#Emergency Patient Transport Shifting

[nobigsecrets]

(Not) The Right Time

Inspired by @creativepromptsforwriting Prompt #1085: Maybe this was not the right time. But maybe if he didn't try now there would never be time for it again. Fandom: 9-1-1 Rating: T Summary: Tommy's side of things between cutting short the first date and agreeing to the coffee date. Coda to episode 7x05.

Read on AO3

Tommy's phone started ringing just as their latest call came in. He fumbled it out of his pocket on the way to the pre-flight briefing and then stopped dead in his tracks once he got a look at the display.

Evan (118), it said and Tommy stood in the middle of the hallway, the phone buzzing away in his hand and his thumb hovering over the display indecisively. Unbidden, his mind produced an image of the last time he'd seen Evan, last night to be precise, when Tommy had left him standing at the curb in front of the restaurant. At the time, he'd been convinced that cutting their date short was the safest thing he could do. For both of them. That it was just as much self-preservation as the need to make sure he didn't push Evan into things he wasn't ready for.

But the way Evan's face had fallen in disappointment when Tommy had left had followed him all the way home and through the rest of the night. Looking back at it now, Tommy could admit his decision had been a little rash. Maybe even unfair. He liked the guy—

Before Tommy could make up his mind about accepting or declining the call, it went to voicemail and he felt like catapulted back to the present from his memory. Suddenly he was acutely aware of the bustling of the station all around him, of the engine noise in the distance, of someone walking past him in the hallway, a brief touch to his shoulder, "You coming with, Kinard?"

Tommy sighed and shoved his phone back into his pocket. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe this was not the right time.

He sat through the briefing, absorbing all relevant information on the requested flight, which was basically a standard air ambulance transport. Not an emergency per se, but the transport of an intensive care patient from a hospital in the suburbs to a specialized and better equipped clinic downtown. He checked the given coordinates, plotted the route in his mind, added weather conditions and looked for potential risks, not finding any.

Halfway through the meeting, Tommy felt his phone buzz again inside the pocket of his flight overall, with, what he supposed, was an incoming text message. It could be anyone sending him a text, he tried to reason with himself, but he couldn't quite shut up the part of his mind hoping it was from Evan.

He forced himself to listen to the additional information and medical requirements of the flight, even if they were more relevant to the attending aeromedic than to the pilot. He was nothing if not one hundred percent professional, but he couldn't shake the antsy feeling crawling up his back and the way his phone seemed to burn a hole through his pocket.

That was why he found himself lingering after the briefing, pretending to check the weather charts again when in reality he was waiting until everyone else had cleared the room. When he pulled his phone from his pocket for a second time that evening, he was surprised to find an actual voicemail waiting for him instead of the expected text. Tommy hit call, trying to ignore the rush of anticipation that seemed to hit him out of nowhere—

"Hey Tommy, it's Buck— uh, it's me, Evan," the message said and Tommy had to grin despite himself. He'd meant what he'd said, Evan was adorable and just hearing his voice shook up his resolve pretty hard. "Listen, I assume you have a shift and I don't want to bother you but, uh, I just wanted to talk to you. Call me back? Please? I don't have a shift until Monday night. Okay, uhm. Take care."

By the end of the message, Tommy's grin had transformed into a fond smile. Fuck, but he really liked the guy. He ducked his head and closed his eyes for a moment, phone tipped against his forehead in thought.

It would be a lie if he said Evan's words hadn't hurt. While it had been somewhat cute that Evan had called himself an ally after he admitted it was his first date with a man, the denial of their date a few minutes later and the blatant lie towards Eddie had stung.

Tommy sighed, looked back at the screen with the weather forecast as if it held the answers he was looking for.

He'd told Evan that he didn't think he was ready, but maybe it was more the other way around? That Tommy didn't know if he was ready to deal with the whole process of coming out and coming to terms with who you are again?

Because Tommy understood just too well where Evan had been coming from. He remembered too well how he had felt when he'd been in Evan's place. The feeling of being torn between who he thought he needed to be and who he really was. The lying, the hiding, the guilt, the constant fear. It hadn't been a good place. And it had taken Tommy so many years, so much time and work and effort to build himself a place where he finally felt comfortable—

Maybe this was not the right time.

But then he remembered Evan's bashful smile when he'd admitted "because trying to get your attention has been kind of exhausting", and how sweet his kiss had tasted and how surprised, how pleased he'd looked after. And the point is, Evan had really made an effort, had really wanted to get to know him, and Tommy can't remember the last time someone had gone out of their way for him like that. Sure, Evan hadn't been aware of his own intentions, and sure, Tommy had felt flattered by his attention but it had also felt—special.

And now Evan was reaching out, again, even after Tommy had basically dumped him halfway through their date. And despite all his own insecurities, and Evan's insecurities, wasn't it worth a try? Shouldn't he, after everything he's been through himself, offer Evan the kind of understanding and patience and support that he never got?

There were footsteps in the hall and Tommy snapped back to the present just in time for Martinez sticking her head inside the room, face lighting up at seeing Tommy.

"Hey, Kinard, here you are," Martinez said. "I've been looking for you. You coming?"

Maybe this was not the right time.

But maybe if he didn't try now there would never be time for it again—

"Yeah, sure, I'll be right there," Tommy said, "need to make a quick phone call first."

[editoress]

Only for Emergencies unconventional weapon | magic with a cost | “it’s us or them”

I have a great time playing a true do-no-harm doctor cleric in a ttrpg game~

*

Even in a world of magic and miracles, old-fashioned physical medicine came in handy. The fight had been long and perilous and left even those with supernatural powers very little to cast with. Anna was able to triage the group by what could wait and what would not. She used dwindling magic to close over the hole in Alvor’s side. She bound Magpie’s leg in an ordinary splint. The shadowy cloud around Maya had to be cleared away with magic, and there was little to be done about her shivering afterwards. She directed Thessa to stop Dani’s bleeding and let her see to the rest.

Magpie used her good hand to prod at the tear in Sean’s trouser leg, which was leaking sand with a steady hiss. “I could get one of my bots to sew this up,” she offered.

“That can wait,” the revenant decided. “We should vacate the area as soon as everyone’s able to move. Doctor?”

“Almost,” replied Anna. She was dousing a clean cloth with a bottle from her supplies. She told Dani evenly, “They use alcohol as antiseptic here. It will feel about the same as iodine.”

Dani grimaced slightly but agreed, “Okay.” Her face was even paler than usual against the gash at her hairline. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, but Anna was wary of letting a head wound go uncleaned even for the hour trek back to their safehouse. She dabbed it clean as quickly and gently as she could.

Dani didn’t groan in pain. But someone else did.

Sean shifted to alert. Alvor heaved a loud sigh. “Oh my god, shouldn’t they be dead already?” he complained. “I thought I fucking stabbed everybody.”

Anna was thinking: he did stab everybody. And what did she have left? Plenty of antiseptic and bandages. Nothing for tetanus. No sutures for internal use. No transportation, either. An hour back to town, and she had less than an EMT out here. She finished fixing the bandage to Dani’s forehead and stood.

“No problem!” Thessa chirped. “I’m doing okay, so I can take care of it.”

One of the royal soldiers, lying face-down, reached forward and took a fistful of grass. His arm strained, but he couldn’t manage to drag himself forward. Anna knelt by his shoulder. Thessa stopped in her tracks, a little awkwardly, and said, “Ohh.” Strangely, it wasn’t until then that it registered to Anna that they had been approaching the soldier with different goals.

“Doctor,” Sean warned, “need I remind you that these gentlemen have been tasked with hunting us down? Whatever mercy you have in mind, I assure you, it won’t be mutual.”

A gut wound. This was bad. The soldier grabbed her wrist defensively as she examined him, but he could no more fight her off than escape. He had a broad, plain face and green eyes. Every line in his expression was grim fear. “I’m a doctor,” she told him quietly—by instinct, not knowing if that word meant anything to him. Louder, she said, “I’m sure he’ll change his mind when we introduce him to the princess, Captain.”

“Anna!” Dani had adopted her sharpest, no-nonsense tone. You need to get more sleep, be careful, stay behind us. “You can’t cast any more right now!”

And yet she had a patient. Anna didn’t know how to get this elf’s armor out of the way in time, much less how to stabilize him and move him for over an hour. Well, some things took miracles.

Alvor huffed and rolled his shoulders. “Don’t bother healing him, I’m just gonna kill him again,” he said flippantly.

Anna smiled just a touch. Alvor’s concern was somewhat less direct but still present. “No, you won’t,” she whispered. It was only for herself, and for the soldier who was trying to watch her warily.

Footsteps strode toward her. Anna cast healing magic. She had to pull it from deep down, wrench whatever energy she could find out of herself and into the elf’s torn and bloodied midsection. Anna directed it to make the body whole again: organs in their place, blood vessels sealed, muscles stitching back together.

She felt strangely hollow doing it, as if she weren’t in her own body and were only watching her patient’s from above. Nothing hurt; she was quite numb. All the same, she thought: I see. Something’s wrong. Someone’s hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her backwards. She toppled along with the force, pitching back into the grass. She had blacked out before she hit the ground.

[angels17324]

False Alarm part 2

A/N: So it's been two years since the original, and I now have a new true story that happened to me at work.

I wish these things would stop happening at work but I won't get mad about seeing cute firefighters (And yes the FD actually had to come in this incident)

This is a part 2 but can be read as a standalone Summary: An unexpected reunion and several meddling coworkers Evan 'Buck' Buckley x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

For anyone who would like to read part 1:

False Alarm Masterlist

(Y/n) had recently started a new job in a new facility and everything was perfect; they got the hours they wanted, better pay, and it was closer to home. There was just one problem it was down the street from the 118 which meant Buck... They had broken up two years before. The rest of the 118 who had also become like a family to them always reached out to check on them.

(Y/n) had been working at this facility for 5 months and had managed to never have a run-in with Buck yet, however, they had seen the other members mostly Chim and Hen. They remembered the day that they had been in a room for a resident they were transporting. If the duo recognized them under the mask, they did not mention it, but (Y/n) certainly recognized the two familiar paramedics.

And they knew Buck and the rest of the 118 had been here a number of times. (Y/n) just was lucky in their opinion... well maybe not the day they hid behind the food cart... but in their defense, they didn't know the 118 was gonna be there! Was it maybe a bit childish to be hiding from their ex yes... but they just weren't ready to face him yet.

(Y/n) had been working a few night shifts again to help out. They had just sat with their coworkers at the nurses' station, chatting and making jokes to pass the time. (Y/n) yawned as they had only agreed to work that night to help their friend and the dark circles made it obvious they hadn't been sleeping well.

“I'm so happy I have almost a week off before I have to come back,” (Y/n) stretched a bit to loosen some of their joints from having sat around for so long.

“Lucky! I only have two days,” Ally exclaimed. Ally and (Y/n) had known each other for over a year they met at another facility and transferred together.

"We should do rounds soon," (Y/n) said glancing at the clock and noting they'd take their break as soon as rounds finished. Everything had been uneventful. "I'm also going to check downstairs too," "No one is down there," Ally raised her brow. "I know it's my other assignment," They said holding up some papers every 30 minutes they had to check the building since they were putting in a new fire suppression system which meant the current one was down as they added the new one. It also meant that the system wouldn't dial 911 for them.

"Oh," Ally nodded, "Have fun in the haunted basement," she grinned. (Y/n) shoved her lightly before standing up, "Go check on your patients," while walking to do the same in their hall.

After returning from their break everything was fine and they were now counting down the last few hours until they could go home and sleep for a week. Resting their head on their hand, that's when they heard it. The system was ringing but it wasn't the normal sound.

The nurse and both CNAs jumped up. (Y/n) ran to the fire panel to see what it said, and all that read was 'system failure'

"I just walked the building everything was fine." (Y/n) looked back at their nurse Eric.

"You call 911, tell them we're not sure and the systems are down, I'll make some calls too." He said pulling out his phone and walking away.

(Y/n) nodded and started to call while Ally went to check on residents again with (Y/n) following, while they called in case they needed to start an evacuation.

"911, what's your emergency," They heard Maddie's familiar voice which helped calm their nerves a bit.

At the 118 they'd just received the call, and everyone was gearing up to head down. they didn't know what they were walking into as the caller had told dispatch the suppression system wasn't working either.

Buck noticed how jittery Chim and Hen seemed to get when they heard the address.

"What's up with you guys we've gone on calls like this before," He looked at them. "Well... Uhm..." Chim started. "(Y/n) works there," Hen said. "What since when?" Buck said and he was now growing nervous. it wasn't a long drive but it was now too long for him. "About 5 months," Bobby chimed in causing the four in the back to turn to him. "I saw them one morning when we were there for another call," "So they work days then," "Not exactly," Eddie said, "Said they work rotating shifts," "Has everyone been talking to (Y/n) except me?" Buck looked at his team, their breakup hadn't really been because either of them wanted to but almost because they had to, with both their schedules they never saw each other anymore. So they had both decided one day it would be better to call it quits.

The drive felt like hours, but it was less than 5 minutes before they were in front of the building. They didn't see any smoke or anything else to raise concern for yet.

That's when Buck saw them at the front door, they were wearing their favorite scrubs and propping the door open. They still looked as beautiful as the last time Buck had seen them. But now wasn't the time for that. Bobby walked up in his turnout gear so they were prepared in case they found anything. "Bobby, we've managed to make it stop beeping for a while and we haven't found anything yet. but it ke-" They were cut off at the beeping from the panels resumed. "-eps coming back on and no one knows how to shut it off."

Buck noticed they looked anywhere but at him as Bobby and the others walked in to look around. But Buck couldn't stop staring at them. They walked over to their coworker and huddled together talking quietly.

"Alright, someone needs to check all the panels," Bobby said. "I'll do it," Buck volunteered.

"(Y/n) knows where they all are!" Ally said a bit loudly.

"Alright you two go check them all out then we will stay here," Hen happily pushed Buck in the direction of (Y/n).

The two were quiet as they checked the two panels upstairs before they lead him to the ones downstairs.

"So..." Buck started, "You work here now...?"

"I do," They said barely above a whisper.

"I haven't seen you when we've been here on any calls..."

"We probably just missed each other but why would want to see me..." They leaned against the desk as Buck started to check the panel seeing the same error code as the rest.

"To check on you make sure you're okay, and you know... not setting off fire alarms," He tried to tease.

"Neither times were my fault Buck and you know it," They rolled their eyes.

Buck had to admit he missed them, their break up had been mostly amicable. They had only broken up because of their time commitments to other parts of their lives, not because they wanted to. It still broke both of them more than either is willing to admit.

"Sure, if you say so," He chuckled a bit. They shook their head at Buck's jokes, "It's definitely not to see us in uniform again right?"

"Trust me, I've seen plenty of men in uniforms," they hit his shoulder lightly.

"Glad to see you can still do it,"

"What?

"Have fun and joke around me," he smiled softly.

"Buck,"

"So, got anybody..."

"We're gonna play 20 questions now?" They raised their brow and looked at him.

"No, I'm just curious," Buck admitted.

They shook their head again and led him to the last panel, "No," they stated simply. "You?"

"Nothing that's stuck..." He rubbed his neck and looked at the panel they nodded slowly. "Still nothing... let's head back up,"

When they rejoined the group Eddie and Chim were sitting on some chairs near Bobby and Hen. Chim had the manual for the system in his hand, they didn't remember seeing it the last time they were up there.

"Nothing," Bobby said.

Eric walked over after he got off the phone again, and pressed a few buttons shutting the system completely off.

"Hallelujah!" Ally shouted raising her arms up.

"Thank god my ears were starting to hurt," (Y/n) said.

After Eric explained to Bobby what he had been told the 118 started to pack up their gear to go. Buck glanced back at (Y/n) and started to walk out with the others.

Hen turned to him, "I heard she has the next week off, and you have a few days off after today too,"

"Okay..." Buck said not understanding.

"We all know you still like them, Buck we could see it in your eyes," Eddie looked at him.

"We broke up for a reason,"

"It wasn't a good one," Chim chimed in.

"Go ask her to get breakfast with you," Bobby looked at him.

"Not you too Bobby,"

"Look up there they're probably telling her to do the same thing," Hen pointed out both Ally and Eric talking to (Y/n) and pointing out to them.

"... We've gotta go," the other members groaned a bit at Buck but climbed back into the truck to head back. As soon as he sat down Buck pulled out his phone

Inside (Y/n) was indeed having the same conversation.

"He asked if you were dating anyone it must mean he still likes you," Ally grabbed her coworker's shoulders and tried shaking some sense into them.

"Look, love is hard and you two can still make it work," Eric said trying to impart some wisdom to the younger employee.

"It's too late now they're gone," (Y/n) nodded their head outside.

"You're ridiculous!" Ally huffed, and all three returned to the nurse's station, when (Y/n) heard their phone chime.

Buck: Wanna grab a bite after your shift and catch up?

They smiled a bit and sent him a yes before returning to work.

[leohtttbriar]

a right to your intimacy

Pon Farr awakens vampiric bloodlust in Vulcans--Nyota doesn't find this erotic, at all. Written for trektober: Day 28 monster of the week

By the time they made it to Vulcan, Spock had tried to suck nearly half the crew dry and McCoy managed to lure Spock into the brig and lock him behind the reinforced shields while he raved and spit and otherwise made a nuisance of himself. 

“Let me out, Jim,” he had said, as if he wasn’t covered in three different people’s blood. 

“Do you think he understands ‘No,’ at this point, or is the vampiric lust addling his language functions,” said Nyota. 

“I think he’s completely nuts,” said McCoy rubbing his hand over his neck in the exact spot Spock had almost bitten him. “But he needs help.”

Spock launched himself at the brig walls. 

It was possible the shields weren’t going to hold with the way he was expressing his profound rage at not being able to sip at McCoy's arteries.

Nyota and McCoy (being the most well-spoken and the most "medical-professional" of the crew) were sent to greet T’Pring as she was beamed aboard—the woman Spock had called before the blood-hunger had officially taken the driver’s seat. She was tall and imperious but that could’ve just been Nyota projecting, who was feeling rather short and helpless in that particular moment. 

“Where is he?” asked T’Pring. 

“In the brig, ma’am,” said McCoy, like the polite, southern weirdo he was. 

Then, as they were exiting the turbo lift on the security deck, the alarms blared and Chekov’s tinny voice echoed from the speakers: He got out! Run for your lives!

“Why couldn’t Spock have attacked him instead of Sulu,” said McCoy. 

“I like it,” said Nyota, pinching her fingers and pulling the corners of her lips down, dramatically. “It adds a certain… je nais se quois.”

“Did you just say something in French?” asked McCoy. “You looked like a French chef for a second there.”

“I would never say something in French,” lied Nyota. “Or English. You know that.”

“I believe Spock is coming this way,” said T’Pring. She pushed in front of Nyota and McCoy and shifted into a defensive posture, fangs coming out. “Stay behind me.”

A loud noise, like an elephant tripping on a basketball court, emerged from down the corridor, and then suddenly there was Spock with fresh blood on his face and shirt and hands. 

“Oh hell, I hope he didn’t kill Jim,” said McCoy. 

Then Spock was on them. 

Or, really, on T’Pring, who was really on Spock, if one was doing the math right. He leaped at them all, claws out, hissing, and T’Pring snatched him out of the air and threw him to the ground. 

They fought viciously, green blood splattering, clothes ripping, snarling, growling, yowling, and everything else that was violent and gruesome and decidedly bad. 

“Should we run?” muttered McCoy, watching anxiously as T’Pring locked her thighs around Spock’s torso from underneath him and tugged on his hair.

“That might make it worse,” said Nyota, who was also staring at T’Pring’s thighs. “Might trigger his predatory instincts.”

“I think that’s bears,” said McCoy. 

Then Spock, strong from the feast of at least four different people now, threw T’Pring off him, and slashed out with his fingers, catching Nyota on the arm and then yanking McCoy to him and sinking his teeth into his neck with a fairly inappropriate groan. 

T’Pring leapt to her feet, pinched his neck, and he dropped. 

McCoy swayed on his feet. “Whoa nelly.”

T’Pring hoisted Spock onto her shoulders and said, “I have brought Vulcan strength restraints. Where is sickbay? We can begin the transfusion now.”

After McCoy had transported the thoroughly fainted Captain to sickbay and then got Spock set up in his specialized handcuffs with a steady supply of T'Pring's Vulcan-blood juice on a drip, he sat himself down in a chair to watch his sickbay of blood-deficient patients recover while he snacked on a packet of chocolate chip cookies. 

Nyota led T’Pring to the mess hall, figuring the least they could do was thank her with an inadequate, replicated meal. 

Just before they reached the hall, however, T’Pring stopped Nyota with a cold hand on her arm. 

“You are bleeding,” she said, gesturing to where Spock had snagged Nyota in the flesh of her bicep. 

“Oh yeah,” said Nyota, ripping the fabric away on her sleeve to reveal the gashes. “That’s annoying.”

T’Pring said, “May I?” Which should have been enough to clue Nyota in to what she was about to do, but, as it turned out, it was not. 

Nyota said, “Sure,” and then T’Pring was pressing her to the bulkhead and laying her mouth on Nyota’s bleeding skin. 

Nyota gasped as T’Pring licked up and down the wounds, careful and detail-oriented and definitely too sensual for Nyota’s state of mind. A tingling started as T’Pring’s saliva dried and Nyota watched in astonishment as the gashes sealed and healed like they were years old instead of minutes. 

T’Pring stepped away and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. 

Nyota said, “On second thought, I have food in my quarters.”

It clearly did not occur to T’Pring that Nyota had meant herself until they had reached a place behind closed doors and Nyota was pulling T’Pring’s teeth onto her neck, saying, “Plenty to spare.”

But, of course, T'Pring responded logically. 

[writingsfromstarfleet]

Will Riker - Hurt

♫ - Valentine - Laufey

A/N: For the lovely @too-many-baes​, who’s forever brilliant and very patient. I appreciate you all loads, enjoy!! Hugs! - Mal x

Bridge shifts were not easy, in fact they were far from it. Working on the bridge meant being in the direct eye of the captain, and not only the captain, but the Commander. They could see your every move and your every mistake, not to mention the fact that you were hopelessly in love with the first officer.

Commander Riker was something else, and it felt more than a crush to you. There was something about him that just stood out to you, and drew you in. But, you knew that not being a senior officer meant there was nearly no chance of him feeling the same, and you were certain he had feelings for the Councillor still.

Away missions were always your go to, and you loved being able to explore the lands and planets below you. Excitement built up in you for one mission specifically, one where you would be able to see the rock formations and plant life of a civilization you knew nothing about. But, when it came to choosing people for the mission, you weren't picked. You never were.

"Excuse me, sir," you stopped Will and pulled his sleeve ever so slightly. "I was wondering why you chose Ensign Cody over me, sir? I'm more qualified in this field of study than them."

"That may be so, Y/N, however I asked for Cody."

"But why?"

Your question went unanswered, and he walked off with the away team for their mission. Huffing, you made your way to Ten Forward for some therapy with Guinan. She always did make you feel better.

Your time in the bar was short lived, as there was an emergency happening with the team down on the surface. Racing back to the bridge, you had hoped nothing happened to Will, or any of them. Your fears came true, however, and the captain ordered you and Lieutenant Worf to the transporter room to help the team when they got back.

Commander Riker was in a bad state, having sustained injuries from phaser fire and some burns on his hands. Worf had carried him to medbay, where you offered to stay so Worf could resume his duties, being more of a capable bridge officer than yourself.

"Will he be okay?"you asked Beverly, as she had finished tending to him after an agonizingly long amount of time waiting.

"He should be, would you like to stay with him to make sure, Y/N?"

You nodded, and her voice was sympathetic enough that you knew she would leave you be. Telling you she was in her office if needed, Beverly left you with Will to tend to him and look over him. Moving a small bit of his hair back into its usual style, you sighed and looked him over, hoping he would recover.

Hours had passed, and you had fallen asleep. Will stirred, glancing over at the dead weight besides him, and saw your head gently lay on the edge of his bed. A smile crept onto his face, and he moved a strand of hair back from your face. He was so distracted by you that he failed to notice the doctor on the other side of him.

"They've been here for about five hours, pretty much since you came in, Will. I don't know what they are to you, but it must be something special."

"It would seem, doc."

You woke, and Will was sat up drinking.

"Hello, sleepy head."

You shot to attention, having been embarrassed that you even fell asleep in the first place.

"Ah, sir, uh-" you started, not knowing where to look. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sleep, I brought you here to, well - Lieutenant Worf brought you here, but I stayed to check you were okay, I shouldn't have-"

"Sit down." Will's voice was light hearted, and he motioned for you to sit again. You did so, in shock. He hadn't really ever spoken to you properly, this was probably the first time he ever had done, more than just an assignment or work related things.

"I wanted to thank you," he began, that charming smile on his face. "For waiting with me and checking I was going to be okay. Doctor Crusher told me all about it."

"Ah, that's okay. I'm just doing what a good officer would do."

"But is it just that?"

You looked at him slightly wide eyed, and he stared back, almost knowingly, as though he knew you wanted to say something. Your hands came together and you twiddled your fingers between each other, a thing you always did when you were nervous.

"Why do you never pick me for away missions, sir?"

Will tilted his head to the side, wondering what you meant and encouraging you to continue.

"Well, I know that you chose Cody today, and I know that Cody is more than capable of that mission, but I was definitely more qualified. The geology aspect of it was literally my field of work entirely. My whole career is studying plant and rock families. It's not the first time, last mission you chose someone else, and the time before that. I just want to know why I'm-"

"Because I don't want you getting hurt."

You stopped dead in your tracks and train of thought, giving Will the time space to continue.

"I've liked you for quite some time, Y/N, but I never acted on it. Partly because I didn't think it was professional, but partly because I didn't think you might see me like that. I thought perhaps you might just see me as your commanding officer and nothing more, today proved different though. I know you're a Starfleet officer and every day you could get hurt, it's part of the job, but I didn't want you getting hurt if we could help it."

"I don't know what to say, Commander." You were too stunned to speak, and he smiled at you again and took your hand.

"Then don't say anything until 19:00 hours tomorrow in Ten Forward?"

Your eyebrow raised and you couldn't help the giggle that came from you, hearing his laugh only spurred it on.

"Smooth." Your voice was relaxed and playful, and he looked at you so differently. It was honest and loving, and pure.

"Is it a date then, Y/N?"

"It is, Will. It is."

[sweetcreaturetm]

Maybe it’s another nursing student Steve ficlet. SO WHAT?

Eddie is a transporter at a local hospital it’s a pretty chill job he gets to put his AirPods in and listen to all the metal he wants as long as he keeps up small talk with the patients as he wheels them to and from their rooms.

He gets called to take an older patient to a cat scan in the ED. He swings his wheelchair into the pod of rooms where the patient is and looks over to see who can only be described as a literal god. With golden brown hair almost to his shoulders half tied back and round gold frame glasses. He’s got on the tightest scrub pants Eddie has ever seen he can’t believe they fit over this guys ass. He can’t help but stare. Unfortunately he forgets to look where he’s going and almost runs into a grumpy old man who does not hold back from yelling at Eddie. He feels his face heat up. People are starting to look at the cause of the noise. Certain people. Certain godlike people. He turns and makes eye contact. The guys got a concerned face vaguely apologetic. Eddie tries to apologize and manages to get away from the old man and into his patients room. He gathers himself and turns the charm on. Gathering the patient and disconnecting them from any cords and they’ll be on their way. But as he goes to leave the room he’s greeted by the smiling face of the god. He gets a chance to read his temporary badge. Steve. Hmm it fits him Eddie thinks. But Eddie doesn’t make a habit of calling people their actual names.

“Hey Mrs. Jones do you know this man?” Steve questions his patient jokingly. They seem to have a rapport going.

“Remember what we rehearsed” Eddie fake whispers. That cracks both Steve and Mrs. Jones. Just when Eddie didn’t think Steve could get more beautiful he laughed and lit the room with his smile.

Steve looks back to Eddie and tells him he was just going to get some supplies ready while she’s down in CT. He smiles brightly and lets Eddie pass.

Mrs. Jones as it turns out is a hoot and a half they joke while he takes her down the long hallway and all the way back. And as much as he likes her he kind of can’t wait to get back to her room to see if Steve is still there. Tragically for Eddie he is not. And he can’t seem to see him anywhere. He maybe drags his feet through the emergency department to catch Steve again before making his way to where the transporters wait for calls. But unfortunately that’s all he sees of Steve for now.

Every time he gets a call for transport he jumps at it so maybe it’ll take him to see Steve before his shift is over. It takes about an hour before he gets another call in the ED he’s practically running the wheelchair down there. This patient is in a different pod so he gets that one done quick so he can lollygag around where he thinks Steve will be. He walks around the rooms and through the nurses station and when he’s about to give up hope he runs into the man himself.

“Are you sure you’re fully trained you seem to have a penchant for running people over” Steve teases him.

Eddie can feel himself blush “maybe I’m a little distracted tonight” he tries for a flirting tone.

Steve seems interested “oh and what is so distracting that you can’t steer that wheelchair straight.”

Eddie chooses to ignore the irony that he can’t even make himself run straight. He motions for Steve to lean in so he can tell him a secret “it’s actually a person” he waggles his eyebrows.

Steve seems to deflate “oh one of the nurses?”

“I don’t think they’re technically a nurse yet” Eddie winks and Steve gapes.

He can see the wheels turning in Steve’s head “Oh.”

“Is that okay?” Eddie gets a little nervous.

“Yes!” Steve almost yells but tries to save it “I mean yeah of course.”

“Well in that case I think we should maybe get each others numbers cause my boss is gonna kill me if I spend anymore time down here.” Eddie gives Steve a hopeful smile.

“Right.” Steve nods “Probably same I shouldn’t just be standing around flirting”

Eddie chuckles “is that what we were doing? You didn’t even ask my name yet.”

Steve blushes red. He gives his phone to Eddie and takes Eddie’s into his own hands. Eddie saves his name as ‘Eddie 🦽’ and Steve saves his as ‘Steve 🩺’.

“Okay Eddie” Steve confirms “maybe we can-“ but he gets cut off when his charge nurse yells for him.

Later when Steve gets off he sees a text from Eddie “Hey Stevie, let me know when you’re free and I’ll take you for a ride.😉” and maybe a stronger man would wait more than 5 seconds to respond but he is not that man. Especially not when it involves Eddie apparently.

[aquadestinyswriting]

Seven Snippets, Seven People

I got tagged for this ages ago by @druidx, and again more recently by @athenswrites. I think I do have seven snippets, so let's get this started. Placing said snippets under a cut to save peoples' dashes. I might have shared a couple of these previously, but I wanted to share them again, just because.

No Pressure tags: @sparrow-orion-writes , @warriorbookworm, @mariahwritesstuff, @ashirisu, @thesorcerersapprentice, @blind-the-winds, @freedominique

1

The sight of the shining white, if somewhat cracked and charred, marble of Toreguarde seemed like a far distant memory to the majority of the adventuring party who had just landed in front of the city gates.The owl archons that had transported the motley group of humanoids, single dragon and large awakened wolf bowed deeply and flew back up into the swiftly closing portal above.

2

“Down p’ease.” he stated, already leaning away from his mother in anticipation of his request being granted. Meredith huffed another sigh as she readjusted her grip and hauled the little man back towards her, “Not yet, Gavid.” she said patiently, “It’s busy, and I don’t want ye getting lost before we’ve even got to where we’re staying.”  Gavid simply pouted and grumbled some more, crossing his chubby little arms defiantly, “Not get lost.” he muttered, “I a big boy.” Meredith bit back her chuckle and hugged the little boy, "I know ye are Gavid, but folks round here are a lot bigger than back home. I'll let ye down when we get to where we're staying, aye?" All she got in response was a huffy ‘harrumph’ while her son sulked.

3

Tick, scrape, tick, scrape, tick.... Selene’s brow twitched as she stared at the mechanical monstrosity that was now sitting on the dresser in the master bedroom of the cottage she and Edwin shared. Why, in all the Gods’ names was there a timekeeper in here?!  Edwin poked his head around the door from the corridor outside, “Alright, I managed to find Bridget’s boot. It was stuffed under…” he trailed off, brows bunching together as he looked up only to see his partner glaring daggers at the silvered clockwork item. Selene shifted her gaze to the door, her eyes narrowing further upon seeing the perplexed expression under Edwin’s beard, “Edwin, why is this in here?” she asked, gesturing to the timekeeper with a nod of her head, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

4

Selene huffed as she looked out of the window at the rain outside. She had rather been hoping it would stop so that Caitr could spend some time outdoors and properly burn off the energy she still had in abundance. The Arcane Librarian was brought out of her thoughts by a muttering voice in her ear, “Stupid godsdamned idiot of a man…” Dwena’s voice grumbled through the Whisper spell. Selene bit back her snort as she replied, “Which one?” she asked, “I mean, I can help you if it’s Thaddeus or Thazaar but not so much if it’s your husband.” The auburn haired wizard could practically see Dwena rolling her eyes, “No, it’s the new divination specialist, he’s pretty full of himself.” came the reply, “In any case, Thazaar’s called an emergency meeting and asked me to get hold of you.”

5

"So mind telling me why you didn't want to go to Arborea?" Elowyn looked to Meredith, who was leaning back in her seat. The Woodling quickly looked back to the view out of the tavern window, feeling a flush of embarrassment on her ears. Meredith grinned widely, propping her elbows on the table, chin resting on her knuckles, "So, have ye actually been back to see her again yet, or are ye trying to avoid bumping into her again?"Elowyn almost spat out the water she'd just taken a sip of. She quickly swallowed the liquid, somehow managing to avoid choking as she turned to glare at the smirking dwarf, "I'm not -- how did you. --?" She stammered, before flinging a napkin in Meredith's face. Meredith simply laughed, "While I ken that ye're still as embarrassed about the damn 'livin' saint' thing as I am; I do remember being told ye had to visit the place again with the others at one point. All I did was put two an' two together." She pointed out. Elowyn huffed, but couldn't quite manage to stay annoyed at the woman beaming at her from across the table,

6

“Abouna, you’re staring.” The mild-mannered voice of the Woodling matriarch startling Edwin out of his reverie. He blinked and tore his gaze away from where the Grand Magus had just exited the office and looked down at the greying woman. Oakrose placed the book in her arms on the table and looked over to the door, “I must admit, it’s nice to have Selene come round more often again. Poor love’s not really been over so much since Alexis up and left.” Edwin tried to ignore the guilty pang in his gut at the statement, and instead focused his attention on the parchment in front of him, “She’s probably just making sure I’m settled in alright. I’m amazed she’s found the time, given everything going on.” he replied smoothly. Oakrose shrugged and fluffed up some cushions on the chair next to the fireplace, “If you say so Abouna.” she said, “Now, give us a holler if you need anything. And might I suggest that next time you take to staring at the Grand Magus, you focus your attention a little higher.” she added, smirking to herself and humming as she left. Once the middle-aged Woodling was gone, Edwin let his head fall onto the desk with a hefty ‘thump’, his ears burning and turning an interesting shade of maroon, “Galana preserve.” he groaned, “Do all Woodlings have eyes as sharp as Alexis?” he muttered.

7

“I’m sorry, but we can only allow those who truly follow the Earth Mother entry, you’ll need to find help elsewhere. Good day.”  Morag huffed a distressed sigh and shook her head as the old cleric who’d opened the door of the local temple of Throff went to close it. She jerked her head up as Gruk growled and Hilde made a noise of protest. The smith’s hand shot out and held the door firm, “Ye want proof that we’re not just some filthy Moradhir here to ruin yer day by reminding ye that Kherillim loves all her children, ‘true’ worshippers or no?” he asked. He raised his voice and straightened his back as the cleric glared at him, “I am Gruk, son of Ovak son of Garuld and I claim the heritage of the Stonespeaker clan, the unbroken lineage Blessed by Kherillim Herself. Now let us in before I end up doin’ something we’ll both end up regretting!”  Morag blinked. Of course she’d heard that Gruk’s father had been adopted, but to claim the name of an extinct clan? She glanced over to Hilde, who was nodding fervently along with her father’s speech, “An’ if you need some actual, paper proof, here!” she added, pulling a thick roll of parchment from out of her pack and thrusting it into the cleric’s hands. She shrugged as the rest of her family sent her puzzled looks, “What? Auld Derek had it out anyway. I think this is the amended one he’d been working on after Merri handed that old journal to him.” she added. Gruk rolled his eyes at his oldest daughter, returning his attention to the cleric, who’s eyes had widened, “Th- that’s not possible. The Stonespeaker line were all executed by decree of King Jotunn during the last set of Purges.” he stammered. He looked back up at Gruk, most of the colour draining from his face. Gruk snorted, “Then d’ye mind telling Throff that? Because, apparently, She’s seen fit to Mark ma youngest daughter and I’m no’ exactly happy about that either.”

[trainambulancepatnadelhi]

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[meg2md]

When time, read: [ ] double barrel wet colostomy [ ] appendiceal cancer [ ] malignant bowel protocol [ ] May Thurner syndrome [ ] Po vs IV vs rectal vs vaginal contrast As always, so, so tired. Last "work" night of 5 weeks with a call shift tomorrow. So the night goes oncology night shift > present research @ 0930 > sleep > graduation @ 1800 > call shift.

I'm dreading the whole freaking day. My research proposal is not good. My slides are messed up. It's confusing. I think the study itself will be fine, but a 5 week night float was not the time or place to get my shit together for this. I just hope the program coordinator can find it within herself to update my slides in the morning, or else I'm fucked. And then I'm gonna get such LITTLE SLEEP before I have to go to graduation for 4 hrs and pretend to be in a good mood and socialize. At least my call shift right afterwards is normal R2 crap, antepartum/benign gynecology stuff.

To be honest covering the oncology service has been chill enough the past shift-and-half, except for when it's bad it's BAD and probably the worst service to be on. I like onc nights more than days, though, because there's not a lot of extra people and I can just sit in my little work room upstairs and be alone and read through things. It's mostly covering the OR at the end of the day shift, seeing overnight direct admits and transports, and following up vitals and miscellaneous labs, post-op checks, etc. And then sometimes people surgical emergencies, or people crump or straight up die.

So, a medicine service +/- OR time.

My first night I had two transports: a malignant large bowel obstruction iso newly diagnosed HGSOC that is being managed conservatively given its size <13 cm but also her significant neutropenia due to her neoadjuvant Avastin therapy (her prognosis.... isn't amazing), and a "frequent flier" with recurrent vulvar cancer (and the gnarliest genitourinary anatomy I've seen) s/p MULTIPLE resections, EUAs, ablations admitted with c/f sepsis in the setting of a new perirectal abscess. All things considered it went well enough but my presentations were rocky, like I'd expect them to be for a new R2, but I'm almost R3. I was flustered because they both came at the same time and the LBO made me nervous, so I felt rushed trying to get the other transport tucked in so I only had to call the attending once.

Tonight started out with the potential to be a NIGHTMARE. There were two ORs running late, an exlap followed by an EUA with one attending, and a robotic hyst with another, and then I got sign out on four (4) incoming transports, and I also had four (4) post-op checks all due around the same time. I ended up not having to go to the OR because the exlap said I don't need to scrub anyone out, the EUA was cancelled, and one of the transports came at the same time so my R3 said to see that instead of scrubbing her out.

It's a very sad case, though. I mean, all onc cases are sad, but she was with her dad which just tore at my heart. It's a woman <50 yo, no hx cancer, with 3-4 months of back pain who finally had an ultrasound and CT that showed 3 large abdominopelvic masses and widespread mets. :c She's getting omental biopsies tomorrow. We ultimately think it's appendiceal or some other gastrointestinal malignancy because her CA-125 is only about 180, which for a pre-menopausal woman is low. Another one where the prognosis is not very good.

Actually, none of these people I admitted have good prognoses. I guess that's just how gyne onc is. :-/

The other transports probably aren't coming but I'm going to try and prep them in a second. There's a pelvic fluid collection in a woman 5d s/p a hyst with a post-op course c/b May Thurner syndrome and PE s/p extensive thrombectomy now on Eliquis, another vulvar cancer patient whose left drain fell out and now there is c/f infection in addition to just general failure to thrive, and someone who probably won't come who was found to be hypokalemic apparently on outpatient labs. And then some mystery woman in her 80s that may or may not show up on the ED board with recurrent HGSOC and a GTube for gastrointestinal issues.

3 h til signout, and then I have about 2-2.5 hr to sleep and practice my presentation. I'm ready for this weekend to be overrrrrrrrrrrr

[shewastheheart]

The prompt you did about Esme x Carlisle high school AU. Could you do a part 2? Where maybe Carlisle is changed into a vampire and reluctantly returns to Esme ?

A/N: Thank you for the interest. Here's a part two (and here is part one for anyone who may be interested)

-

Carlisle shrugs the lab coat from his shoulder, hanging it on the coat rack inside his office, slinging the stethoscope up alongside it.

Today was easy enough, a few stitches here and there, a concussion or two... he's tempted to clock in for the night shift to accompany his long day. But he's also eager to finally be home, in the solitude of his own four walls.

"Goodnight, Cullen," Marianne calls from the nursing station.

He waves to her politely, ignoring the wide smile she shoots him for the acknowledgment. He's only a medical student and they act as if he's some valuable doctor, a form of attention he hasn't earned and doesn't enjoy.

He's almost to the exit when a gurney is wheeled past him, the patient covered by a white sheet, face obscured. The two orderlies are transporting the body to the morgue, but it seems as though they are coming from the back entry, not a failed surgery or now vacated hospital room.

But he can hear the heartbeat, smell the blood still pumping - faint but alive.

He decides not to question the men wheeling the body towards its final resting place, but instead follows them from a distance, waiting until they emerge empty-handed from the morgue to enter himself.

The body is still covered from head to toe in the thin sheet, the frame thin and obviously female. He frowns in confusion as he approaches, unable to understand why the woman has already been moved here.

Carlisle is careful when he reaches her, touching the top of the sheet over her head with tentativeness and drawing it back slowly.

He nearly falls to his knees when he sees her face, when he recognizes the woman lying unconscious and near death on the cot.

"Esme?" he breathes, all pretense of professionalism gone now. He cradles her cheek, touches trembling fingers to her barely moving pulse.

He glances down at the body lying broken before him, bones mangled and skin punctured. Lacerations line her arms and legs, dried blood covering her clothing, and he just - he doesn't understand. 

"Esme," he whispers again, lifting his hand to the tangle of her hair, the mottled bone of her cheek. He can't even determine the cause - car accident maybe? It doesn't matter, it doesn't-

He startles at the flutter of her lashes, the disoriented flash of her eyes, green and beautiful and faded.

She makes a low hum of a sound in her throat, her lips chapped and unmoving.

"I'm here, love. I'm here," he promises her, the words falling free like an apology because he knows what she must have thought, how she must have hated him for leaving her.

If she only knew it was never so simple.

"It's going to be okay," he promises her, stupidly because he knows it's not true.

She's dying, slowly but surely.

Esme's eyes rove over him, dim and almost unseeing, but he watches them track his face.

If it weren't for his abilities, he wouldn't be able to hear let alone make out the attempt of a word that whispers free from her lips.

"Home."

Her heart stops.

-

She wakes with a searing pain in her throat, a strange ghost of soreness in her limbs, her head heavy. Her eyes feel like dead weight that she struggles to lift and when she does, the brightness - the incredible brightness of the room - has her wincing.

"Esme?"

The call of her name is soft, the only gentle welcome to her heightened senses. Soft... and familiar.

And then she remembers.

Esme turns her head to see Carlisle Cullen sitting beside the bed she rests upon, anxious eyes scanning her face. He looks exactly the same, as if he hasn't aged a day since she last saw him, a thin scar lining the skin beneath his eye - the spot where his father's ring seared a permanent kiss to his skin.

"Your eyes," she mumbles, fingers that feel foreign and not her own reaching for his face, tripping along the cool skin beneath his lashes.

His eyes were once her favorite shade of blue and now... they're a rich brown color.

The night she found him in the treehouse, bleeding and black-eyed, broken and ready to run away with her - it's all part of a memory she's trained herself not to revisit.

Esme draws her hand back to her chest, curling it into a fist atop her sternum.

Now that memory and all of the ugly feelings that come along with it return to her with burning clarity and her insides ache with something new.

Anger.

"You asshole," she whispers, rising to confront him, ending up with his body pinned to the adjacent wall, pinned by what felt like the halfhearted shove of her hands to his chest.

She gasps and takes a startling step back. Carlisle grunts and adjusts his rumpled shirt, but holds out placating palms to her.

"Esme-"

"I didn't mean to-" But she shakes her head. "You left me," she breathes, advancing on him again, but he doesn't back away from her. "You left me and I - I waited for you to come back. I waited for years, Carlisle, and you-"

"Died," he sighs, immediately bathing her already mottled mind in confusion. "That night, in the treehouse."

"What... what are you talking about?" she demands, brows scrunching. "You were hurt, you didn't-"

"Yes, but after you left... that night, I fell asleep in the treehouse and when I woke up, I was - I woke to a man in front of me, with red eyes and teeth bared. I didn't have a chance, he bit me and ran."

"Bit you?" Esme echoes, the incredulity of it almost too much, until he holds his left hand up to her. For inspection.

The silver crescent of a scar circles the meat of his palm, from the webbing of his thumb to the beginning of his wrist. Bile rises in her throat, a horror she didn't fully understand creeping up on her.

"I still don't understand why he didn't kill me... there's so much I don't understand, Esme. All I know is that this wound changed me... by the morning, I had transformed into something else, something not human." He shakes his head, exhaustion spilling through those unfamiliar eyes. "I was in agony for three days, what I now realize was the process of turning. I had to get away from people, from you."

"I could have helped you," she whispers, her bottom lip beginning to tremble in a combination of fear and empathy. Empathy for what exactly, she isn't quite sure. All she knows is that they were both alone, and she can understand that pain all too well.

"You don't understand," he sighs sadly, taking a tentative step towards her. "It wasn't safe for you. If you would have been near me then... god, Esme, I might have killed you and the idea of being forced to live with that is worse than eternal damnation itself."

Her head was spinning. It must have been obvious because Carlisle quickly changed the subject.

"I need you to understand now, though," he says gently. "What I am, what I've done."

She tries to swallow, but it burns, her throat aching with a strange fire.

"Have you ever heard of vampires?"

Her brow arches, the scoff already rising to her tongue, but Carlisle is serious and so is the dread coiling in her stomach.

"It's not real," she decides, shaking her head against it. "You're not real. You left four years ago. I jumped off the cliff. I'm dead. Nothing is real."

"You - is that what you did?" he rasps, the grief shredding his words. "That's how I found you, barely alive on a gurney in a morgue. Why - Esme, what the hell-'

"Because you left and I had to stay, marry Evenson, and have - have a baby that died," she chokes out, all of it coming out too fast, too painful. "I've been dead for a while now, Carlisle. Just a ghost, like you."

"You're not a ghost," he says quietly, eyes on the floor. Guilt and sorrow are all she can read on his face. No more of the young man beaten down by life but still hopeful. That version of Carlisle is gone. "I made a selfish choice. I - I brought you back before you could go."

She closes the step of distance left between them, forcing him to meet her gaze. She clenches her jaw, tries to concentrate on him, on answers, not on how crazy this all feels.

"What does that mean?"

"I'm a vampire," he announces evenly. "That's what attacked me that night, the night before we were supposed to leave for Chicago and when it bit me, I turned into one too. Once I was able to control my bloodlust, ensure that I was no longer an immediate threat to humans, I went to Chicago on my own, started medical school. I've been training as a doctor, which is how I found you. I heard your heart beating, dying."

Her eyes sting, but no tears come.

"I followed the scent of your blood. I didn't know it was yours, but it - it was stronger than any other scent I've ever caught, and-" He looks away as if shamed. "I found you, checked your injuries, and knew you weren't going to survive."

The pieces are clicking into place and Esme feels as though her knees may give out from under her.

"I'm sorry, Esme. I'm so sorry," he rasps, looking down at her with so much guilt it overwhelms her. "I didn't - I should have thought it through, I should have left you alone and just let you - but I - I-"

He couldn't say it and she didn't need him to, not now.

She whimpers, easing to the floor in a graceful puddle, noting the tattered fabric of the dress she jumped in still clinging to her hips, bloodied and torn. No one even tried to save her, just deemed her lost.

Except him.

"Do you need - I can leave you for a time, let you-"

"No," she chokes out. "I can't do this by myself."

"Okay, okay," he promises her, lowering to his haunches in front of her. "You won't. Just don't let me make it worse."

She's too angry and confused and devastated to tell him that he's incapable of that. No matter how much she wishes the opposite.

No matter how much he deserves the blame for this. She already knows he'll blame himself enough for the both of them.

-

Weeks pass and he guides her through this new way of life, silently impressed by her, proud of her, but unwilling to revel in any form of joy. He saved her because he loves her, because he always has, but he did it for himself and that is the most unforgivable sin he will ever know.

He's damned her to this existence and now, he refuses to even allow the idea of anything to exist between them. How could she ever see him as forgivable after all of this, anyway? How could they ever return to what they once were?

He already knows the answer.

"I would have done it too, you know," she tells him one afternoon. He was hiding from her, perched in a tree far from the property he's been residing on upon his move to Chicago.

He's already resigned from his job, the believability of his age stretched thin as it is, and now, with Esme, he'd like to start over somewhere new and unknown.

"Done what?" he asks without looking at her. Where she used to be his favorite sight, it now pains him to look at her, to witness what he's done.

"Changed you," she answers, levity infused into her tone as if they were speaking of current events or the weather. "I would have done it too."

He dismisses her. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. I know myself, I know how I felt about you." She's staring at him, her gaze boring into his cheek, but he still refuses to lift his eyes from the ground, nearly sixty feet below. "I was upset at first, Carlisle. But I do appreciate the gravity of the situation you were in. I wasn't exactly in a position to give an answer."

"What would it have been?" he inquires, finally risking a glance at her - the beautiful woman she's grown into, the heart shape of her face and hazel pool of her eyes, the subtle arches of her cheekbones and the rosy petals of her lips. He knows she changed physically upon her vampiric transformation, but she still looks like that eighteen-year-old girl he swore to run away with four years ago.

"I've thought about it," she mumbles, fidgeting with her fingers, with the hem of her shirt. "Being a vampire scares me, but so did death. I didn't want to die that day, but I just... I had nothing left to live for."

He hates hearing about her suicide, but he listens, refuses to wince externally at the memory of her body so misshapen and unsalvageable.

"Charles made my life miserable, but when I was pregnant, when I got away from him... I really thought I could be happy."

He wants to reach out and touch her hand, still her twisting fingers with a gentle squeeze of his.

"Losing my baby like that... having nothing else but a long road of struggling ahead. I didn't want to do that, to keep running from Charles, keep struggling to have a life of my own, keep trying for nothing," she admits, the phantom of frustration haunting her words. "I wanted to die because I was so tired of life just - taking from me."

"You've been the only person to ever give me something," she confesses quietly, her voice almost carried away completely by the soft breeze. "You gave me love, four years ago." Her eyes find him again, the crooked quirk of her lips setting his soul alight. "And now, you gave me life."

"This is not a life," he argues, but she silences him with the press of her palm over his mouth.

"The hell it isn't," she counters, arching a single eyebrow at him. "I get to choose now, Carlisle. No one, including you, is making the choices for me anymore."

He nods and she slowly retracts her hand.

"I get another chance at life and I'm choosing to not just take it, but to appreciate it. To make it everything I couldn't make the last one."

"Esme-"

"And you know how my do-over starts?" she questions, effectively quieting his protests.

He swallows, hard and senselessly. "How?"

She leans towards him, the cool rise of her shoulder touching his, creating an impossible spark of warmth.

"With you, not hating yourself over this anymore."

He huffs, but she holds up a silencing index finger.

"You've apologized a million times, I've forgiven you, and I'm ready to move forward."

He tries to accept it, to just let her be right and leave it alone, but- "I just - feel like I need to do more. To make this right."

"Make it up to me, then," she murmurs, flicking eyes to his lips, her eyes the same as his, but brighter, golden and alive.

"I can't," he whispers, but she merely sighs at him.

"Maybe you should ask me how you can make it up to me, instead of giving up so soon, Carlisle."

He frowns, but he'll do whatever she says, whatever she wants.

"How do I make it up to you?"

Her eyes abandon him to assess the forest around them.

"Nice place for a tree house, don't you think?"

And with that, she's gone.

-

It takes a few days, but slowly, the tension between her and Carlisle begins to dissipate, the guilt he wears on his shoulders and in his expression easing little by little.

He still ventures off on his own most days, though, trekking out into the woods for miles, always seeming to think she'll grant him the solitude.

She rarely does. It's hard enough transitioning into this new lifestyle, learning to control urges and strength and all of these other things she never asked for. Doing it alone is even less appealing.

"The hide and seek is getting old, Carlisle," she muses, talking more so to herself as she traipses through the forest north of the two-bedroom home they currently share. 

Thank god he hadn't bought a bachelor pad or an apartment when he moved here.

"Then learn how to win the game, Platt."

Her eyebrows rise at the whisper of words. She isn't sure where they came from, but her hearing picks up on it.

Something akin to giddiness kickstarts in the time capsule of her heart; it's been so long since he's been playful or joking with her. Something that was once so refreshing and lively in their relationship.

Her lips quirk and she closes her eyes for a moment, tunes out everything around her except for the abnormal creak of a branch that lies feet ahead, then above.

Esme races away from the house, enjoying the rush of wind through her hair, the adrenaline it brings. She's been working to catalog the new aspects of this life that she's actually enjoying and this is indeed one of them.

She comes to a stop when she thinks she's followed the tease of his voice to its origin, but then she looks up.

Her lips part in surprise.

The wooden planks are clean cut and sturdy, far better looking than what they had relied on as kids. So much higher too, higher than any human would ever dare to climb on their own.

Esme climbs the tree slowly, moving like she once did as a human, pausing to take a senseless breath before hauling herself up the final branch to reach the top.

And just like that, she's eighteen again - poking her head over the ledge of a treehouse to find him inside.

"Hey," he grins at her, sitting against the wall with a notebook open in his hands, a pen between his fingers.

Esme crawls inside and looks around, appreciating the handmade shelves crammed with books, the brand new paint set and canvas arranged in one of the corners, the small window carved into south wall. Standing in the middle of the room, atop a round rug she last saw in his office, she turns in a circle, admiring the larger size, the attention to detail, the man watching her take it all in.

"You really rebuilt it," she sighs in awe.

"Kind of," he shrugs, closing the book in his lap and staring up at her. "Do you like it?"

"I - yes," she breathes, the smile tugging at her lips, and she rushes into him without warning.

Carlisle startles - just like he always has - when she wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his. Moments later, tender arms close around her in return, loose but safe. 

"Am I closer to making it up to you now?" he mumbles into her hair.

She laughs and turns her face into his cheek, nudging her nose to the marble of bone. Carlisle doesn't ease back from her or try to disentangle from her embrace. Instead, he remains on the floor with her, holding her.

"Is that your old notebook?" she gasps, reaching for it, but he's quicker, holding it out of reach.

"It's the only thing I took," he confirms, sealing it to his chest when. she makes another swipe.

"Why are you so secretive?" she groans, waiting for him to relax against her, watching his fingers loosen.

She steals the tattered moleskin from him before he even realizes she's flying up from the floor and across the room, flipping to a random page near the front cover.

"Esme! No - come on, please," he's begging, but her eyes have already found his handwriting.

To know her is to love her,

Eyes like emeralds and hair like gold,

Her smile eradicates the dark,

And I would give anything for her to know,

That she brings my heart to life,

She makes my world anew,

Turning everything grey into colors,

Shades blossoming like bruises earned in my room.

Her gaze flies back to him, her brow furrowed. Her heart is cinching; Carlisle was writing about a girl.

"You were writing poetry?"

"I - sometimes," he grumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck.

She closes the book gingerly, refusing to violate his privacy any further, and holds it out to him.

"I'm sorry, I thought it was just a diary about your career aspirations all this time," she whispers, watching him retrieve the notebook from her with a steady hand. "I didn't know - you were in love with someone."

Carlisle pauses in tucking the journal into his waistband, staring back at her quizzically.

"Of course, I was." Carlisle tilts his head at her in question. "Esme, I don't believe in much of the fairytale stories and childhood fables, but I think I loved you from the day we met. I knew I loved you when all I wanted was to climb that damn tree every day just to be with you."

Relief courses through her still veins and she moves towards him, heart somehow alive and beating again for him.

"I knew I loved you when I saw you waiting for me to climb up that damn tree every day," she answers, watching a genuine smile tug his lips up towards his eyes for the first time since he found her again. "Just like I knew I still loved you when I was dying, just like I knew when I woke up and you were the first thing I saw."

Carlisle draws her closer then, the tender touch of his palms on her hip bones, the kiss of his forehead meeting hers.

"Just like I know now."

He kisses her then, the smile that spreads across his lips infectious and tugging her lips up as well.

It feels like coming home.

She remembers now, why it was the only word she could manage for him on her deathbed. She knew she was dying, but she thought she was already gone, finally home.

"We're going to have the life we should have had all along," he murmurs, cradling her face in his hands. Her fingers curl around his wrists as she nods, nose brushing his in a tantalizing prelude.

"Promise?" she whispers.

Carlisle lowers one of his hands to her jaw, stealing the fingers hanging to him loosely and twining their fingers. He squeezes lightly, holding her gaze in the fraction of space between them.

"Promise."

[republicsecurity]

Simulation (f)or Reality

I sat there in my armor suit, the helmet visor down, ready for action. My partner, equally equipped, looked just as ready. We were in our idle mode, waiting for the call, for the moment that would yank us from this eerie stillness and throw us into chaos. As there was nothing to do we were in almost dazed state of slumber.

And then, as if on cue, it came—a flashing message in my HUD. The helmet waking us up. The location, coordinates, details—all neatly overlaying my field of vision. I glanced at my partner, our eyes meeting through the visors. No words were exchanged, but we both knew what to do. We stepped into the ambulance, the engine roaring to life as we accelerated out of the station.

The streets flowed past us in a blur, but my focus remained on the information streaming across my visor. The real-time map guided us effortlessly through the city's arteries, highlighting the best route to our destination. Traffic data, alternate paths, and potential obstacles were all right there, a constant companion as we raced against time.

We arrived at the scene—a bike crash. My partner and I exited the ambulance in a synchronized motion, our training taking over. My HUD instantly identified the victim, vitals, and potential injuries. The helmet's thermal imaging kicked in, revealing a heat map of the victim's body, highlighting areas that needed our immediate attention.

As we approached, my HUD shifted its display. Medical data, treatment options, and recommendations from our AI assistant scrolled in front of me. It was like having an entire medical library at my disposal, right there in my visor. I reached for my medical kit, my movements guided by the visual cues overlaid on my vision.

My gloved hands worked with precision, the tactile feedback from the suit enhancing my dexterity. The HUD kept updating, tracking the victim's vital signs as my partner and I worked together. The AI assistant provided real-time advice, cross-referencing symptoms with its database to fine-tune our treatment strategy.

Time seemed to blur as we worked, every second counted. The victim's condition stabilized, the HUD reflecting the positive change in vitals. With the immediate crisis managed, we prepared to transport the patient to the hospital. My visor highlighted the optimal route, factoring in traffic conditions and hospital availability.

As we loaded the patient into the ambulance, my HUD switched modes again. It displayed a patient summary, treatment details, and recommended follow-up procedures. The information was seamlessly integrated, a perfect blend of human experience and AI assistance.

We were just about to start the drive to the hospital, when the HUD flickered with a strange urgency. Our suits froze, the intercom to my partner went down and the noise canceling headset went into full mode blocking all the noise and external stimuli. The familiar visage of one our drill instructors materialized before me. 

I listened as the instructor's voice filled my helmet. The words were clear, but they felt distant, surreal. The patient, the scene, everything I had just experienced—it was all a simulation. My partner and I had been treating a life-sized doll, our perception manipulated by the sophisticated technology embedded in our armor suits. The HUD, the thermal imaging, the AI advice—all designed to give us a realistic impression of a genuine emergency.

I felt a peculiar mix of relief and disorientation. The usual stress that had flooded my system began to ebb, but a new tension took its place. The instructor's voice continued, explaining how our performance was being assessed. The patient's data transformed into a step-by-step assessment of our actions, our decisions, our collaboration. We would be judged if we had executed the crew resource management properly, found the right working diagnosis and kept within the protocols.

And then the praise and chastise came. Words of encouragement, but also  deficiencies noted for the next conditioning. But also an acknowledgment of our swift actions and effective use of the HUD system.

The grade we got flashed before me, a culmination of our efforts, our interaction with the AI, our use of the technology at our disposal. 

But beneath the surface, a nagging doubt remained—how much of our success was truly ours, and how much was guided by the very system that had just revealed itself to be part of an orchestrated illusion?

As the drill instructor's image faded from my helmet, it switched back on and I could see and hear the scene around us. 

The system instructed us to remove the simulation covers over the visors. Someone must have added them while we were asleep on the station. My gloved hand grabbed and lifted away the contraption that was magnetically attached to the visor or our helmet. As I removed it the world around us became alive, the ambulance we stood in became much more detailed. There was still the overlay but mostly passive. A case for the covers had been discreetly placed in one of the cupboard of the ambulance and we carefully placed the expensive piece of technology into it. 

I exchanged a glance with my partner. We didn't need words to convey our shared sense of bewilderment. The line between reality and simulation had blurred, and the HUD's influence on our actions, our very perception of reality had become undeniable.

The passive overlay became instructive again. We were instructed to prepare the next site for another simulation for the crew. Our HUDs displayed the coordinates of the incident, and without the immediacy of a patient to attend to, we were directed to reorganize the scene for the next crew.

As we approached the site, the HUD overlaid instructions for the task. Cones were to be set up to cordon off the area, the patient's "body" needed to be repositioned and covered. t was a different kind of choreography, one that involved precision and attention to detail, even though the patient had been nothing more than a sophisticated prop.

We worked in silence, each movement accompanied by the soft hum of the HUD's instructions. It was a surreal juxtaposition—the sense of purpose and urgency from moments ago replaced by methodical tidying up.

With the scene now reorganized and ready for the next crew, my partner and I exchanged a glance, we didn’t see any need for talking as this would simply be another data point for the constant surveillance AI. Our helmets concealed our expressions and we patted each others back. 

We stepped back in and as the HUD displayed the next set of coordinates, drove off to what was a real mission this time. 

[kookicat]

The Longest Night

He's flat on his back, a blanket haphazardly dragged over his body, when Devon finds him. One arm is curled over his chest, the other flung across the bed like he's reaching for something. Even in the dim light of the rarely used exam room, he's pasty, brow tense, even dozing. His hair is damp with sweat around his hairline, lips rough and chapped. The shadows under his eyes look like bruises. One socked foot flexes as he shifts, tugging at the blanket to cover a bit more of his body as a hard shiver passes through him. 

Devon thinks about backing out of the room, leaving the other man to the rest he so obviously needs, but he can't, so he crosses the room and shakes the blonde man's shoulder gently. 

"This better be an emergency," Conrad mutters, voice hoarse, without opening his eyes. A cough rattles through him, harsh enough to make Devon wince in sympathy. It makes Conrad curl up, one arm around his ribs until the spasm passes.   

"Gotta trauma heading in. Male, fell from a height. Ten minutes or so," Devon says and shakes the coffee he's holding. "Figured you might need this." He puts it down on the table next to the other man's head and backs off to lean in the doorway. "You should go home," he adds softly. "You look like hell." 

"Can't," Conrad says, shortly, and forces himself upright, the movement lacking any of his normal ease or grace. The lines between his eyebrows are cut deep, a sure sign he has a splitting headache. "This damn flu is wrecking the hospital. All the ER docs rang in sick." He rubs his forehead with one hand, pressing his fingers into his temple like he can dig the headache out of his skull. “There’s just me and you left standing,”

"I have some ibuprofen in my-" Devon offers, stopping short when Conrad waves a hand.

"Took some an hour ago," Conrad says and turns his head, sneezing hard enough to make his fingers clench on the blanket. He dumps the tissue into the bin by the bed. "I can take another dose of acetaminophen soon," he says and glances at his watch. "I'll manage." He takes a swig of the coffee, shooting Devon a grateful look, and shifts again, visibly gathering his energy before he stands and forces his shoes on. "Six hours until morning," he mutters and slips out of the door, with Devon close behind. 

---

The patient transport team wheel the gurney out of the trauma bay and most of the staff head out with it, leaving Nic and Conrad alone in the messy space. 

"Nice catch," Nic says, and strips off her gloves. "

"Than-" Conrad starts, the word breaking off into a cough that feels like it's shattering his ribs. Vivid stars flare across his eyes and he tries to relax, not fight his body, but it makes everything hurt. Makes him want to curl up into a little ball and sleep until the ache stops. 

"Hey," Nic says, and warm hands land on his cheek and back, rubbing soothing circles as the cough eases. "Just breathe. Slow breaths." She nudges him backwards until his legs collide with the single stool in the exam bay and he sits heavily, leaning forward, chest heaving as he catches his breath. 

One hand braces his head, the other idly rubbing his aching ribs. "That fucking sucked," he mutters hoarsly. 

A full bottle of water lands in his lap, the chill soaking through his scrubs and making him shiver. "Sip that," Nic says, and he unscrews the cap with hands that are still shaking. 

Every bit of him aches, a nasty dull pain that he can't quite shake, even with the pills. He's freezing, suddenly, and mutely tugs Nic close by the hem of her scrub top. The shivers are enough to make him clench his teeth to stop them chattering and that makes his headache throb more. 

She comes willingly, pressing against him, one hand automatically combing through his hair in silent comfort, the other slipping a thermometer into his ear. It beeps, and she glances at the display, sighing unhappily. "Conrad…" 

"I know," he starts, and has to clear his throat before he can continue. "Can't do anything, there's no one to cover. It'd mean diverting and-" he shrugs, voice trailing off, because they both know the chaos that would cause. Another coughing fit hits him, and he wraps his arm around his ribs, leaning on Nic until it passes. Her warmth feels good, soothing and a pang of longing shoots through him. Wish we were both at home and in bed. 

"Come on," she says, and tugs his hair, gently. "You get a banana bag and some more meds while I try to find cover." 

She leads him to an empty bay in the ER- they've been lucky, so far, with mostly minor stuff that the interns and nurses can deal with. He follows silently, folding down onto the bed like his strings have been cut, leaning into her hand when she cups his cheek. 

"Stay," she says and flips a blanket over him. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes to hook you up." 

He smiles at her. "Thank you," he says, and blinks heavily, glancing at his watch. Four hours to go, he thinks with a grimace. It feels like a lifetime and he’s honestly not sure how he’s going to get through the remaining time, because he's running on fumes already. The thought of more coffee makes his stomach churn. He shifts, tugging the blanket higher, and leans back against the bed, not bothering to hold back a yawn. 

By the time she gets back, he's dozing, a pillow wadded under his head, the blanket pulled up to his shoulders. He's paler than earlier, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead.  

Devon arrives in the bay at the same time, exchanging worried looks with Nic. 

"How's he doing?" Devon asks. "Discharged that patient with a splint and a follow up for next week." 

"Lousy," Conrad admits, one eyebrow lifting, "Did you find anyone?" It's a quiet but sincere plea, and a testament to just how rough he's really feeling. 

"Dr. Emory is coming in, but it'll take her an hour to get here," Devon says, and Conrad nods tiredly, one hand lifting to rub his forehead. 

Nic takes his other arm, thumb rubbing his wrist as she picks her spot. "Small scratch," she says as she inserts the IV, taping it down with a new batch of dressings. 

"You're good at that," he mummers, as she attaches the bag. He glances at his arm, huffing a careful laugh. "Chickens, really?" he asks. 

"The rep left them with me and we all know how you feel about chickens," she says and fishes in her pocket for the pills there. "Acetaminophen for your fever, Dextromethorphan for that cough." 

He takes the tablets and swallows them without any objection. "Give me ten minut-" he starts and both Nic and Devon shake their heads at him. 

"Stay right where you are. I have everything under control," Devon says, and pats Conrad on the shin. "Anything super major and I'll come get Nic," he adds, and ducks out of the bay, closing the curtain behind him. 

Conrad frowns at Devon's retreating back, but knows he's passed the point of being able to push through the illness. He can't remember ever being so exhausted before, and even the pressure of his clothes against his skin is uncomfortable. He shifts, trying to toe his shoes off, but they're laced tight and he slumps back in frustration. 

Nic pats his shin and unties his right shoe, easing it off his foot. The left one swiftly follows and she tweaks his toe before she flips the blanket back over his legs. "You should have stayed home," Nic says, and sits down next to him. 

"It wasn't this bad, earlier," Conrad objects, voice rough. "And then…" he starts, breaking off when the cough hits him again. 

"And then every other ER doc calls off sick and you've been running around like a crazy thing all shift," Nic says, one hand dropping to his pulse point in his wrist while the other rubs soothing circles on his back until the coughing fit passes. 

His pulse pounds against her fingers, and she frowns, glad when it starts to settle. "It's from the cough," he says, eyes dropping to her fingers, lip quirking in quiet amusement. 

"Can't blame a girl for worrying." She nudges him, gently, with her elbow, fussing with the blanket. "You're still a little warm." 

He blinks, heavily, shifting so he's pressed against her from shoulder to hip. "Take more than a cold to see me off," he mummers, voice soft with sleep. 

She sighs in exasperation. "You have the flu, Conrad!"

"Uh huh," he says, eyes closed, lashes dark against his skin. "Love you too." 

Her eyes sting, suddenly, and she closes them, holding the tears back, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. "Love you more," she whispers, and his lips curve into a smile. 

[dreamskis]

got home two hours late from work because we had what we in the ER lovingly call a "super-duper emergency" right at shift change and i literally had to call in a police escort to take our ambulance to a college soccer field that i obtained emergency clearance from the university to land a trauma helicopter on in order to transport our patient to a specialty hospital across the state for emergent surgery on their actively dissecting abdominal aortic aneurysm.

all this because my work doesn't have a helipad 👍🏻

[mann777]

Physiotherapy at Home

Title: The Evolution of Rehabilitation: Exploring the Impact of Physiotherapy at Home

In recent years, the landscape of healthcare has undergone significant transformation, driven by advancements in technology, shifting patient needs, and a growing emphasis on personalized care. One area that has seen notable progress is rehabilitation, with the emergence of innovative solutions like "Physiotherapy at Home" revolutionizing the way patients access and receive rehabilitative services.

The Rise of Home-Based Rehabilitation

Physiotherapy at home represents a departure from traditional clinic-based models of care, offering patients the convenience and comfort of receiving treatment in their own homes. This shift towards home-based rehabilitation has been propelled by several factors, including the increasing demand for accessible and patient-centered care, advancements in telehealth technology, and the recognition of the importance of the home environment in the rehabilitation process.

Personalized Care Tailored to Individual Needs

One of the primary benefits of physiotherapy at home is its ability to deliver personalized care tailored to the unique needs and circumstances of each patient. Unlike clinic-based rehabilitation, which may follow a one-size-fits-all approach, home-based therapy allows for a more individualized and holistic approach to treatment. Therapists have the opportunity to assess patients in their own environments, gaining valuable insights into their daily routines, challenges, and goals. This enables them to develop customized treatment plans that address not only the physical aspects of recovery but also the social, emotional, and environmental factors that may impact rehabilitation outcomes.

The Role of Technology in Home-Based Rehabilitation

Technology plays a crucial role in facilitating physiotherapy at home, enabling therapists to deliver high-quality care remotely and monitor patients' progress between sessions. Telehealth platforms allow for virtual consultations, exercise demonstrations, and real-time feedback, providing patients with continuous support and guidance throughout their rehabilitation journey. Wearable devices and mobile apps further enhance the patient experience by allowing individuals to track their progress, set goals, and communicate with their therapists from the comfort of their homes.

Advantages Over Traditional Clinic-Based Care

The advantages of physiotherapy at home over traditional clinic-based care are manifold. In addition to the convenience and comfort of receiving treatment at home, home-based rehabilitation offers greater flexibility in scheduling, reduced transportation barriers, and increased opportunities for family involvement and support. Moreover, research has shown that patients who receive care at home may experience faster recovery times, higher levels of satisfaction, and improved adherence to treatment plans compared to those receiving clinic-based care.

Empowering Patients and Promoting Independence

Physiotherapy at home empowers patients to take an active role in their own recovery, fostering a sense of autonomy and self-efficacy. By providing education, resources, and support, therapists help patients develop the skills and confidence they need to manage their conditions independently and prevent future injuries or setbacks. This empowerment not only enhances patients' quality of life but also reduces healthcare costs and promotes long-term health and well-being.

Overcoming Challenges and Expanding Access

While physiotherapy at home offers numerous benefits, it is not without its challenges. Ensuring patient safety, maintaining communication and collaboration between therapists and patients, and addressing technical issues related to telehealth platforms are among the key considerations facing home-based rehabilitation programs. However, as technology continues to advance and healthcare delivery models evolve, these challenges are being increasingly addressed, paving the way for expanded access to home-based rehabilitation services for individuals of all ages and abilities.

Conclusion: Embracing the Future of Rehabilitation

In conclusion, physiotherapy at home represents a transformative approach to rehabilitation that is reshaping the way patients access and receive care. By combining the convenience and comfort of home-based treatment with the personalized and holistic approach of physiotherapy, this innovative model of care is empowering patients, improving outcomes, and enhancing the overall quality of rehabilitation services. As we continue to embrace the possibilities of home-based rehabilitation, we move closer towards a future where rehabilitation is accessible, effective, and patient-centered for all.

[iliterallydecepticanteven]

Combining the idea that Teresa wants to work in the ICU and the idea that Mac has energon poisoning, I've been given the following:

Mac, sitting in the emergency room holding a bucket of her own glowing vomit and looking like death warmed over: huh, that's new

Teresa: IT CERTAINLY FUCKING IS

Wig you have given me a wonderful idea for a drabble, please enjoy:

Teresa had bounced between multiple different hospitals in her time working as a travel nurse. She knows the ins and outs, the dangers of the profession, and what the various codes mean. Code blue is cardiac arrest, code red is a fire, code pink is someone trying to kidnap a kid, code aqua is part of the building is flooding, code white is get security to me now, code silver is someone's grandpa wandered off again, and so on. Those were the most common she heard on her usual shifts and she'd called a couple of them herself.

However, as she bounced between her two ICU patients, thinking about if she should text Emily about bringing home dinner, she freezes in place as the overhead intercom crackles to life.

"Code orange in emergency department, code orange in emergency department. Stay clear of area."

"What the fuck?" she mutters. The emergency department was a meager floor below them.

One of the nursing students with them on shift gives her a confused look. "What's code orange for?"

"Hazardous materials that aren't biohazardous. Usually radiation or chemical spills," she says, stepping behind the counter of the nurses station.

The phone rang and Teresa nearly jumped out of her skin. The charge nurse answers it and Teresa takes a few deep calming breaths. She tries to remind herself that it probably wasn't that bad. Someone probably cracked the container of one of the xray machines or spilled cleaning chemicals.

"Teresa?" She turns at the sound of her name. The charge nurse had one hand over the receiver of the phone. "You have radiation and hazardous material safety training right?"

Her stomach twists as she sighs, "Yeah."

Teresa had worked in her far share of various wards and units while traveling. She had oncological experience handling both chemotherapy patients and radiation patients. Whatever was happening must have been a mix as she had been told to gown, double glove, put on a respirator and face shield, and a lead vest with an EPD. She was pulling her disposable shoe covers on when the elevator dings.

Teresa was already in the patient's designated room. It was at the very end of the unit and had no one in the neighboring rooms to reduce the chances of cross contamination. She's not sure what she's expecting to be wheeled in. She had seen gruesome sights in her career. Everything from fourth degree burns to necrotic limbs to chemical burns down to the bone. She always expects the worst and hopes for the best.

The bed is wheeled into the room and Teresa freezes in shock.

Her patient is a young woman, looking small against the stark white sheets, still wearing street clothes, and clutching a bucket in her lap. Her eyes are glossy and something bright blue is dribbling from the side of her mouth.

Transport gets the bed into place and Teresa steps into the hall to take report. The patient, Mackenzie Adam, came into the emergency department complaining of gastrointestinal distress, high fever, trouble focusing, and a migraine. She then proceeded to vomit into a bucket, the contents of which were described as "unnaturally blue" and set off the radiation warning system. Vitals had been taken, blood type and allergies unknown, and she scored an eleven on the Glasgow Coma Scale.

"Great," Teresa says, clapping her hands together.

"We're trying to pull doctors to come and see her right now, it's just, we don't know what's wrong so we don't know who to send," the nurse says.

"It's fine. I'll take vitals and see what her complaints are," Teresa says.

She steps back into the room and smiles wide enough that it translates to her eyes. "Hi Mackenzie, can you tell me where you are right now?"

Mackenzie blinks slowly before mumbling, "Hospital."

Teresa gently places a monitor onto one of her fingers. She glances into the bucket and bites back a wince at the glowing contents. "Wonderful. Do you know which hospital?"

"Mercy," she mumbles.

"Correct," Teresa says. Slowly increasing that GCS was always good. She taps at her patient monitor, bringing it to life, and begins reading her vitals. Then she does a double take and reads them again. Just to be sure, she fishes a thermometer out of her pocket and swipes it across Mackenzie's forehead.

"What's wrong?" the woman asks her.

Teresa hesitates before answering, "Well, your vitals are a bit concerning. Your heartrate is a little high, as is your blood pressure, but still within range. And your oxygen saturation is phenomenal. But your temperature is very high and we need to bring it down."

Teresa had seen high temperatures before. She had encountered her fair share of hyperpyrexia patients and coaxed their 106 degree fevers down within normal range. She had seen patients hit 108 and watched their bodies give out.

The temperature on the monitor and her own thermometer read 125 degrees Fahrenheit. By all modern medical logic, Teresa should be standing next to a corpse, not someone who looked like she was suffering through the worst hangover of her life.

"Oh. I do feel kinda warm," Mackenzie says. She begins to shift around, pulling at her coat, and Teresa breaks out of her daze to help her.

With her arms free, she should start an IV line on her, start getting fluids in at the very least, and pull blood samples. But that grinds to a halt when she looks down at her patient's arms.

"Do you know what's wrong with me?" Mackenzie asks her. Her heartrate has increased.

Teresa snaps her eyes back. Normally, this was the point when she should be forcing a reassuring smile onto her face and saying she'd get the doctor. But there was no doctor right now.

"I am not a doctor, so I cannot give you an official diagnosis," Teresa begins. "But I can point out abnormalities."

She walks over to the light switch and flicks it off. The room is illuminated only by the meager light from the hallway, the dying sun outside, and a third source. She walks back to the bedside and gently grabs one of Mackenzie's wrists, turning her arm over to expose the underside of her forearm.

"See how it looks like your veins are glowing?" she asks.

Mackenzie nods and in the low light Teresa sees that it's not just her veins. The sclera of her eyes were tinted the same luminescent blue.

"They're not supposed to fucking do that," Teresa says.

"Oh," Mackenzie replies and Teresa has to bite back a nervous laugh. The whole situation felt so surreal, so fake, so inane. She wondered if she was going to wake up to this all being some wild dream.

As she snaps the light back on, she hears Mackenzie mumble, "I don't feel good." It's the only warning she gets before the woman goes lax and the monitor screams as she flatlines. Teresa curses to herself before calling a code blue.

Twenty-eight minutes of chest compressions and an ungodly amount of epinephrine later, Mackenzie is sitting up in her bed, asking for some water, surrounded by confused neurologists, cardiologists, hematologists, and toxicologists.

Teresa has retreated to the clean stock room to take a moment to compose herself by sitting on a box of clean linens and whispering, "What the actual fuck."

[aeromedairambulance]

Aeromed Air Ambulance Services in Delhi Up to Patna Relocates the Patient with Bed-To-Bed Service without Delay

The medical flight has its value and it doesn’t matter that you are facing trouble relocating when it is available. All types of emergency cases are handled these days by air ambulance services. The brand which is very trusted is only the Aeromed air and train ambulance which provides you with immediate and several solutions to relocate the patent in any emergency or non-emergency case. You can shift the patient with the advanced air ambulance services in Delhi easily.

How Is It Possible To Get The Immediate Shifting? Is It Very Risky To Hire An Air Ambulance Service In Delhi?

No, it becomes very easy and comfortable when Aeromed air ambulance service in Delhi is ready to shift the patient. This is the only air ambulance service provider in Delhi which gives all the solutions to transfer the patient. The advanced level of medical facilities is available in Aeromed air and train ambulance.

Immediate shifting may raise the risk to transfer the serious one. But, this brand has given outstanding service to shift patients with a modern ICU setup and all medical tools. It gives the treatment facilities n journey hour and sorts out the entire problem to reach the destination hospital.

About Bed-To-Bed Transfer with the Help of Aeromed Air Ambulance Service from Kolkata

It is very clear that when someone is in a serious moment, you prefer frequent movement to get the treatment in another location. Aeromed air ambulance services in Kolkata give you all the major facilities to reach the hospital frequently without any delay. Bed-to-Bed transportation is available at a cost-effective rate for the uncomplicated journey. Precipitate call assistance gives you a comfortable switch from one city to another.