plan.

She writes out her suicide note on her computer, double spaced, and prints it out before folding it up and putting it in a sealed envelope. It is short. Most of it is words to Tim she wishes he could read, but some of it is taken up by apologies to her firehouse and a brief explanation of the agony she’s been in for so long. She tucks it into her backpack instead of her cell phone when she goes to work, and irons her slacks an extra time before pulling them on. It will be her final dress, after all. Nancy plasters on a smile and forces herself to just be normal when she gets to the station and everyone says hello.

Paul watches her. She thinks he knows something is wrong, but they aren’t close enough for him to say anything to her. Besides, he reminds her of that night when she looks at his hands and thinks about the way they felt on her arm, pulling her away from Tim.

Instead of sitting down to breakfast with the others, she goes to the bunks and lays down on the bed that used to be Tim’s. It hasn’t been his in weeks, and the other shift uses the same beds as them anyways, but it feels like connection when she lays down on the soft mattress and cracks open two bottles. 

She takes ten pills four times, chasing them each time with vodka snuck in via her backpack. It’ll take time to kill her, but hopefully she can die before a call comes in and someone runs looking for her to get up on the ambulance and come with. She will not drive Tim’s ambulance again. 

Nancy peels back the covers and curls up under them, content to die warm and safe. The pill bottle and the rest of the tequila sit proudly on the nightstand beside her suicide note and she realizes she’s at peace. She doesn’t mind dying. It’s a respite from the pain, but it is also the ending of a book at just the right time. All her storylines are complete. Her life is at its natural conclusion. 

“Hey Nancy, Cap wanted me to-”

She looks at Mateo. He looks at her. He looks at the bottles on the nightstand and the note ready to be read and turns and runs right back out of the room. He’s getting help. She covers her face and sobs. This isn’t fair. They’re going to make her throw up the pills and take her to the hospital, where she’ll be treated whether she likes it or not.  

Tommy comes in with her medical bag, Owen and Mateo flanking her. The others must have been told to stay away. She pulls out her blood pressure cuff and reaches for Nancy’s arm, only for Nancy to pull away and draw her knees up to her chest. Owen picks up the pill bottle and reads out the drug and dosage to Tommy.

“How many did you take?” Tommy asks her. 

“I refuse treatment.”

“She’s a threat to her own safety,” Owen says. “Treat her anyway.”

“I refuse treatment,” Nancy repeats, and scrambles away when Tommy reaches for her again. “Don’t touch me.”

Owen watches her nearly fall off the bed. “Mateo.”

“Captain, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tommy interjects.”

“Got a better one?”

So Tommy nods at Mateo, who grabs her arms and holds her down against the bed. Her heart is pounding. She screams no, tries to throw him off of her, does anything to be able to escape this just as she did the night Judd and Paul held her back, but Mateo is stronger than her and has more leverage. Nancy screams and thrashes the entire time they take her vitals. She cries when they drag her out of the room and to the gurney where she’s strapped down with soft restraints in front of everyone. The weight of their eyes is just as heavy as Mateo’s weight on her body had been. 

Tommy sits in the back of the ambulance with her and stares at her as she takes rapid, panicked breaths. During the drive, Nancy starts to feel dizzy with the pills, and thanks God that she might die before they get to the hospital. She should have slit her wrists, she thinks. It would have been faster. Maybe even successful before she was found. 

“I need you to stay awake, Nancy,�� Tommy tells her.

“Fuck off.”

She’d never normally say such a thing to her captain, but she’s angry and ready to die, tied down to a gurney in the back of an ambulance and waiting for the meds to do their job. Nancy purposefully ignores Tommy’s speech about how precious life is and how many people love her, tuning it out in favor of the dull hum at the back of her mind that’s slowly rising. She wants it to overtake her. She’s ready for it. 

Unfortunately, she’s still mostly awake when they arrive at the hospital. She shuts her eyes and tries to calm herself down, fake dead so they leave her alone, but that just earns a doctor rubbing painfully against her sternum to rouse her. 

“Nancy? My name is Dr. Reese, I need you to open your eyes for me.”

Nancy shakes her head, which makes her feel sick. She gags. Her stomach is rebelling against the drugs she took, or maybe they put something in her IV that makes her throw up, because she’s suddenly leaning over a blue bedpan and throwing up bile. 

She’ll survive this attempt.

She’ll try again.

[incorrect-hunterx-quotes]

Update and story time:

I thought I would pass along an update to you guys. My sickness did not start off great. It started on Monday morning and very rapidly progressed by Tuesday afternoon. I was unable to eat or drink anything for 3 days because my throat was incredibly swollen. I couldnt even swallow my own spit so I would wake up every 5 minutes gagging, so I eventually stopped sleeping.

I went to Urgent Care and they gave me the diagnosis of incredibly Enlarged Tonsils and they gave me antibiotics and steroids to take to treat it. (This was on Tuesday night). The next morning I woke up and I couldn't talk. That is how swollen my throat became. I was no longer able to take my pills because they were too big. I was able to breathe, but it was hard. After a brief consult with a doctor he said to take the steroids immediately and go from there. (The steroids were the size of a literal crumb and it was still a struggle). He also said if it didn't help to go to the ER to get an IV bag because it had already been 2 days without food or water. I spent the rest of Wednesday literally hoping the steroids would kick in and help...they did not.

That night at around 2am I decided I wouldn't sleep because I was scared of gagging every 20 seconds. I spent the next 4hrs just curled in a ball against my desk on the floor spitting in a trashcan and listening to music to keep calm. (I'm am a 25yo male, over 6'3 and decently built, not scared of anything beyond Spiders and Heights, and I was a nervous wreck)

The next morning (Thursday) I heard my mother wake up and I went to her and begged her to take me to the ER. They took me immediately and quickly got me hydrated with an IV bag. Immediately I felt the effect and it was like I just woke up. I had energy, And I actually had color returning to me. I had lost 7/8 lbs at this point because I couldnt eat or drink.

They kept me in the ER the rest of the day and they gave me a 2nd IV bag and different steroids and antibiotics injected directly into my IV line. Within an hour I could speak. It wasnt that my throat was magically opened, but the one word I was able to say on Wednesday had magically became full sentences on Thursday, even if it was really low volume compared to my usual speaking voice.

They took the Big C-test (negative) and a CAT Scan later on, and that's where things got scary (-er). The CAT scan revealed that just beyond the enlarged tonsils was a 4-inch abscess, which would possibly mean surgery to deal with.

While surgery was unclear, I would need to be transferred to a different hospital 20 minutes away where they were better equipped to deal with my situation. I finally arrived at like 3am (Froday morning) and get all checked in. I get the routine blood draw and vitals stuff and then get told to relax while the specialist finished with his other patients. About 4:30am this guy comes in and was like "we're gonna take care of this right now." And I'm like "....what?"

So he was explaining that he could drain part of the abscess and then let antibiotics and steroids do the rest of it. It sounded like a good plan. I was already in better hands and I was on my way back to normal strength. So we agreed.... and that's when I quickly learned to hate this guy.

I warned him I have an incredibly strong gag reflex, and he said it wouldn't be an issue. He'd put lidocaine (a numbing agent) on my throat and tongue and itd be fine (it wasnt).

So now here I am at almost 5am, after being awake for almost 25 hours at this point, lying on my back with a bright light on my face, 2 nurses and the doctor on all sides and not enough nerves in the world to stop from shaking like a chihuahua on a massage chair in an earthquake. And not just little nervous shaking. They were powerful shakes.

It took one touch and my gag reflex was active. I was gagging the entire time. I threw up. I was screaming and crying. I accidentally bit the main doctor guy because he tried to keep my teeth open for the needle (I refused to apologize). I had such powerful shakes that my mother needed to hold my legs. She hasn't seen me this scared in 20 years when I used to have nightmares every night. And that was only after ONE OF THE TWO drains that needed to be done. I wanted to cry more and vomit and die. I couldnt do that again. But he insisted. I asked if there was a different way. There was no way I could be conscious for this again. I already knew I'd have nightmares from that (and I did last night). But he said there wasnt. So the 2 nurses and my mother braced me as I lay on the bench crying, shaking and gagging, with blood spit and pus coming out of my mouth, while this doctor finished the other draining. It was agonizing. I haven't been this scared in over 15 years. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemies. It is like I was in one of those horror movies where a doctor just tortures patients. I wanted to cry and cry.

They soon told me I would be admitted to stay the night and that they would keep me on steroids and antibiotics overnight while they waited for things to improve. I felt asleep after being awake for 28 hours that night. The only thing on my mind was when I would have to drain the rest of the abscess.

When the doctor came in the morning to discuss what was up with the rest of the treatment he basically said "why didnt he put you on morphine or something?" ...I was speechless. So when I brought it up to the next one she said the same thing. As did the next 3... I could've avoided that trauma instead of having to do it like that.

So I ended up not needed to get the remaining abscess drained. The antibiotics and steroids they have had hooked me up to all day has been taking care of it. WITHOUT THE NEED FOR TRAUMA2.0!!! By noon I was drinking water on my own, I was even speaking louder. By 6pm i ate my first solid food since Monday nights dinner (Friday). By 8 I was on the phone with my friends talking like nothing had changed.

So I've been recovering steadily and rapidly. I should be able to leave and go home by tomorrow night. And then I'll be back at 100% shortly after.

I just wanted to thank you guys for all your messages and words of support that I've been getting these last few days, and to take a few minutes to explain what I've been dealing with these last few days. I want to thank you guys from the bottom of my heart for everything you've said. Truly, you guys and gals in this community mean the world to me.

Once I'm home I'll take a little time to get settled and we'll keep going as if this little "unplanned vacation' never happened. Take care and much love to everyone!!!

[staliasjeronica]

Riverdale S5 Ep11 Thoughts *Spoilers*

thoughts under cut to keep tag from being cluttered :)

- Oh yeah I forgot that Chad was blackmailing Veronica about the dirty dealings in her company even though it’s not her at all (unless it’s just been so long and I’ve forgotten but she’s my baby and I feel like I would’ve remembered but-

- Hiram and this dumb prison is one of the worst things for this show it’s a constant plot of people escaping and it’s so annoying like sure Hiram owns it and he was in the jail but no one has, like, taken him back to jail…??? Hiram is a fucking disease smh

- “back to remote learning” why didn’t you just stay that way though… like even right now in covid schools are opening back up and kids are complaining because it’s still not safe so like… just… go back to it??? I’m so not built for this world fasdhfkahf

- Veronica and Smithers 🥺🥺💞💞

- the way Veronica hugs Archie is so cute bc she’s so tiny but like she always gives her all and Archie is just 😐 never giving anything ahjfsdfsh it’s quite sad you can tell how done KJ is with Varchie lol

- “I really hate that I’m dragging you through this.” … what about constantly pulling him into your mob boss father mess that the writers refuse to allow you to escape from?

- “until you and Chad are officially done, I think we should keep our distance.” Varchie bones!!! you just KNOW that Archie has been looking forward to this because that man is whole heartedly in love with Betty and has been since forever and that while Chad prolongs the divorce papers, Archie will not be waiting for Veronica considering he doesn’t want her. Varchie = bones we love to see it!

- now who tf would join Penelope Blossom’s ministry… no one, realistically.

- can Cheryl stop being given the craziest and usually most boring plots ever please...

- Not someone holding a gun to Tabitha literally don’t hurt Riverdale’s best girl weirdo

- these bitches really haven’t aged huh…. poor Veronica though being robbed but like they stole some watches or something and the opal like that’s all you take..?? okay-

- Fangs 💞💞💞💞💞 also rip to him having to work with his ex tho

- STOP HAVING ARCHIE GO TO HIRAM WE’RE TIRED

- You know considering the whole reason why Hiram is still here as the villain and ruining Veronica’s life/growth to keep her in his plots al because Mark is a big soap opera celeb and apparently brings in money, you’d assume they would give him GOOD shit instead of everything he’s gotten. If they hadn’t of hired Mark can you imagine how much better off the show would be if they didn’t have to keep him around bc of his status????? God why-

- Reggie’s always there for Veronica muah…. oh fuck me I guess fjasjkdf

- “I work for one Lodge and it’s not you.” lmao okay??? you acting like that’s a flex, and that you’re working for the better Lodge who literally left you to die after the Serpents thought you shot Fangs so-

- MARTY BEING WHY REGGIE IS WORKING FOR HIRAM…….. YOUR DAD IS ABUSIVE LET HIM HANDLE HIS OWN DEBT??? God both Veronica and Reggie are always fucked over when it comes to their parents huh

- don’t you just love when they make characters act ooc for a plot ahhhhhh it’s totally fun to watch and totally not frustratingly annoying

- “FOR OLD TIMES SAKE.” 💞💞💞 we love Veggie even though they made Veronica act ooc and hurt him back then and they weren’t given an actual chance.

- “don’t be such a Betty” now why is Betty so surprised she only ever had fun when she was with Archie, when she’s with Jughead all she did was do what she wanted and order him around so likeefjhakdfh

- “he shouldn’t really be my problem anymore.” BUGHEAD BONES YASSSSS

- I know it was just a sound they used but like that squish sound when Darla kicked Tom’s face… did she like smash his face in damn what is this The Walking Dead?

- see the problem with them randomly bringing characters/parents in when they need them is that they’re never around so like no one really cares… like they could have utilized the parents so much (and Skeet and Marisol never would have left) and it would have been so much better than random appearances that make them look incompetent and awful parents because they’re never there during all the other times their kids need them. but we have to see the two toxic parents that won’t go away constantly??? literally what the fuck

- Betty calling Jughead’s writing cringey wbk she’s never liked his writing she was just stroking his ego bc she was his gf and had to be supportive lmaoo

- why are these 60+ year old men beating up Jughead like for why???

- so they just forgot that Tom was checking in on the convict huh gotta love dumbing down characters for plot!

- Fangs with his switchblade muah

- jealous Tabitha muahhh over a password

- “wait THE BETTY?"

- Cheryl looks so good

- Find meaning in his death… girl didn’t you not care that your husband killed your son over the illegal maple stuff I forgot the plot but it was something illegal and dumb

- “drain the vein” …...

- Reggie helping muah

- Why is Archie acting like an ass? like sure he doesn’t know that Chad is abusive and toxic but c’mon fucker you cheated on her and never apologized and you don’t even wanna be with her in the first place so why are you acting like you’re personally hurt sit down

- God Archie really hates Veronica huh… I don’t even blame him considering the shit she’s brought him into time and time again.

- Jughead was kicked like maybe five times yet he was fine falling out of a two story window and the serpent imitation but now he needs antibiotics..? plot convenience!

- literally don’t remember anything about Doc tbh or him talking to Donna and Bret like—

- ever since Negan people are obsessed with bats with barbed wire.

- also! yes please kill Hiram <3 I know they end up saving him bc of the opal but c'mon

- they searched basically nothing for five seconds wow such great detective work you guys!

- we know you just want his manuscript Jessica

- Cheryl with her rainbow skirt how cute!

- “daddykins” girl you’re like 25

- Veronica acting like she cares about Hiram fjsadhkfhas these guys thinking that they’d kill Hiram even though they need him lol

- bad bitch Ronnie we love her even though she’s gonna have to save her father to save others and get her opal </3

- not Veronica calling Archie first and not Kevin considering Kevin’s dad is there…. this is the pandering va fan service bs we have bc it makes no sense and it’s so forced

- Fangs knowing Archie rides with tools in his truck mmhm that’s a little sus idk how but archiefangs agenda coming through!

- no one would actually believe that Jessica ashkjdfsj and they take this bait…??? you gotta be joking lmao

- Jug got to help doc this time 🥺😭

- …. tell me why when he said boyfriend I immediately thought of Reggie I hate myself for wishing fahsdjkfsafj

- okay as cheesy and corny and awful the fight scene is since they posted a clip of it, them working together is so refreshing and nice we love leader!Veronica bc she’s so good at it. but the show only cares for Betty which is funny since she’s an awful detective fbahsdjfj

- my god enough with Jason’s body!!!!!!!!! you burned his body please let him stay dead let his body rest

- okay but the back and forth from Betty and Jessica is so good like I wish we could get that kind of rivalry drama type stuff all the time. too bad they refuse to let Veronica act like a normal person and get angry at being cheated on and such :/ when will Veronica slap the fuck out of Betty

- he’s not a blameless victim but Betty take responsibility for how awful a person you are PLEASE

- THE VOICEMAILLLLLLL Jughead only speaks the truth! it’s weird that he only realized what we all knew about Betty after but whatever, finally he gets upset like damn. also jeronica crumb he’s the only one to ever include Veronica smh ALSO Cole acted the fuck outta this voice mail muah

- the way Betty just sits there uncaring… she really is a freak huh god when will someone punch her in the face and take her ego down a million notches she’s so annoying

- “that’s darkness.” …?? what?

- the way bh’s relationship parallels jughead’s with Jessica though. the unhealthy habits, the bad energy, etc. except Jessica left it and Betty didn’t and it turned Betty into whatever the fuck this is. I miss s1 Betty :/

- so when will they sue Jessica for drugging them? mmhm probably never

- poor Tabitha being the only one who cares about jughead tho

- oh no I forgot there was a random musical number…

- you’re gonna have Betty and Tabitha act like THAT and not put them together so rude

- when will Cheryl be free from her mom. is was like turned on by abuse or something sigh why do the toxic (and most boring!) parents get plots and screen time and everyone else doesn’t...

- Veronica would be able to do Moree than pepper spray but whatever only Betty is allowed be “badass"

- fangs being fangs ugh so sexy my babyyyyy

- Trevor Stines is so attractive it’s a shame they only bring him back for five seconds to traumatize Cheryl over and over again though </3

- wow varchie in a pop’s booth what season is this again??

- god it’s so upsetting how amazing varchie would have been as just friends…

- the way he smiled at Veronica was so contradicting to the blank, “please don’t” expression when she was telling him she was gonna get divorced as fast as possible. why can’t he just admit he doesn’t want to be with her!!!!!! my god they’ve put off barchie long enough just let them be together so their characters can finally act in character and stop being so awful and annoying

- “this cause” what cause you fucking weirdo

- not Hiram threatening the mayor he could literally be your downfall if we had good writers fjasdkjfasf

- jughead how would you have killed him with a small wooden basket

- I like doc so much but I know we’ll never see him again until we randomly need him seasons from noow

- Betty wasn’t hit by the drugs until after the message though… how would she not remember? it didn’t seem to be doing anything to Betty until the bunker

- hopefully since they’re friends now Tabitha can make Betty act like a decent human being <3

- the way Tabitha looked at Betty please stop doing this to me...

- maybe we can finish that dance!!!!!!!!!!!!!! jabitha rising bughead dying we love to see it!

wow that episode felt like it was two hours long but thankfully I finally finished it… don’t have many actual thoughts but anyways hope you enjoyed my live blog of my thoughts!

[stanbillyhargrove]

Demons - The Rewrite

Chapter 24: Beauty In Death

TW: SUICIDE

Billy’s POV

Cat woke up sick the next morning. Her body just couldn't handle being out in the cold for as long as she had been. Steve, Max and I spent our time nursing her back to health. Bringing her tea and medicine. Tried to get her to eat some soup but everytime she did, she'd end up in the bathroom puking.

She got a fever on the third day. Woke up soaked in sweat and shivering. I skipped school for the morning to stay with her while she drifted in and out of sleep. Switched with Steve at lunch so we didn't fall too far behind on our classes.

We had to call Julie that night. Steve was helping Cat stand up and she had passed out. Just crumpled like a rag doll. Luckily, Steve caught her before she hit the floor or the table.

Julie brought some antibiotics home on her break and thanked us for taking care of Cat before leaving again.

She lasted a few more weeks with Steve and I trying our hardest to never leave her alone. She tried as best as she could to put on a happy front and pretend everything was okay. Max hung around her a lot, keeping that little spark of hope alive. We tried splitting up the nights with her so only one of us would be with Cat every night in hope that the other would be able to relax but both Steve and I had been restless on nights we were alone so we both ended up spending every night at Cat’s. The three of us would pass out sprawled against one another on the couch or Steve would take the couch while Cat and I slept in her room. There were a few times where Steve would drift off behind Cat, holding her so gently, and I would have to leave. I’d go outside to smoke and push down the spark of jealousy in my chest that set me on edge.

But I found myself thinking of Steve almost like a brother and I knew he loved Cat too. And I had to let them have that, let her have all the good in her life that she could.

We drove her to and from school and spent every possible second with her. But it had been exhausting, draining and we were starting to feel run down. Steve had been having a hard time staying awake during class, during basketball practice he had no energy and had been benched the past few days. I knew I was hitting that point of exhaustion too, my brain felt foggy and I was having a hard time focusing on anything.

And now there was a big game this week against a rival team. Coach had pulled Steve and I aside. Told us to get our shit together for the game or don't bother coming back to the team. Told us not to embarrass him.

Then the day of the game came and we were ready. We'd spent the last few nights trying to get as much sleep as we could. Cat seemed to be doing a little better so it made it easier to sleep.

"You're coming to the game, right?" Steve asked Cat.

We were in the parking lot after school. The game didn't start for a couple hours.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," she smiled, "I just need to get this assignment done. Mom will drive me back later."

Steve pulled her in for a hug, "see you later."

Cat gave Steve a quick smile, “love you, Stevie,” and squeezed his shoulder before getting in the front seat of the Camaro.

I pulled up to her house and noticed the driveway was empty except for Cat's broken down car, “your mom isn't home. Should I stay?"

Cat smiled, squeezed my hand lightly, “she'll be here soon, go get ready for your game," she leaned over to press her lips against mine, "love you, B."

I got home and scarfed down a sandwich that Susan made me before getting ready for the game. I was almost ready when Max appeared in my door.

"Is Cat coming to watch the game too?"

"Yeah, her mom's bringing her. You gunna save her a seat?"

She nodded, "I gotta tell her we finally beat the high score on that game at the arcade."

"Wow, good job, Max. She'll be proud," I said, grabbing my bag from the floor, "you ready?"

Jump.

Score.

The whistle blew.

Half time.

Our team crowded together to cheer for our last second point. Hands clapped my back. People in the stands cheered.

But when Steve and I looked out to the stands, we didn't see her.

I caught Max's eye and mouthed, "Cat?"

She shrugged and shook her head and disappointment settled heavy in my gut.

Steve and I were pulled into the locker room with the rest of the team.

He leaned in to whisper, "where is she?"

I shrugged, "don't know," I whispered back as our coach came in.

My mind was racing while our coach spoke. Is she okay? Is her mom with her? Why isn't she here? She was supposed to be here.

The rest of the game went by in a blur. The final whistle blew and we were swept up in the cheering of our celebrating team.

"We should check on her," Steve said quietly when our team started to disperse into the locker room.

"She did say her mom would be home tonight, maybe they're spending time together."

Steve didn't look convinced.

"I'll drop Max off, you pick up something to eat and we'll meet there. She's okay."

She has to be.

When I pulled up to the house, Steve had just pulled up and was getting out of his car.

Julie's car still wasn't there.

We hurried up to the door and let ourselves in.

"Cat?" I called.

We waited a second, slipping off our shoes. Steve walked in and set a box of pizza down on the kitchen counter.

"Cat?" He yelled, worry growing.

There was a note taped to the fridge, "Be back in a couple weeks. Be good, mom."

It dawned on me, "she wasn't coming home today.."

Steve took off running, grabbing Cat's bedroom doorframe to stop himself before ducking in.

"Cat?"

My heart was threatening to pound out of my chest.

“Cat?” I called, my voice ringing through the house, "Hello?"

Steve was panicking, shaking like a fucking leaf and cursing under his breath. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and pushed forward to the bathroom. Wrapped my fingers around the doorknob and twisted.

Click.

Locked.

Steve came forward to knock on the door, "Cat?

Silence.

I rattled the handle, "Cat? Can you answer me?"

We waited a second, holding our breath.

Nothing.

Steve stepped back a bit, shaking his head.

His voice hitched, "Cat, please?"

I pounced my fist against the door, "Cat, open the door!"

"Cat!" Steve yelled, losing his composure as he slammed his hand against the wood.

I pounded on the door harder, rattled the door know again, "Cat! Come on!"

Steve slammed his shoulder against the door and choked on tears.

"Back up," I said as I stepped away from the door.

I threw myself into the door as hard as I could. Wood cracked loudly under my shoulder, but not enough.

Steve had his hands in his hair, fingers clenched tight in his locks. His whole body tense.

I ran across the hall and threw my weight into the door again.

Wood splintered and gave way. The door flung open, swinging into the wall behind it.

I felt my knees give out when I saw what waited inside.

Cause while Steve had dealt with this before, had lived through this before, I wasn’t prepared for this.

Suddenly I was thrown into a memory of the first time Neil gave me a bloody nose when I was young and I couldn’t stop staring at the blood running down my face.

While I sunk to the ground, Steve leaped over me, a string of curses spilling from his lips.

“Fuck, fucking call someone! Jesus,” Steve ordered, hands shaking as he whipped around to grab towels.

I didn’t hear him, couldn’t hear him past the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. I felt like my lungs had filled with cement and I couldn’t gulp in enough air to fill them anymore.

Steve looked at me and scrambled over to grab at my arms, “jesus, Hargrove. Fucking, get over here,” he pulled me across the floor and wrapped my hands around Cat’s arms, “squeeze tight."

His hands left bloody prints up my arms. Her blood.

“But…you..last time..she's okay, right?"

“This is worse, we need help," he squeezed my hands around her arms, "tight. Don’t let go.”

My jaw worked with words that wouldn’t find their way past my tongue as Steve released me to run out of the room.

Worse? I couldn’t imagine how there could be a better or worse to this.

“Hello? I need an ambulance,” Steve’s watery voice echoed through the house, “my friend, she slit her wrists…”

I stopped listening, my only focus the metallic tang that hung thick in the air, coating the inside of my nose until I felt nauseous.

“Cat?” I croaked, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Baby. Please, please come back, just look at me, okay? Please? Just open your eyes, Baby,” I begged, trying to keep an iron grip on her arms but wanting so desperately to shake her until she woke up.

Steve came hurrying back into the bathroom, a red mark smeared across his cheek where he’d wiped at his face, “they’ll be here soon.”

He crowded beside me and grabbed at Cat’s face, leaving a matching smear, “hey, come on. Wake up, we’re here. We got you, okay? You gotta stay with us.”

She didn’t move when Steve shook her, and she was so pale. It crossed my mind that maybe we were too late.

My eyes burned as tears spilled down my cheeks, my arms shook and my knuckles were turning stark white against the red towels.

“Steve,” I choked, “I.. I don’t, what…why..?”

Steve chewed his lip, worried at it so much I thought he’d break skin, “fuck. I don’t know, I don’t know what to do. We just gotta try to keep her from bleeding out until the ambulance gets here,” he tried to shake her again and got no response, “mother fucker! Come on, asshole! Open your fucking eyes!”

My jaw ticked as anger spiked in my chest, “don’t swear at her!"

Steve whipped his head around to glare at me through dewy eyes, “really? You think me swearing is going to make this any worse?”

“I don’t know, Steve! Is it going to make it any fucking better?” I spat.

Steve opened his mouth to start yelling at me when he heard sirens coming closer and instead stood up with a huff, “stay here.”

“The fuck else do you think I’m gunna go?” I growled under my breath as he left.

“Please,” I pleaded, barely keeping myself from sobbing, “please, Cat. You can’t..you can’t fucking leave me like this. You just need to hold on, okay? Just stay with me, please. It'll be okay, everything will be okay. Just hold on."

I didn’t have to wait long before Steve hurried back with a couple paramedics holding a stretcher. They crowded into the bathroom, one man gently moving me out of the way to grab at Cat, fingers moving everywhere to test for a pulse and lift her eyelids.

Steve and I could only hear snippets of what they were saying to each other.

“Unconscious…non responsive….we’re gonna need an IV…I’ve got a heartbeat, barely."

They moved to lift her onto the stretcher and hurried back out to the ambulance with Steve and I following behind.

"Is she okay?" I asked, following behind.

They didn't answer, just hurried to load her into the ambulance. One of the men climbed into the back with her and went to close the door but was stopped by me grabbing the door.

"Sir, I need you to let go."

"I'm coming," I said, trying to climb into the ambulance.

He held up a hand, stopping me, “I’m sorry, immediate family only in the ambulance. You guys will have to follow us, call her parents.”

I looked at the man’s stupid freckled face, his stupid kind eyes and had to stop myself from tackling the man to the ground.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Do you see parents? We’re all she has! We have to go with her! I need to know she’s okay!” I shouted.

“Sir! You need to calm down,” the man replied sternly, “can’t let you in. Rules."

Steve grabbed my bicep and pulled gently, “Billy, let them go. They need to go,” he urged.

I tensed, my face going stony and backed away from the ambulance doors as Steve pulled at me with a shaking hand.

Steve was shaking violently as the ambulance drove away, sirens blaring. He never let go of my arm, he held tight like he thought I might bolt or he might collapse if he were to let go.

When the ambulance was out of sight, I turned and pulled my keys out of my pocket, “let’s go.”

Steve shook his head, “no, I need to, we gotta..we can’t leave that mess.”

I glared at him, I didn’t want to have to face that again, but followed Steve inside anyway. I followed Steve back to the bathroom where he dutifully handed me a couple towels and started filling the tub with hot water. We started wiping up the blood silently, neither of us ready to break the silence as we turned the bath water red from rinsing out the towels. It was eery, seeing the outline of where Cat had been slumped on the floor, clean and empty against the pool of dark red. I stuck my hand in the middle of the clean spot and felt my chin begin to waver. It was too much, seeing the blood pooled on the floor and sprayed up onto the cabinet, the smeared hand print on the edge of the tub next to shining metal.

“Steve,” I choked out.

He looked up at me with big, glassy eyes, there was a steady stream running down his cheeks that he hadn’t bothered to wipe away. With a huff I threw down the towel I had been cleaning with and stalked out of the house into the front yard. I fumbled to pull a cigarette out of my jacket and light it, my hands shaking and leaving red prints everywhere. Steve didn’t follow me, I was by myself with the weight of the world on my chest.

What am I gunna do if she…?

If she’s gone…forever?

I smoked through my last three cigarettes quickly, relishing in the acrid burn of my lungs until I went to grab another and found my pack empty. I screamed out a curse and threw the empty carton across the lawn and collapsed to the ground, holding my head in my hands and sobbing violently.

I should’ve fucking been here, she shouldn’t have been alone.

I knew, deep down, that she wasn't getting better. I had just been stupid enough to hope. To hope that she'd turn a corner, that her mom would be here to make sure she was okay.

But she wasn’t here, nobody was. And Cat was alone.

And that's my fault.

I sat there, wallowing in my anger and despair until my chest stopped heaving and my breath started to come normally again.

Briefly, I wondered if she left a note, something explaining why I wasn’t enough. Why we weren't enough to keep her alive.

I set my jaw, wiped at my cheeks and slowly got back to my feet to go back inside. I could hear Steve’s heart wrenching sobs as soon as I walked inside and followed them to find him curled up on the floor in Cat’s room, his head buried in his bloody knees. I gently knelt down next to him, twisting my fingers together in my lap.

“Don’t got any cigarettes to offer you,” I muttered, my voice scratchy and rough.

Steve sniffed and took a shuddering breath, “she didn’t call or anything...I tried s-so fucking hard.”

“I know,” I placed a hand on his back gently, “I know you did. We did all we could, Steve.”

“We should go..” he whispered.

“Yeah, okay,” I agreed, standing back up and extending a hand to him.

He puffed out another long breath before taking my hand to pull himself off the floor. Before I could think, Steve had collapsed into my shoulder, his arms gripping at my back in a crushing embrace as he choked out another sob.

“I should have been here, we shouldn’t have left her alone. This is my fucking fault,” he cried.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders firmly and grit my teeth before trying to talk past the knot in my throat, “Steve. Come on, it’s not your fault.”

@charmed-asylum​

[afni-fics]

In Hindsight: Chapter 8: In the Present... Fathers and Son

In Hindsight: Chapter 8: In the Present... Fathers and Son by C_R_Scott Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake/Tam Fox, Jack Drake/Janet Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Lucius Fox/Tanya Fox, Tim Drake & Tam Fox Characters: Tim Drake, Tam Fox, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Family Feels, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Good Parent Janet Drake, Bad Parent Jack Drake, no beta we die like robins, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Story Summary: What if Tim Drake was originally raised by his maternal grandmother for the first eight years of his life due to "circumstances" involving his biological parents? What if Tim's grandmother was also the next door neighbor and occasional sitter for Lucius Fox's family?

Chapter Summary: Still in the present day, Bruce watches over Tim as he sleeps away some of the emotional exhaustion of the morning. Some unexpected information is dragged into the light, and Bruce improvises what to do and say once his son wakes up.

...

How long had it been since Bruce last watched Tim as he slept?

The Wayne patriarch sat quietly on the window seat of Tim's bedroom, but kept his eyes on bed. Barely an hour earlier he'd managed to lead his physically and emotionally exhausted son out of the Nest and back into the living room of his house. Tam had led the way and gave a brief impromptu tour as she showed them to the master bedroom. Tim was barely coherent during most of the walk, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he passed out. The boy didn't even flinch when Bruce pulled the comforter over him, tucking it over his shoulders. While Alfred asked Tam for a more in-depth tour of Tim's new home, Bruce remained behind.

Tim looked so drained and despondent, even in sleep. It broke Bruce's heart to see his boy this way. The last time Bruce saw this side of Tim was on his first night at the Manor after his biological father had been murdered.

And once again, even now, Jack Drake was the source of his son's misery.

Bruce heard a quiet knock from the bedroom door. After a quick glance at Tim to ensure he was still asleep, he got up and walked to the door.

"Yes Alfred?"

The older gentleman glanced into the room first, assuring himself with brief once over of the slumbering teenager before motioning for Bruce to step out of the room. With great reluctance, Bruce followed the old man out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

"I wanted to let you know that Miss Fox has left to return home, and I'm on my way out to return to the Manor. Timothy's kitchen is rather sparse on ingredients, so I'm going to prepare some meals and bring them back for when he finally wakes up." Then Alfred brought out a medication bottle and placed it in Bruce's hand, his expression gravely serious. "Before she left, Tamara asked that as soon as Timothy wakes up he is to be reminded to take a dose of this. She said normally he takes it first thing at the office during the work week, but because he never made it there this morning he will need to take his dose as soon as possible."

Bruce's brow furrowed as he read the prescription label on the plastic orange bottle. "Amoxicillin?" His eyes shot back up to Alfred. "Why is Tim on a daily regiment of antibiotics?"

Alfred frowned deeply. "I do not know. I didn't press Miss Fox for clarification as I didn't want to upset her further than she already was this morning. She also appeared to be operating under the assumption that I already knew Timothy was taking this medication." 

Bruce shook his head. "What is going on? First we find out Jack was lying to Tim for years about his grandmother, and now Tim is keeping secrets from us regarding his health?"

"From the label, it appears that Dr. Thompkins was the one who prescribed the medication. I should still be on Timothy's HIPAA release forms regarding his medical records. I'll call her on the way to the manor and try to get some answers." 

"Thank you Alfred. Please keep me posted." Nodding, Bruce turned away from Alfred and returned to Tim's bedside, sitting down beside him. He gently stroked the teenager's hair from his face, concerned gaze softening as he watched his son sleep. 

  ...

For a few hours, Bruce kept vigil over his son. Though a part of him was very curious and wanted to explore the remodeled movie theater in greater depth, he did not want Tim to wake up alone after everything that had happened earlier. So he spent the next couple of hours on his phone distracting himself as best he could by going over Tim's Neon Knights reports that he hadn't had time to review earlier as well as other Wayne Enterprises related work that had been on the backburner for far too long, now that he was taking the time to review everything.

That is, he did so until a text message alert popped up on the screen. It was a message from Barbara.

"Call me."

With reluctance again, Bruce stepped out of the bedroom and into the hallway. He placed his Bluetooth headset on and dialed up Barbara. 

"What have you got for me?"

He could hear typing in the background. "Not much... yet. But I definitely get the sense that something was shady happened and was buried back when the original custody arrangement with Tim's grandma was severed. Fortunately for Tim, the ground is soft and I'm prepared to dig."

Bruce allowed himself a small smile at the fierce determination he could hear in Barbara's voice. He knew he could count on her. "What about why Tim was in his grandmother's custody to begin with? Was it just due to Jack and Janet's constant travelling due to their work, or was there something else?"

He listened to Barbara sigh, and there was a pause in her typing. "Definitely something else," she finally replied with an unhappy tone to her voice. "I'm sending you a couple of docs. One of them is the original custody arrangement, initiated when Tim was just two years old. 'Officially'--" Bruce could practically hear the air quotes around the word. "--the paperwork says it was due to the fact that they were travelling constantly for work, that it was more practical for the wellbeing of their son to stay in one constant, stable location and his grandmother was kind enough to open her home to him."

"And the reality?"

"I don't know for certain yet, but I think there may have been some domestic abuse happening. The rest of the docs are some of Tim's medical records from when he was a baby until he turned two. There are a worrying number of reports due to various 'accidental injuries' during this time period, that essentially dried up the moment Tim was in his grandmother's care."

Bruce could taste the bile rising up in the back of his throat as he read over the reports. On their own, if they were one-off occurrences, it would be easy to dismiss the injuries as just "accidents". Nothing was life threatening or permanently damaging, but as time went on, there was a definite pattern and a gradual trend of escalation regarding the severity of the injuries and how frequently they were occurring and requiring visits with his pediatrician or the children's hospital emergency department.

All before Tim even reached the age of two.

  ...

Tim's eyes opened slowly to the pitch darkness of his bedroom. His brow furrowed as he glanced around after sitting up, dislodging the comforter that had been tucked around his shoulders. He plucked at the still warm, very inviting blanket as if he wasn't quite sure if it was real or not before turning his attention to the glowing numbers of his bedside alarm clock.

"Why am I in bed at two in the afternoon?"

He rubbed at his eyes, which felt gritty and itchy. To his surprise, he felt a slight change of texture on his skin beneath his eyes. It was a feeling he was quite familiar with. 

"Was I crying?" he thought as he felt the remains of the dried tear tracks on his cheeks before reflexively scrubbing them away with the heel of his hand. "Why was I--?"

Then he froze.

His bedroom door had opened and he recognized the silhouette of his adopted father in the doorway against the daylight filtering in from the hallway.

Then Tim's short term memories from the morning caught up with him, and is breath stuttered audibly in his throat.

"Oh... I remember..."

Bruce had paused when he saw Tim sitting up in his bed. His startled expression quickly bled into concern. "Sorry," he apologized as he stepped further into the room, closing the door partway to dim the light, though he didn't shut it all the way. He shoved his phone into his pocket. "Did I wake you?"

Tim shook his head without a word as he focused his gaze firmly on the quilted lines of the comforter. He felt the mattress shift as Bruce sat down next to him. 

"How do you feel?"

The young man dared to glance up at Bruce's question. He opened his mouth as if to answer, but nothing came out. Tim was startled by his lack of words. There were so many thoughts and feelings twisted up inside his head. Heartache... Confusion... Anger... Regret... Betrayal... Surprise... Grief... There was so many conflicting things churning in his mind, like a pot threating to boil over.

But he couldn't find his voice for any of it. 

All Tim could do was close his mouth, bowed his head, and let his expression communicate how miserable he felt.

Suddenly, the bed shifted again and Tim felt a strong arm wind itself around his back as a hand gently clasped his shoulder. He tilted his head upward to see that Bruce had moved to sit beside him and drew him into a one-armed half-hug that gave him a choice of either leaning into the embrace or escaping it if it was going to be too much for him. Tim was stiff for a moment as he processed the unspoken choice he'd been given. Then, slowly, he relaxed into his adopted father's embrace and leaned against him with a small sigh.

"Having a hard time processing everything?"

Tim nodded. 

A low hum of acknowledgement rumbled from Bruce's throat that Tim could feel. A corner of his lips twitched upward even as he closed his eyes wearily. It felt nice. He felt safe. 

"Do you want to talk about anything right now?"

The teenager thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. Now that he felt safe and comforted, the tendrils of sleep that had slipped away earlier were returning to drag him under once again. He was still so very tired.

Bruce seemed to guess that his son wanted to go back to sleep. "Before you pass out again, Tam said you need to take these." He reached over for the nightstand and grabbed the orange bottle. 

Tim blinked at the bottle in drowsy confusion, though once he recognized the label of his prescription, his eyes widened. His posture had stiffened and he looked at Bruce with a guilty hesitant expression. "I-- I can explain..." he forcefully croaked out in a barely audible tone.

His father shook his head to stop Tim from speaking. "Is Leslie fully aware of what is going on and why you're on this medication?"

Tim nodded.

Bruce gave him a small reassuring smile. "Then, we can talk about this later," Bruce said "As long as you're not in any immediate danger, we can postpone this conversation. But since this involves your health, especially your immunity if I'm recognizing this medication correctly, I don't want you going out on patrol until we clear the air about this, alright?"

With a resigned sigh, Tim nodded again. "Fair." 

Once he'd taken his antibiotics, Tim made himself more comfortable again in his bed. After resting his head on his pillow, before he could allow himself to drift off, there was one question he had to ask his father. "Bruce?"

"Hm?"

"Who else knows?"

"Alfred was with us earlier, though I'm not sure how aware you were of everything that happened in your Nest," Bruce revealed, to which Tim nodded thoughtfully. "Barbara knows as well." At Tim's confused look, Bruce clarified. "I asked her to investigate how... all this happened. Was it just oversight or was it something malicious?"

"But I can--"

Bruce shook his head. "I could never ask you to investigate your own father. That would be too cruel." Bruce said sadly. Then he reached out to stroke Tim's hair in a soothing gesture. "And... I don't want you to focus on Jack right now. In fact, I want you to take a break from Wayne Enterprises and being Red Robin as well, at least for the rest of this week." 

Tim felt the words of protest rise up in him almost like a reflex. He tried to sit up and was fully prepared to launch into an argument right then and there about being benched. He paused though, when Bruce pressed a hand to his shoulder to stop him, and he could see the naked compassion in the older man's eyes.

"There's someone else who deserves your undivided attention right now, especially if you want them back in your life again."

Tim's breath got caught in his throat, and despite having felt like he cried himself out earlier, he could feel his eyes begin to tear up once more. New thoughts and feelings surrounding his grandmother began swirling around in his head, robbing him of his voice just as the earlier thoughts had done so, though these were nowhere near as angry, raw, and painful as the ones when he first woke up.

Bruce's smile was equal parts reassuring and wistful. Tim stared at Bruce's face trying to read the unfamiliar expression. He could tell that love was feeding the look his father was giving him, and it made him feel warm inside. But there was... something else hiding behind Bruce's blue eyes... a melancholy that he couldn't decipher that made his own heart ache to see.

Before he could ask Bruce about it, much to the teenager's surprise, his father leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the crown of his hair. "Get some more rest," Bruce instructed as he rose to his full height and turned to leave the room. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Still stunned by the impromptu display of affection, Tim could only nod numbly as he watched Bruce step out of the bedroom and close the door behind him. Though his thoughts and emotions still churned inside him for a time, eventually sleep reclaimed him.

...

Author's Notes:

Author's Note: Bruce is trying really hard to be a good father in this story. A part of him both wants to ensure Tim is reunited with his grandmother, since it's clear the boy loved the woman. However, there is a part of him that is afraid that once he has his grandmother back, Tim might decide to leave him and the rest of his adopted family behind to remain with her. However, if that is Tim's choice, who would he be to deny him? What would Bruce do if he was given a chance to have his own mother back in his life? What about any of his other children (who had decent caring mothers...)?

#tim drake#tam fox#tim/tam#red robin#fanfiction#wip#rr: in hindsight#batfam#batfamily#lucius fox#bruce wayne

[just-mirko]

 BINARY  

BNHA HACKER AU - CHAPTER 6

MASTERLIST

Mirko x F!Reader

Warnings: Blood, Me calling out all of you readers as bottoms.

WC: 2.1K

--

She gazed at my face with indistinguishable emotion. Her teeth were barred in a mix between a grimace and a smile. The blood that was smeared beneath her mouth where I had injured her; the red blood matched her wild eyes.

“I win,” She said quietly...

--

             Her breathing was slowing, though I still could not distinguish between each of our pants. Blood rushed to my head, making me feel hot, cold, and everything in between. My gaze was fixated on the small stream of blood making its way down her chin, next to where the previous blood had been smeared in a weak attempt to get it off her face. Looking up from the corner of her lip, our eyes met, and for a second, we both stilled. The ringing in my ears got remarkably silent. I could only image the same was happening for her.

             The corner of my lips tugged into a small smile and her grip on my wrists weakened the slightest bit, letting blood flow back into my aching fingertips. My muscles relaxed a small amount, no longer having to strain to keep them from being stretched too much.

             A small pause was shown in her features. For a moment Mirko seemed open and free. It was a short second though, and that look glazed back over. I was met with the same eyes I always saw behind the silver mask.

             She rolled from atop me with a thud and laid on the sparring mat next to me. Her presence was quiet, but reassuring: slightly cocky as well, seeing as she totally wiped the floor with me. The only good hit I managed to get was a throw towards her jaw, and even then, she only flinched when it drew blood. Even on the hard mat my limbs felt like jello as I melted into the floor. Oh, what I would give to just fall asleep right now. I have not been that active in so long. Our fight was less than 5 minutes but was so filled with movement and pain that my energy drained quick.

             “Has everyone completed their first match?” I heard Nezu say. To me, it felt like I was hearing it from underneath 10ft of water. Falling into the deep end.

             “Yea” A chorus of voices responded, some sounding worse for wear than the others. Mine was one of the worse ones. The back of my throat was scratchy. Some other students brought water bottles with them, but I hadn’t even brought mine to the academy.

             I guess I should buy a new one later. I silently noted.

             I sat up, into a crossed leg position on the mat. My back instantly slouched over from the soreness in my muscles. Staying upright was a struggle.

             “Well…” Nezu began, his finger tapping his lips. -Nose? I do not know mouse terminology- as he pondered the next words to say. “Your matches weren’t  terrible I guess, but it was far from proficient.”

             I was dazed and looking around at the other students. A smirk could not help but make its way onto my face when I saw that hawks was missing one of the larger feathers on his wing. One feather we even stuck in the ceiling. Ha! He constantly gazed back up at it, willing it to fall down, but It was wedged there.

             “Some of you have sustained a few bruises, and sores, do you have any injuries that require immediate attention?” He asked, scanning the room looking for students in pain When his gaze landed on Mirko.

             “Are you still bleeding?” He asked inquisitively. He knew it wasn’t a major injury, but whatever he had planned next wouldn’t suit well if she just kept spilling her red blood cells everywhere.

             “(Y/N)” Nezu called cheerfully with a slightly mischievous undertone.

             “Take her to the common room, there is a first aid kit near the doors in. Do try and help her with a band aid or two.”

             I was about to speak up when he beat me to it,

             “You wont miss anything, we will just be giving feedback on the fights that happened with everyone’s partners.”

             I looked towards Mirko. She brought a finger up to her face and rubbed her lip lightly, checking for blood. It came back red. The liquid was seeming to slow down though, but the amount of slowly drying blood smeared across her jawline and dribbling down her neck wasn’t a good look. Well god, it did look really hot on her, but I could imagine the taste of iron was something she wanted to get out of her mouth.

             Gesturing her head towards the door, Mirko stood up lightly. Her recovery was amazing. So soon after a fight and she was already as energetic as ever.

             She reached out to me and I took her hand, when she pulled me up, I could feel a few joints in me leg pop uncomfortably. The would definitely swell up a little by tomorrow.

             We walked through the exit doors silently, not wanting to disrupt the rest of the class more than we already had. The hallways were so dark compared to the bright penthouse training area lined with windows.

             The ride down the elevator was nothing short of awkward, I stood an arms distance apart in the corner, my head filled with so many thoughts that I could not translate into words.

             “I’m sorry for punching you like that” I sheepishly mumbled quietly. It’s my fault that she had to miss a portion of class. On the first day at that. I should’ve aimed for her shoulder or something.

             Her white ears twitched towards me.

             “Hey, it was a good punch Bunny, kind of deserved it after I pinned you that roughly... Hey are your wrists okay?” She said the last sentence quickly. Maybe she was afraid that got hurt.

             “I’m okay!” I quickly respond, moving my arms straight in front of me to show my hands. I rolled them a little to show each side and prove they were nothing more than a little red.

             I said with a smile, “They are barely sore anymore.”

             She took one of my hands and gently turned it over, looking at the join and checking for what I assumed was bruises. Satisfied that there were no injuries. She let out a small sigh, though she still held my hand carefully. The tips of her nails tickled lightly against my palm.

             Under my breath, in the lowest tone possible, I quietly admitted to myself.

             “Hey, it’s not like I didn’t like it”

             “Did you say something?” Mirko’s voice was eerily calm. Its not like she heard it though: she probably though it was just talking to myself.

             The elevator ride down to the common room ended when a small ding resonated into the metal box.  We stepped off and opened the large wooden doors.

             I told her to go sit down on the couch while I fished for the first aid kit.

             I found it in a small shelf under a box of medical tape and gauze.

             “Got it!”

             I walked towards Mirko, holding the box in my hands, wondering where to place it. I settled on the coffee table. Both of us were silent as I sat right next to her. I was not aware of how close I sat, until I turned to her, alcohol wipes in hand, less than a foot from her face.

             I froze in place and my heartbeat picked up. I took a gulp and gently took her face in my hand before beginning to remove some of the dried blood. I was nearly eye level with her chin when we were both sitting down, so it was easy to avoid eye contact. While I focused, I got into a sort of trance. I was trying to be as delicate as possible as to not reopen the cut, though some of the blood was tough to remove

             Once that was over, I just had to apply an antibiotic cream, then a band aid.

             I put a bit of the ointment on my thumb then placed my hand on both sides of her face to make sure she did not move. Carefully, I brushed the bottom of her lip with my thumb, making sure to get the wound, and a little bit of the area around it covered.  Her face was so warm under my touch, and soft too. Each small exhale made a little puff of warm air fan across the fingertips, sending shivers down my spine.

             Lastly, I unwrapped the band aid and positioned it over her face before tapping it down and making sure it stayed on.

             “How much do you know about rabbits (Y/N)?” Mirko’s voice was no louder than a whisper, and our faces were so close that every word she said was clear.

             “Not that much more than the average person.” Why was she saying this suddenly? Did she have magic healing powers with her quirk? Was she allergic to the ointment or something? Was she just being a pretentious little bitch like hawks?

             “You see bunnies have really good hearing.” Wait oh god. Did she hear me say that? Was that why-

             My mind quickly went to what I had said 5 minutes ago in the elevator.

-

             Under my breath, in the lowest tone possible, I quietly admitted to myself.

             “Hey, it’s not like I didn’t like it”

-

             “W-what do you mean by that Mirko” I said, and I could feel my face heating up. She noticed it too and chucked to herself. It was a deep rumbling sound that would have made me feel calm in any other situation.

             “Nothing, just thought you would want to know.” A grin was back on her face, flashing sharp canines, the last thing you would have expected on a rabbit quirk holder.

             “Hey, stop doing that you’re going to reopen the cut” I said and lightly punched her shoulder. I did not want all my work to go to waste. My hand went back up to the band aid on her face and my finger grazed the size of her lip.

             “My parents always kissed my boo boos (injuries) when I got hurt” Mirko said boldly, and my hand froze up next to her face. Was she implying. No. no no.

             I wasn’t going to kiss her. If It was on her hand maybe if she insisted but right under her lip… No (Y/N) pull yourself together.

             That cut was so close to her mouth and I could not I don’t. That would just be so embarrassing and I-

             “Hey (Y/NNNN), You spaced out a little bit” She teased.

             “N-no I-I can’t” Did she really have this effect on me? One second, I was bold and brash, but the second she calls me out on saying that I enjoyed having her top me. (If you are reading this fanfic this applies to you. Do not lie to yourself. We all want to be topped my Mirko).

             “Aww but how else will I get better” Her face tilted down towards me, and the slightest bit closer.

             “Just a little peck would make all the pain go away”

She was reading me like an open book. Pressing all my buttons. Everything I said she was right through. Oh she definitely deserved the punch.

             “I-“

             My voice stopped when I felt a light brush on my side next to the top of my hip bone. One of her hands was delicately just waiting there, barely making any movement. Maybe if I just leaned in, her fingertips would connect, trace gentle shapes in my side while-

             Both my hands were close to my chest. I was rubbing my fingertips together in a slight fidget though. All my anxiety was shown to her.

             Her other hand- her left hand- reached up towards my cheek, though she was not touching me, just like on my hip. She wouldn’t do a single thing till I did something first.

             With a tiny smile she remarked “I can hear your heartbeat.”

             “Why are you so scared?” She asked.

             Her nails contacted my hip and my check, though she still, wasn’t touching me.

             “Maybe you want me, to make the first move-“Her eyelids closed slightly while she looked down at me fondly.

             Each word I wanted to say did not come out. Because in my head, I was saying she was right.

[theivfdiaries]

I’ve started telling people in my life about what we’re going through with IVF and the miscarriage, and it’s been weirdlly freeing. I thought I wanted to save it for when it was good news but it doesn’t seem like that is coming anytime soon, and I also just didn’t want to hear people’s judgements and opinions but... it’s been really great so far. I told 2 of my friends in the past 2 days and they both had the most amazingly supportive reactions. It’s not that I particularly want to talk about it or anything, but at this point it feels like keeping it a secret is harder than talking about it, and it feels like a weight off my chest to not have it as a “secret” anymore. I don’t have to shrug and say “not much” when people ask what I’ve been up to, I don’t have to smile and say “great” when people ask how I am... I can just tell the truth. It’s honestly so freeing and relieving. Of course, I’m not announcing it to the world or anything, but sharing with a few close friends who I know won’t be passing judgement or bugging me for updates, has just been so great. I don’t want to be obligated to update people with every little detail, but the people I’ve talked to so far are totally not expecting me to do that, they just made it clear they’re there for support and for me to talk to when/if I want to. I feel like for months I’ve been shutting people out because I hate having to be “fake” around everyone, but now it’s like I can just let go and be honest about how shitty I’m doing, and then the rest of the conversation--even when it’s about other things--is just more genuine. I feel so much less alone now that I’m no longer hiding it, so I know this was the right decision for me.

Some more updates on the medical side... the lab freaking lost my bloodwork??? Well, they mixed up the requisition form or packed the vials wrong or something? I was so furious. So I had to go back in today to repeat the bloodwork from last week. UGH. Only me, right?

I also got the results of last week’s hysteroscopy today... apparently I have chronic mild endometritis. My nurse was saying the hysteroscopy/D&C would’ve just “cleared it out” but literally EVERYTHING I am reading says I will need antibiotics. So I’m very confused and very nervous, and hoping that she’s wrong and that my doctor is going to give me antibiotics so we can be sure it gets cleared up. Apparently endometritis can cause miscarriages, but miscarriages can also cause endometritis. So I guess there’s no way to know which came first but... we certainly want to be rid of it before next time. On one hand I’m relieved that we “found something” but on the other hand I’m scared my doctor isn’t going to treat it properly based on what the nurse said, AND I am really dreading being on antibiotics for 2-4 weeks even though I do “want” them because I want to be rid of the infection.

I’m trying to be more positive though and to make the most of my life now, because as much as I want to fast forward I know that I can’t. I’ve been doing a lot more of my freelance work (I made over $100 this week, when the week before I only made like $30). I’ve been knitting again. And like I said before, I’ve been seeing friends! Which is a huge deal for someone who has been as isolated as I’ve been for the past few months! Dear husband also interviewed for a promotion today and he killed it, so here’s hoping more good things will be coming our way soon. We’re also going to try to go somewhere new outside to take a walk this weekend rather than just hanging out in our apartment or at my mom’s house all weekend. It’s been so long since we’ve had real quality time together because I’m always so emotionally and physically drained, so I’m really going to try to make more time for that especially while I’m in between treatments and am feeling up to it physically. I’m still grieving and I’m still hurting and I’m still terrified for the future, but I’m making a real effort to make my life as good as I can make it for now, and to make myself into the person I want my child’s mother to be.

[lost-tanuki-whump]

Hallucination/Reality - Part 2

Content warning: a whole lot of questioning reality Prompt Challenge: Loss of Faith Cast: The Disaster Five Word count: 2,1k

***

There was a hand on his arm. Arkady opened eyes which he hadn't realized he'd closed in the first place and his gaze shot up to the shadow looming over him. He recoiled, instantly trying to plead for them to stop hurting him, his own voice sounding muffled in his ears. He didn't think, the words just spilled out of his lips. He only stopped when he felt that hand slip down from his arm to his hand and gently squeeze. Confused, he blinked and then peered at the shadow's features in the dimly lit space he was lying in. He recognized Leonida. She looked concerned for him and Arkady felt his heart throb upon realizing that he was hallucinating again. He quickly pulled his fingers away from that hand and tried to get away, but as soon as he moved, his body woke up and clamored in pain. One of his weakened arms folded beneath his tender shoulder and he caught himself with a grunt. He felt more than he saw his captain crowd his space, wanted her to get away, snapped: "Ukhodi!"

Leonida shouldn't have understood and yet she pulled back all the same. Arkady closed his eyes in dismay. He hated these. He rarely realized when he was hallucinating but when he did, it wasn't always easy to get out of the simulation. It felt so cruel. He felt so weak. He wanted to cry. Arkady curled up in the soil and wished it didn't all feel this real. He wanted to leave. He was tired and it was even more draining to know that Leonida wasn't going to save him no matter how much he wished for it.

He felt vibrations through the earth and gray light spilled across his face. It caused the very back of his eyes to twinge and he screwed them shut tighter. He didn't understand why light so often hurt his eyes every time he hallucinated it, given that it was never real. A shadow moved and he felt a presence at his side. The hand hesitantly reappeared and Arkady didn't have the strength to shake it off again. He was torn between ignoring everything or allowing himself to have this little bit of reprieve from reality, even if it wouldn't last, even if it would hurt all the more to be torn away from this sliver of solace. The sob caught Arkady by surprise and jostled his painful ribs, and he grit his teeth with a low groan. Tears had started trickling down his cheeks without him realizing. The hand became more insistent and pulled at him, not brutally like his tormentors did, but by small jerks as if to convince him to go along with it.

"Arkady, look at me."

Leonida's voice sounded like it was coming through miles deep of water but Arkady couldn't stop his automatic reaction of looking up when he heard it. Leonida's face was illuminated by the cold daylight. Her honey blonde hair was a dirty mess, her face bruised and caked with dried blood, her brows were furrowed in grim concern and her brown eyes were staring at Arkady in a way that made him feel like he was the only thing to exist at that moment. She'd never looked this rough when he'd seen her before.

"Can you hear me?"

Arkady frowned, lost. She looked like someone who was speaking loudly but he didn't hear her at the same level of noise as he expected to. He opened his mouth, closed it again. There was no point in interacting with any of this when it would all be gone soon. Arkady slumped back to the ground and dismally stared at the ashen pieces of wood in front of him. His body and mind felt too worn for him to do anything, anyway.

"Hey! No!" She shook him by the arm with more force than before. Arkady frowned at his captain. She hadn't been this annoying before. "Yeah, I know," Leonida said as if reading his thoughts, which she probably was because she was a goddamn product of his own brain, and she leaned in closer. "Can you speak English for me, Arkady? Tell me something in English."

Arkady didn't want to speak but he also wanted to be left alone. He realized he had to really think on it to switch languages, and it felt strange to shape English words on his tongue after what felt like an eternity of disuse. He managed: "Stop it." He could barely heard himself over the buzz in his ears.

She frowned. "I'm not hurting you."

"No, not..." Arkady clenched his fists against the dirt, his bad shoulder twinged unpleasantly but it wasn't hurting as badly anymore. "Not that. Go away."

"Seriously? Now you're pulling the solitary, brooding bad boy card on me? Earth to Arkady, you'll die if I leave you alone."

Arkady brought a heavy hand to his face. He didn't feel a blindfold. Strange. No, it made sense that there would be no blindfold in a scenario that was taking place in his imagination.

"Arkady," repeated Leonida insistently. "Do you know who I am?"

Arkady felt a hysterical laugh bubble up without warning. As if he'd ever forget. He also felt like sobbing uncontrollably. Ultimately he choked out: "Go away."

"Arka-"

"Just go away!" he screamed, his hand coming away from his eyes to bat at the apparition. It weakly hit a firm body. Arkady wavered, but he'd felt Leonida's solid shoulder beneath his stomach before when he'd hallucinated that escape. He couldn't trust any of this. Arkady pulled his hand away and begged: "Just go away already. I can't do this. I can't."

Leonida reached out to grab his hand and worriedly asked: "You can't do what, Arkady? What are you talking about?"

Arkady's wet gaze dropped to the tan fingers curled around his pale hand. He slowly shook his head. "Stop, please. You're not real. Stop." His eyes burned more, he lifted his other trembling hand to hide his face, to muffle the waver of his voice. "Don't do this to me. Don't... do this to me."

He felt Leonida hold him with both hands now, her grip tightening around his fingers. "Arkady, I'm real."

"Stop," he brokenly whispered. "Please."

"No," she vehemently said. "No, I'm not stopping. I got you out of there and we're going to get Gren back too, and then we're getting off this stupid planet. This is real, it's as real as it gets! You know how many guys I killed back there? If they're smart, they'll know not to come after us. I'll end the rest of them if they do."

Arkady didn't have the strength to look at her. He couldn't let himself hope, not after all this time. Leonida had left him behind to be tortured and Arkady had come to terms with the fact that she wouldn't come back. He'd already lost his faith in her. Arkady never had a lot of faith at all, generally speaking, but right now he felt entirely devoid of that warm little light. He felt no hope of it ever coming back.

One of Leonida's hands came away to coax his arm down. "Hey. Look at me." Arkady was too weak to keep his arm up. He let her pull it away and blankly stared at his captain's face. Leonida seriously said: "You're out. They're not going to do anything to you anymore, you've got my word."

Arkady slowly nodded. He didn't believe her, but he had little choice other than going along with this.

Leonida nodded too, looking satisfied. "All right. I think your hearing is a little compromised because I shot a gun right next to you, but that's usually temporary. I took care of your wounds as best as I could. How's your shoulder?"

"Weird," flatly said Arkady.

Leonida moved her hand up to brisly trail a light finger down his shoulder. "Do you feel this?"

"Yes."

She continued circling his skin from the top of his shoulder down to his elbow. "Everywhere?"

"Yes."

"Can you move your arm?" Arkady could. He winced when he had to lift it high up but otherwise, Leonida seemed content with his mastery over his own limb. She said: "That's better than I hoped, honestly. We'll see if you have any lingering damage when we get to a pod." Arkady said nothing, and Leonida continued talking. "We'll have to watch that wound at your collarbone because it looks infected. I gave you antibiotics and desinfected all I could but you'll have to let me help you with that again later. All right?"

Arkady nodded.

"We have to get you food and water, and clothes too. Going back to the ship right now is dangerous so I was thinking of heading to the nearest town. I don't think you can walk there. Can you?"

"My ankle's fucked."

"Try to see if you can at least get up."

Arkady slowly pried himself to sitting and then painstakingly gathered his legs beneath him to stand up, but his body hurt too much and he had to take a pause to breathe through it.

Leonida's hand appeared in front of his face. "Here, painkillers. We'll try again once they start acting."

Arkady glanced at her, then leaned back and wordlessly took the white pill to eat it. It stuck to the back of his palate for a little bit until he managed to swallow it down for good, where it then stuck to someplace in his throat. Leonida didn't say anything the whole while, she just stared at him. Arkady almost though that she was going to make a remark about how quiet he was being. She didn't. Instead she said: "It's fine if you can't walk, I'll help you there."

Arkady stared down at the dirt. Eventually he spoke. "You said we had to go find Grenelant."

"He got himself caught. I want to call him an idiot but there's probably a good reason it happened. At least we got out thanks to that."

Arkady continued emptily gazing at the ground and then slowly lifted his eyes to Leonida.

"...We?"

His tone of voice seemed to alert Leonida. She carefully asked: "Is something wrong?"

Arkady scrutinized her and then murmured: "They said you left."

Perplexed, Leonida said: "What? When?"

A sick, heavy feeling settled in Arkady's gut. "What happened to you after they pulled me away?"

Leonida's expression grew even more cautious. "They continued fiddling with me in an all-around uncool way and kept wanting to know where Gren was. I couldn't answer, obviously." Her voice grew a tiny bit quieter and he had to strain his ear to hear her. "I know they tortured you during that time for the same reason."

Arkady felt cold, like all the blood had leeched out of him. He blankly repeated: "They said you left."

Leonida's features shifted in dawning realization, and she said something in a voice too low for Arkady to hear, but he could tell the gist of it from what she'd told him and her expression. You thought I'd abandoned you?

He'd believed them. He'd believed them and even before believing them, he'd only been desperate for Leonida to get him out of there without even thinking of the things she might've been going through herself. He felt wrong. Stupid, guilty, so fucking naive and ungrateful. Mostly, Arkady felt like he was going to be sick. He pressed a cold hand to his dry lips and tried to breathe in to calm himself.

"It's okay," Leonida was hurriedly saying in front of him. "It's okay, I don't blame you for believing them, it's not like the situation helped you think otherwise. That was their goal, Arkady. It made it easier to kick you down if you didn't have any hope left."

"Well it fucking worked," growled Arkady with dejected asperity, angry at himself because he'd fallen for something so obvious and given up so soon. And yet still, at the back of his mind, resided the certainty that none of this even mattered; that Leonida was somewhere off in space with Grenelant and Arkady was still stuck in the chest waiting for more torture to be inflicted on him until he died.

"Hey, I'm here, okay?" Leonida tried to reassure him. "We're both here and we're alive. Right now let's focus on getting you what you need, then finding Gren and getting the hell out of here as soon as we can."

Arkady nodded again, silent. He'd do what Leonida wanted. If this all turned out to be just one long, elaborate hallucination, Arkady would tell himself that he'd at least seen it coming. There wasn't much he could do about any of this when the fabric of his own subconscious didn't yield to his will.

Leonida leaned forward to catch his gaze again and promised: "You're going to be okay, Arkady. I'll make damn sure of it."

Arkady stared at her and then looked down. He felt empty. He didn't say anything at all.