#I had to do the 'drop cookie at furniture' thing and Devil cookie came up next to him and began emoting excitedly im :')

[unluckyxse7en]

THEY'RE DANCING WITH HIM....

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary - Chapter 5

Warnings:  some mother and daughter angst. That’s about it. Small mention of pregnancy loss.

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @valkyrie-of-the-light

 Her folks live in a retirement community just south of Butte; a neighbourhood of red brick bungalow style townhouses with immaculately landscaped front gardens and rear yards the size of postage stamps.  A far cry from the place they’d had in the suburbs, with its five bedrooms and inground pool and a kitchen large enough to host all of the family gatherings.  But they’d chosen to downsize and spent four months of the year travelling throughout the United States in Canada in their motorhome.

Esme doesn’t visit as often as she probably should. Or at least that’s what her brothers have told her when they get going on their guilt trips.  She tried using the excuse that she was just simply too busy: four kids to take care of (sometimes on her own), a husband, a home to look after.  The truth of the matter was that just didn’t feel comfortable there; a noticeable chill in the air the moment she would walk through the door,  followed by thick nearly unbearable tension for the rest of her visit.  Her relationship with her mother had starting souring in her third year of college when she decided that academics was no longer what she wanted to pursue; she needed a change, a challenge, something that would give her a sense of accomplishment and pride. Her decision to join the Corps had ruffled a lot of feathers; two of her brothers had failed boot camp and her passing at left them both embarrassed and livid. Her mother had just been plain disappointed. She’d wanted more for her oldest daughter. Much more. And the idea of her being shipped off overseas to fight wars on foreign soil, putting her live at risk for the lives of others, didn’t sit well with her. This was her child. Still her baby regardless of age, and she felt personally slighted that her daughter would have the gall to be so selfish and not think of others.

Getting married had somewhat repaired things. Everyone had loved Mark; a career Marine from a long list of career Marines, handsome, charming, well spoken.  And things had started out great. They’d been amazing, in fact.  She’d thought she’d met the love of her life; he treated her well, loved spending time with her family, was looking forward to having kids of his own.  He had known how to say all the right things and follow them up with the actions that matched. Fooling everyone when it came to the true person he really was.

Two years in, she had suffered a miscarriage. She’d only been two months along and the doctor had said that it was very common to for first pregnancies to end in unfortunate circumstances. She’d been devastated and had coped with it by throwing herself into the Corps. Mark had been livid; finding every excuse in the book to blame her for what had happened. He’d had it in his head that it was somewhat her fault and there was no convincing him otherwise. That was what set the abuse off; he became controlling, obsessed with her every move, began limiting her interactions with friends and colleagues, even family. He sought solace in the bottle, which in turn brought out violent and abusive tendencies that he’d no doubt been harbouring his entire life.

Ten months.

Ten months she had put up with it. She’d thought she could change him. Save him.  And in the end she’d lost everything. Relationships with friends, respect from colleagues, bonds with her own family.

She’d walked away. With nothing but the clothes on her back and a hundred bucks in the bank.  She no longer had self respect or confidence. So no longer trusted anyone; especially men.  She left the Corps and never looked back.  Her mother had been devastated. Not at the sudden change of career, but because Esme apparently had been ungrateful and never could see just how lucky she was. A handsome and charming husband, a nice home, a stable future laid out right in front of her. Esme could never quite wrap her head around her mother’s reasoning. How she could truly believe that anyone of that was true. It had been a show. All of it. Mark had never been any of those things her mom raved about. If he had have been, he wouldn’t have so easily turned into a monster.

And so began their toxic relationship. A far cry from how close they’d been throughout her childhood and most of her teen years.  She’d learn down the line that her mother was than likely a narcissist herself and she’d never even realized that.  

But she’d promised her older brother she’d at least try.  After all, someone had to be the bigger person. And she had four kids that deserved to know their grandparents.   She just didn’t want her mother’s issues being deflected upon them; she dreaded the idea of bringing them there and was filled with anxiety at the mere thought of her mother showing up on Christmas or birthdays. Tyler for the most part stayed out of it; he was the strong, silent type that didn’t need words to show you that his whole support and understanding was behind you. But unlike Mark who’d laugh at her mother’s cheap shots –“She’s just joking, Esme,” he’d insist. “Stop being so fragile”-, Tyler wasn’t the type to just sit back and put iup with it. He was protective (to a fault at times) and refused to let anyone talk to his wife…the mother of his children…that way.  Which in turn led to an already tense situation being so much worse.

Her mother didn’t like him. She didn’t deny and didn’t attempt to hide it.  She blamed him for the disintegration of her relationship with her daughter, despite the fact it had imploded years before he ever came along. She was bitter that her daughter ‘abandoned the family’ and decided to just move half way around the world to be with some stranger she’d met on a business trip.  How dare she do something for herself for once? How dare she meet the love of her life; a man that actually worshipped her and respected her and didn’t lay hands on her? How unbelievably selfish of her not to just leave that same man on his death bed to come back to Colorado and kiss her mother’s ass.  Did she not think of others when deciding to get married out of the blue and start a family?

It gives her anxiety even now, as she sits in her parents’ driveway, the engine on her SUV idling, the baby babbling and giggling in his car seat in the back.  She knew she shouldn’t let things bother her this badly. That she should just take whatever her mother says and does at face value and just put a smile on her face and then leave knowing that it simply didn’t fucking matter what her mother thought about her life or the choices she’d made.

But it is easier said than done.

Her cell vibrates from where it rests in the side pocket of the baby bag on the passenger seat and she checks it before going inside. A text message from Tyler. Reminding her to just breathe and don’t let her mother get to her. That her mother’s shitty behaviour is all on her and has absolutely no bearing on her abilities as a wife and his mother.  

Her being a bitch is just that. Her being a bitch. If you have to, tell her to go fuck herself. I’ll see you when you get home. Love you.

She smiles, sends back a simple ‘I love you’ in response and then drops her cell phone back into the diaper bag and kills the ignition.

***

Her mother is waiting in the doorway as she climbs the porch stairs, and she gives her daughter an awkward one armed hug and kiss on the cheek before taking Esme’s face in her hands.

“Look at you…” her eyes are glazed and her face is flushed; a definite aftermath of the Bailey’s she’d put her in four morning coffees.  “…you look beautiful. I love your hair. But…” she holds her daughter out at arm’s length and Esme waits for what comes next. Nothing good ever comes after the word ‘but’. “…still haven’t lost all the baby weight. Have you been eating right? Exercising?”

“I don’t know,” she lifts Declan higher onto her hip, chubby hands grabbing at her earrings and her hair. The latter he keeps trying to shove into his mouth. “Does sex count as exercise? I think I heard it’s an excellent form of cardio. Because if it does, I get a lot of exercise.”

Her mother frowns. But instead of a witty or cutting comeback, turns her attention to the baby. She may be a shitty mother, but she excels at being a grandma.  Or at least puts on a good  show for everyone; wasting no time showing off recent pictures to friends and strangers in the store, spoiling them on Christmas and birthdays, showering them with affection.

“Grandma’s baby boy,” she croons, as she holds out her hands and he willingly reaches for her. “Well there’s one thing that he knows how to do well,” she says to her daughter. “He knows how to help make gorgeous babies.”

He. Just the sound of it makes Esme cringe.

She slips out of her sneakers as she follows her mother into the house, eyeing all the recent additions and transformations. New furniture, a fresh and different colour of paint, new flooring. “You’ve been keeping Sarge busy,” she remarks, as they head into the kitchen.

“Well you know what they say. Idle hands are the devil’s play thing. Sit…sit…I just made a fresh pot of tea and there’s some of my famous shortbread cookies. Unless you’d rather eat healthier. I do have some fresh fruit.”

Out of sheer spite she helps herself to two cookies and bites into both.

Her mother simply stares at her, then offers a long, exasperated sigh and slips into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “I take it he’s finally home.”

“He is,” Esme takes a seat across from her, tucking the baby bag under the table. “And he has a name, mom. It’s not that hard to remember. Considering one of your grandsons is named after him.”

“How long was he…” she pauses and gives her daughter a phony, sugary sweet smile. “…how long was Tyler gone for?”

“Two weeks. It was only supposed to be four days but…” she shrugs, taking the pot of tea and pouring some of the beverage into two china cups her mom has set out. “…there were issues and he couldn’t get back until two nights ago.”

“Just what kind of issues? One with two legs and breasts and…”

“Oh my God, mom. Really? No. Just because your own husband can’t keep it in his pants during boys week in Las Vegas doesn’t mean all men are like that. Tyler does not cheat. Trust me. I would know. And he doesn’t have any reason to. He is perfectly happy with what he has at home. My husband is satisfied and then some. So can you please not bring that kind of shit up? Jesus.”

“I guess I could give him and you the benefit of the doubt,” she says. “I mean, you obviously know how to keep him happy in the bedroom. You wouldn’t have four kids if you didn’t. Don’t they make birth control in Australia?”

“Jesus…” Esme sighs, and rakes a hand through her hair.

“Oh come on…” her mother laughs and slaps her on the knee. “I’m just joking and you know it. You never have been able to take a joke. Stop being so sensitive.”

“Well maybe stop being such a bitch and I would be,” Esme counters, and her mother just rolls her eyes and mutters something about her having a smart mouth and always being an ‘ungrateful girl’.

“So where was he this time?” her mom asks.

“Mexico first. And then Guatemala.”

“Doing what exactly? Who travels that much for work?”

“A lot of people. And I already told you. He’s a contractor.”  It isn’t entirely a lie.  “People contact his boss for help solving problems and his boss sends him to where he’s needed.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Mom, we’ve talked about this. He’s in security. Through a private firm.  He goes where he’s needed and he helps people with their issues and he comes home. Sometimes things go wrong and he’s there longer than he thought he would be. It happens.”

There’s a frown on her face as she bounces her grandson on her knee. “That’s no way to live. For you or those children. Can’t he find something that keeps him closer to home? What if something happens at the house? To you or one of the kids? What will happen if he’s too far away to get back in a quick fashion? That’s very selfish on his part if you ask me.”

“Well no one asked you, mom. It’s really none of your business. It’s his job and he’s good at it. Damn good. And he’s already said this is his last year at it. So just…” she sighs. “…just try staying out of it, okay? What Tyler and I do is none of your business.”

“It’s my business when my grandchildren are involved. Those aren’t just his children, you know.”

“Yes, I know. I was there when they were conceived, remember? Now can you please just get off his ass? Enough. I know you’re pissed at him because you think he stole me away from you and forced me to stay in Australia and trapped me into having kids and getting married. He’s a good man, mom. And he’s a great husband and an amazing father and if you’d get off his ass once in a while, you might see all that for yourself.”

“I have tried giving him a chance, Esme. You know this.  But he isn’t exactly an easy person to get close to and…”

“Don’t turn this around and make him out to be the evil one. He’s been the one trying to give you a chance.”

“So why isn’t he here then? He can’t spend a half an hour visiting his mother in law?”

“He’s spending quality time with the boys and Millie.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t call her that,” her mother huffs. “It sounds so…redneck.  Call her by her name. Amelia. It’s beautiful and it’s classic and…”

“She wants to be called Millie. That’s what she’s asked us to call her.”

“She’s five. She isn’t old enough to decide things like this.”

“Mom…” Esme sighs. “…it’s what she wants. She likes it. It sounds cute.”

“Cute? It sounds like she belongs in the outback.”

Esme smirks at that cheap shot. “I don’t know about that. If  she belonged in the outback, we would have named her bathroom chicken.”

Her brow furrows. “What?”

“There used to be a chicken that lived in Tyler’s bathroom. It’s a long story. I called it bathroom chicken because the first time I saw it, it was sitting on the ledge of the tub. As far as I know, she’s still alive and kicking and hasn’t been turned into dinner yet.”

Esme makes a mental note to message Koen to see if, in fact, bathroom chicken was still shitting all over the place.

“I still don’t understand how the two of you actually met. It’s been five years and I still don’t know.”

“I told you. I was on a business trip.”

“And you just randomly bumped into him…”

“A colleague introduced us. She’d known him for years and she hooked us up.  It’s not that difficult to understand.”

“And you were just so desperate to find someone and feel loved that you just latched right on and never came home again.”

“That’s not…” she takes a deep breath, trying to control her emotions. “…that’s not how it happened. Or why it happened. Can’t you just let this go? Can’t you just put that in the past and concentrate on the right now? Like your beautiful grandson sitting on your lap? Can you stop hating his dad long enough to realize what a gift you have right in front of you?”

That seems to have a struck a chord. And for the first time in as long as she can remember, her mother is rendered speechless.

At least temporarily.

***

“I spoke to Mark yesterday,” her mom announces several minutes later, as she sips from her own mug of tea.

Esme shifts uncomfortable in her chair, adjusts the receiving blanket draped over her shoulder and the baby’s face as he feeds.  “And why did you do that?”

“He stopped by. To see how we were. At least someone makes an effort.”

“Well he always did like to put on a good show for everyone. Nice to see some things never change.”

“Can you believe he still hasn’t met someone? That a catch like him still hasn’t remarried?”

Probably because all the women around him these days are much better judges of character than I was, Esme thinks. “Well,” she shrugs. “Not everyone is cut out to be married, I guess. Maybe he finally realizes that. And how does he even know where you live? The last time you saw him, you were still at the old place.”

“Oh we’ve been keeping in touch,” her mother says it so casually, as if it’s totally normal to keep in contact with your daughter’s former abuser. “He checks in on us a lot. Always sends Christmas and birthday cards.”

“Well how very charming and gentlemanly of him,” she can’t stop the snarkiness that drips from her voice and she lifts the baby to her shoulder to burp him.

“He asked about you. He wanted to know how you were doing.”

“I hope you told him to mind her own business and not to ask about me ever again.”

“I told him you were back living in Colorado. That you were still with your husband and had another baby.”

“So he already knew about Tyler and Millie and the twins because…”

“Like I said. We’ve kept in touch. Why wouldn’t I tell him?”

“Oh I don’t know, mom. Maybe because he’s a narcissistic prick with no remorse who refuses to take responsibility for his own bullshit. Or maybe, just maybe, I’d rather him not know anything about me. Or my husband. Or my kids.”

“Well for what it’s worth, he seemed very happy for you. He said he was glad to see you got it together and was giving someone a chance to love you instead of pushing them away.”

“Of course he did,” Esme smirks.

“And he said that the children are beautiful. I said I agreed that they are, but they just look way too much like their father.”

“And that’s a bad thing, because…”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Because if there’s one thing we can agree on, it’s that your husband definitely is a nice tall cool glass of water. Certainly not hard to look at.”

“No. He most certainly isn’t. He’s even better to look at when he has no clothes on.”

Her mother scowls.

“And how would Mark know what the kids look like unless…” Esme’s eyes narrow.   “…please tell me you did not go on my facebook and show him.”

“No! Of course not. I know how you want to keep that family only. I showed him some of the pictures you’ve sent us.”

“Jesus, mom. Why? Why was it so important to show him pictures? It’s none of his business what my kids look like.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset. Like I said, they’re beautiful children and…”

“He’s my ex husband for a reason. And one of those reasons is that he’s a total dick bag and I want nothing to do with him. So please stop telling him things and showing him pictures. I’d just rather you not do it, okay? It’s weird.”

“Only because you’re making it weird. Honestly, Esme…” she huffs, and pushes her chair away from the table. “…everything is always so difficult with you. Why is everything such a production with you? It’s why your first marriage didn’t work.”

“Oh believe me, mom, that marriage didn’t work for a lot of reasons. You just won’t accept what really happened. You have your head shoved so far up Mark’s ass….”

“You weren’t one hundred percent innocent, young lady. You had your issues too.”

“I lost a baby and he went off the deep end. I’m so very sorry for having a miscarriage and upsetting his delicate sensibilities.”

“Well as sad as that was, you certainly didn’t let it hold you back. You went on to have another four. He has none.”

“And I’m sure that’s by his own choice. Or maybe women are smarter there days and they see through his shit. I can’t believe we are even talking about this. About him. That’s my past. I’m married. I have a husband. Kids. And none of that has anything to do with him and you shouldn’t be trying to involve him in it.”

“Well let’s just hope you get rid of this animosity before he winds up on your doorstep.”

“Before he….mom…” her eyes narrow. “…what did you do?”

“He said he wanted to reach out to you. To make amends.”

“Mom…”

“I told him it shouldn’t be a problem, so…”

“Mom!” she snaps. “Please tell me you didn’t…”

“I gave him your cell number. And your address.”

“You didn’t,” Esme hisses.

“I did. I thought it would be good for you. To touch base and…”

“Why would you do that? Why would you tell him where I lived? That’s none of his goddamn business. Why…?”

“He just wants to talk to you. Make amends.”

“He can go fuck himself.”

“Esme…language…please…”

“You are just too much!” she uses her foot to pull the baby bag towards her and shoves the receiving blanket into it before standing up. “I come here to visit you...so you can see your grandson…and you have to do this! This stupid bullshit that you pull!”

“I don’t care how grown you are, young lady. Or that you’re a wife and a mother. You don’t speak to me that way!”

“I’ve had enough of this mom! Enough of all your mind games and you crap.  I’ve been trying. I’ve been trying so hard since we go back here. We came back here for you. It was Tyler’s idea, you know. Because he thought I needed to be home. Because he thought you deserved to have Millie in your life. Because he felt some sort of misplaced guilt for making me stay in Australia. I didn’t stay there because I had to.  Or to spite you. I stayed there because I love him and he needed me.  Yet you have the goddamn nerve to shit all over him every chance you get. And you know what really makes you mad? It makes you mad that he doesn’t let you. You’re so pissed that he isn’t afraid to stick up for himself. Or for me.”

“Well if he just minded his own business…”

“I’m his wife. I am his business. He’s the father of your grandchildren. Whether you like it or not. And he’s the love of my life and my best friend and my husband and you’re not going to disrespect him like you do. I’ve had enough. Stop. Just stop.”

She holds her hands up in surrender. “If I’d known how you feel at the very beginning how you feel…”

“I’ve made it abundantly clear that I hate how you talk about him. You don’t know him, mother. You don’t know what he’s like or the things he’s done or the way he’s helped people. The way he keeps helping people. There’s a lot more to him than you think.  And if you knew the truth, the whole truth, I think you’d respect him a hell of a lot more. He’s a hundred times the man than Mark ever was. A thousand times.”

“I think you’re giving him a little too much credit.”

“See!” Esme huffs, and slings the bag over her shoulder. “That is exactly what I am talking about. I love you, mom. I do. But I love Tyler more. And I’m sorry if that hurts you to hear that.  But he’s the one that’s been there for me. He’s the one that sticks by my side when everything is going to shit. And it was his idea to move back here because he felt you needed me to be here. And that you needed to see the kids. If it wasn’t for Tyler, we wouldn’t even be here. Or would you rather that?”

“Of course not. I’m very grateful for that. To have you in my life.  To have my grandchildren.”

“But you just can’t let it go, can you. You’ve got this hate on for him that you just can’t get past. You need to just let it go. For me. For your grandchildren. Because he’s their father and they love him to the moon and back and I won’t let you talk about him like you do in front of them. Can you at least respect them enough to stop?”

She sighs. “I can try. No promises though.”

“I do love you mom,” she presses a kiss to her cheek. “And none of this was ever about spiting you. I’m sorry that you think it was. That you think I stayed there to upset you. But I did what I needed to for him. And for myself. One day I hope you can realize that. I’ve got to go.  I told Jennie I’d be there for noon.”  

It would be the first time seeing her cousin since G had been killed in Dhaka. Five years of being avoided because the pain and the grief was too great and Jennie couldn’t except that her husband had died yet Tyler had been given a second chance. Why would the man who had so much to live to for have to be the one who died, when the man who didn’t want to live anymore was given the chance to go on?

Her mother walks her all the way to the car, waiting until Esme’s buckled the baby in his car seat before surprising her by wrapping her arms around her. A real hug this time. Warm. Loving. Two things she hasn’t felt from her mother since she joined the Corps and became the family disappointment.

“Drive safe,” her mother says, and kisses her cheek. “Call me when you get home so I know you got there safe. And tell everyone that I say hi. That grandma loves them.”

“I will,” she promises. “I do love you, mom.”

“And I love you. Now go. Before you make me all weepy. You know I hate that kind of thing. I just want you to be happy, Esme. That’s all I want.”

“I know. And I am. Happy. He makes me happy.”

She pats her daughter on the cheek and then backs away, arms crossed over her chest as Esme climbs into the SUV.   “See you soon?” there’s a tone of hope in her voice.

Esme smiles. “I hope so.”

[thedreamsmith]

How (Not) To Seduce a Blueshirt  (Chapter 1)

@atc74​ @arrowsandmixtapes​ @alleiradayne​ @captain-s-rogers​ for #OC appreciation day 2020

Warnings: Swearing

Pairing: Jim Kirk x OFC 

Summary:  In which Jim Kirk tries to catch the attention of the new science officer on the Enterprise. Scotty and Jaylah give the worst relationship advice. This is why Bones drinks.

‘We are now in orbit around Argratha, Keptin.’ Chekov called, his hands flying over the navigation console. ‘Have you chosen the away team for tomorrow’s first contact mission? …Keptin?’

James T Kirk had not heard a word that his navigation officer had said, for he had been too busy gazing at the new veterinary science officer as she leant over a console, deep in conversation with one of the other blue shirts.

That was, until a pointed cough from Mr Sulu dragged his attention back to matters at hand.

‘Did you hear me, Keptin?’ The bridge’s youngest officer made a valiant effort to keep his features neutral.

‘I believe the Captain was studying the…moon.’ Uhura’s voice was impassive but he just knew that she was smirking as she monitored the incoming transmissions from Argratha.

Something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle came from the direction of the navigation console, but he decided to ignore it. Jim consoled himself that at least it wasn’t Jaylah. Scotty’s third-in-command would’ve skipped the double entendre altogether and announced – loudly – to the entire bridge that the captain had been paying more attention to the doctor’s ass than their impending diplomatic mission.

Clearing his throat, he attempted to regain some semblance of dignity and pretend that his ears were not currently bright red. He failed miserably at both.

‘Ah…yes, what’s Argratha’s moon called again?’

Sulu opened his mouth to reply but Spock’s voice that rang out across the bridge.

‘Doctor Lyall?’

The bridge crew didn’t bother to hide their laughter this time and Jim sank further into the Captain’s chair – maybe he’d throw himself out the airlock once Alpha shift ended.

***

Reyne had just finished the weekly checks on the avian species in the menagerie when her comm beeped. Murray glanced up from his PADD at the sound but otherwise made no comment as he returned to his reports.

‘Doctor Lyall here.’

‘Doctor, you are needed on ze bridge at once.’ The young navigator’s voice was higher than she’d ever heard it, and in the background of the call there were the faints sound of people yelling and furniture being knocked about.

‘What’s going on, Mr Chekov?’ It was rare enough that she was called to the bridge, and even on those occasions it was always to do with some science mission that she needed to discuss with Commander Spock.

‘There is a blue rat on ze bridge!’ The Ensign’s voice broke on the last syllable and Reyne winced as she held the comm away from her ear.

‘Alright, alright. I’ll be there in five minutes, just stay calm Mr Chekov – I’m sure it’s more scared of you than you are of it. Lyall out.’ With a shake of her head, Reyne ended the comm and turned to face Murray, who had been listening to the whole, bizarre exchange.

‘A blue rat?’ His eyebrows had disappeared under the fall of his fringe. ‘What was the last planet we visited? Draco 6? Do you think it’s a-‘

‘More than bloody likely.’ She swept a lock of dark hair behind her ear as she grabbed a med kit and trap disk from the bench beside the door. ‘I’m going to kill whoever let it onto this ship.’

***

Reyne spotted the creature as soon as she emerged from the turbolift. She bit back a sigh of annoyance – Murray had been correct in his prediction.

‘Why the fuck is there a Lethian rat on the bridge? Please tell me there’s only one.’

At first, no one seemed inclined to answer either question, but finally Chekov piped up from his place behind the navigation console.

‘Aye, Doctor.’

‘Thank god.’

With a nod to the young Ensign, Reyne cast around for the piercing blue eyes and shit-eating grin that seemed to be at the epicentre of every disaster aboard this god-forsaken starship. A flash of command gold caught her eye as she spotted the captain crouched a few metres away from the small, blue rodent; eyes focused on his prey.

Eyes widening, she started forward but before she could issue a warning, Jim Kirk lunged, hands closing around the rat with a shout of victory.

His cheer quickly became a strangled yelp.

‘Bugger bit me!’

The Lethian rat took the opening and scurried away, causing several of the younger ensigns to jump onto their chairs as it scampered to the far side of the bridge.

In the ensuing chaos, Reyne turned just in time to see Jim raise his hand to his mouth.

‘Don’t!’ The sharpness of her outburst effectively grabbed his attention. ‘Lethian rats are venomous, and it’s worse when ingested. Wait a minute and I’ll bandage it up.’

Quickly, she pulled the trap disk from her bag and flicked the switch to prime it. The little metal circle would emit pheromones to attract the creature and humanely immobilise it once it got close enough. With a flick of her wrist, Reyne tossed the disk onto the floor in the general direction of the rodent and turned to face the captain.

Despite his injury, Jim Kirk gave her a winning smile as she stalked towards him, already pulling a bandage from her kit.

‘How did that thing come to be on the bridge, Captain?’

With skilled hands, Reyne disinfected the laceration and bound his palm with a biostrip.

‘Must’ve climbed up my shirt while I was on the away mission to Draco 6.’ The captain shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Scurried out of my sleeve.’

Reyne opened her mouth to point out the holes in his story but decided against it. She’d heard enough from Dr McCoy to know that Jim could be as stubborn as an ass when he wanted to be – which was almost all the time. Especially when it came to his physical exams.

‘You’re lucky there was only one; those things make tribbles look abstinent. Could’ve ended up with a ship-wide infestation of venomous blue rodents.’ With a shake of her head, she tied off the bandage. ‘You’ll need to go to the medbay – if it’s not treated within a couple of hours, the venom causes mild amnesia that gets worse the longer it’s left in your system. Until I catch this thing, just do what you usually do – sit in your chair and look pretty.’

It was the wrong thing to say because his eyes immediately lit up and he batted his eyelashes at her.

‘You think I’m pretty, doctor?’

The sharp beeping of the trap disk and a barrage of high pitched squealing saved her from having to reply as the rat fought against the snare.

Carefully, so she didn’t get bitten as well, Reyne picked up the snare and raised the wriggling rodent to eye level.

‘Couldn’t resist, could you? Horny wee bugger.’ The creature snapped it teeth at her. ‘Male, good. That means you won’t be popping out babies left, right and centre.’

With the press of another button, the disk injected the rodent with a small amount of sedative, and within a few seconds it had ceased its wriggling, but still eyed her with barely concealed rage. ‘Lethian rats get their name from an ancient Earthen mythology. Right, c’mon.’ She tipped her head towards the turbolift. ‘I’ll drop this wee guy off at the menagerie on the way to the medbay – I’ll need to give Dr McCoy the specifics of the venom.’

***

Five minutes later, Reyne strode into the menagerie with Jim in tow.

‘You were right, Murray!’ She gave her colleague a wide grin, depositing the sedated rat onto the exam table. ‘Look, I’ve brought you a friend.’

‘How wonderful.’ Murray adjusted his glasses and peered at the sluggish rodent. ‘And what would you like me to do with it?’

‘De-venom and examine it, I’ve got to take the captain to the medbay – he got bitten.’

‘Fine, but you owe me some of the cookies I know you have squirreled away in your office. The replicators can never seem to get them right.’ He accepted the storage box that she passed to him before glancing over her shoulder. ‘Um, Ree… You might want to book it over to medical, the captain isn’t looking too hot.’

Reyne whirled around, and it was immediately obvious was Murray was talking about; Captain Kirk had turned a sickly grey colour, and a faint sheen of sweat had broken out across his forehead. ‘Shit.’ She levered herself under his arm, guiding him away from where he had been leaning against the doorframe. ‘You must’ve had an allergic reaction to the venom. Shit.’

With a hurried farewell to Murray, she half-carried the captain out of the menagerie and towards the medbay.

***

Jim’s legs gave out just as they reached medical, and Reyne buckled under his weight as they stumbled through the medbay’s doors. ‘Dr McCoy!’

The older doctor came hurrying out of his office at the sound of her voice, and his ever-present scowl only deepened when he noticed the half-conscious captain slung over her shoulders. ‘What the devil happened to him this time? Put him down on the biobed there.’ He directed her to the nearest cubicle, and Reyne gasped in relief when Jim’s weight finally slid from her shoulders.

‘A Lethian rat got loose on the bridge, and our heroic captain decided to try and catch it with his bare hands – got bitten for his trouble.’

‘Unbelievable.’

‘It’s a slow acting neurotoxin, and I think he’s going into anaphylactic shock.’ Reyne stepped back to allow Leonard to examine Jim.

‘How long ago was he bitten?’ Leonard jabbed a hypo into the side of Jim’s neck. ‘That should stop the allergic reaction.’

‘About twenty minutes ago.’

‘Right.’ He turned to root through a drawer of vials, finally selecting one and adding it to a hypo already half-full of viscous yellow fluid. ‘This should do it.’

Jim shot the doctor a poisonous look but otherwise didn’t protest the second hypo. His colour was rapidly returning to normal and his breathing wasn’t as shallow.

‘I disinfected and bandaged the bite on the bridge, so that shouldn’t be an issue.’

‘Thanks darlin’.’ His features softened for a moment – as close to a smile as Leonard ever came, before he turned the full force of his glare onto the recovering captain. ‘Now why have you always gotta go throwing yourself into trouble without thinkin’?’

Reyne glanced over the PADD that Leonard had left on the side. Confident that the good doctor had things under control, she left the medbay with the sound of the captain getting a well-deserved dressing down from his CMO fading behind her.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Never say never - Chapter 10

Still the story of my heart :D

RPF - Richard Armitage - Romcom

Mature (but not yet)

°10° ~Victoria~

Victoria balanced the pile of books in one hand, trying to turn the key with the other one and pushing her whole weight against the door. The bag almost slipped, but she managed to gain entry to her house without spilling books all over the pavement.

Leaving the books by the front door, she made her way to the kitchen to brew a cup of tea and ponder her outing. She had not expected seeing Armitage. God, even in her own mind, she would not call him by his first name readily.

That man had a pair of eyes on him though, she thought, a dreamy note sneaking into her reverie, and she had to shake her head to dispel any stupid notions pertaining to that man’s looks.

She had botched plenty of interactions with people before, but she had never consistently kicked someone quite like that.

She had no idea when the furniture would arrive, but the electronics would be delivered, she checked her watch, within the next two hours. Her fingers slid along the small, rectangular box she had purchased on impulse at the library.

North & South, it read, and Victoria sighed while caressing the box absent-mindedly. She didn’t remember if she had ordered the movie as well, but she would find someone to gift it to if that was the case.

Her tea had steeped too long and had grown bitter, almost as bitter as her heart, she thought with a disgusted snort.

She might as well get it over with, walk to Angie’s and get a box full of small cakes. And then…

It wasn’t until she opened the door that she realised that she was still holding and fondling that stupid DVD-case. “Ah, we were not sure if you’d come in today. What have you got there?” Jenna came out from behind the counter, ready to walk Vic to her usual spot, but she stopped when Vic made no move to follow her.

“I get a delivery of a new TV in a few, I’m just here to pick up some cakes and maybe a cup of tea, I’ve ruined mine.” Vic mumbled, pressing her precious DVD against her chest as if it was a new-born babe.

“Okay, sure. What is it then?” Jenna returned to her spot and leaned into the display cabinet, to take out a selection of Vic’s favourite afternoon-cakes. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” She chirped when the bell above the door rang merrily.

“I have time. Hello Victoria.” Jenna’s head snapped up and banged against the upper edge of the cabinet with an audible “clonk” while Victoria whirled around with a gasp.

“I’m sorry, oh my god, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The man apologised quickly, rushing towards the counter in case Jenna was about to faint. “Are you alright, Miss?” He asked, visibly worried about her.

“Hiddleston.” Victoria mumbled, dazed, feeling like a child in a zoo who was naming animals she saw, but the feeling of pride upon correctly identifying the beasts wouldn’t settle in.

“Yes, hello Miss Victoria. Fancy meeting you here. I just came for some of those delicious cakes of yesterday evening.” He grinned ruefully while Jenna shook her head slowly, her fingers brushing along a noticeable bump under her dark hair.

“Me too. I get a new TV today.” Victoria blathered stupidly, desperately trying to conceal her DVD by crossing her arms over it, which, of course, attracted even more attention.

“North…Ah, North & South. That’s what you want to start with?” Hiddleston smiled, nodding, “it’s a good one.”

“Really? Oh, no, this will not do. Do you have a thermos?” Jenna dropped the box she was unfolding and got another one from under the counter. “A thermos?” Victoria felt like she was the one who had hit her head.

“Never mind, I’ll lend you one of ours. Hmmm, let me see…” Jenna tapped her lip with her finger pensively before opening the door to the stairs leading to Angie’s office and calling up: “Boss? Vic is here and we need your help.”

Within a few seconds, Angie appeared, a pencil shoved in her hair and a pair of reading glasses on her nose.

“What is it? Hey Vic, hey Tom. What are you doing here?” She blinked a few times, trying to take in the situation before her eyes. Victoria cradled a DVD-case and Tom looked longingly at the display cabinet; he had not been served then.

“Victoria has chosen to start her emotional education. She’s about to watch North & South. What do I give her?” Jenna made a vague gesture to the cabinet. “Ah, yes, momentous.” Angie nodded with a little smile, conferred with Jenna in hushed tones and then, both of them fell into swift and efficient movements to put together the perfect care-package.

“I’ve heard that we are to come to your place tonight?” Angie then asked as she rang up Victoria’s order.

“Ah really? Good, you can help me unpack and set up a few things then.” Victoria grinned. She remembered that Liza had said “See you tonight” earlier, but she hadn’t given it much thought until now.

She would have cooked if she had known, but her larder was almost empty, and she had to stay home to accept all the ludicrous orders she had placed. “It will be take-out then.” She shrugged. She had never resented the company of her friends. “We do not want to intrude.” Angie said gently, seeing that Victoria had not been made aware of the plans.

“Oh, never mind. You are always welcome. As long as Liza doesn’t show up with Armitage in tow.”

Victoria had no idea why she had said that, but she had definitely betrayed more than she had wanted to let anyone know. “Why? I mean, why would she?” Hiddleston asked. Damn, she had almost forgotten he was there after the whole tea commotion. “I went to her office, and guess who I ran into…literally ran into…?”

She might as well tell them and she had shared a brief moment of complicity with Hiddleston the previous night; he was kind and funny, and she didn’t feel that threatened by him here, on her home-turf.

“Well…who is Richard Crispin Armitage?” Hiddleston provided his guess with a twinkle in his eyes, Jeopardy-style.

“I guess so…Is that his full name? Ouch…” Victoria laughed. “Victoria Daphne Roth, I’d be quiet.” Angie grinned.

“Touché.” Victoria conceded, continuing her story: “So, I went and ordered all kinds of stuff, thinking of nothing, and then Liza calls me, with that man in her office sitting across from her, and grills me about me not liking him.”

She was looking expectantly at the others, hoping that they’d laugh and agree that this was a ludicrous concept.

“Yeah, you didn’t seem much of a fan yesterday, but that might change now…” Jenna said after a moment, nodding at the object still clasped in Victoria’s sweaty hands. “I’ll make you a nice black tea with a dash of almond milk.”

Victoria felt annoyed, apparently, she had been even ruder to the poor man than she had thought. Damn!

“I think I’m having what she’s having.” Hiddleston proclaimed after seeing what delicacies Angie had selected for Victoria, who was presently trying to juggle the thermos, the cakebox, and her DVD.

When her phone went off on top of that, she handed the cakebox back to Jenna who looked at him apologetically.

“Yeah? What do you mean? I’m on my way, NO, I cannot take the furniture up myself. 5 minutes, I’m almost there.” Victoria exclaimed, squeezing her eyes shut in frustration. “I have to leave; the furniture is there and I cannot carry it up myself.” She announced to the others, caught again in a desperate struggle to transport everything.

“Let me help you.” Hiddleston took a hold of the cakebox. “For one of the pistachio-cakes and two of the almond cookies.” He added when her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Alright. Come on then.” Victoria agreed, thankful for his long legs and the two healthy hands at her disposal now.

She opened the door to the movers and the guest, telling all of them to just walk upstairs. She then, most inelegantly, fell over the stack of books she had left lying around by the front door, only regaining her balance after grabbing the hallstand which, naturally, toppled over.

“May the devil take you!” She glowered at it, grabbing it violently and putting it upright again while a group of men were trying to wrestle the bookshelf up the narrow stairs. Just as she wanted to join them, the doorbell rang again, and the electronics-shop delivery arrived.

“Miss Victoria, do you have a mop and a vacuum?” Hiddleston appeared and she gesticulated in the general direction of the little cupboard under the stairs. What was he on about now?

After signing the papers and directing this batch of heavily laden men upstairs as well, Victoria finally followed, having stowed away her snacks and her tea in the kitchen for the meanwhile.

Her breath hitched. Thomas Hiddleston was wiping the floor, his shirtsleeves rolled up and his brow glistening with sweat while a group of bulky movers were wrestling the bookshelf against one wall. “Erm, thank you.” She murmured, feeling the vibrant life filling this little unused room.

Roughly half an hour later, Victoria made her way up the same stairs again, holding a tray with dainty teacups and a platter filled with the selection of delicacies. She owed the man a cup of tea and the promised cakes for his collaboration.

As she entered, she saw him kneel behind a small cabinet. “I took the liberty of accepting this suggestion of the owner of the furniture shop on your behalf.” His words came out muffled by the TV he was apparently setting up for her.

“Thank you, yes, it’s lovely.” She murmured, setting the tray down on the treadmill. She would need a coffee table as well and the fainting couch was definitely not big enough to accommodate more than 2 people.

Victoria almost had an immediate need of her fainting couch when she realised that she was imagining, envisioning, accepting that there would be more than 2 people at a time in this room at some point.

“Thank you very much for your help. It was very kind and considerate of you.” She then addressed herself to the man crawling out from behind her TV and fumbling batteries into her remotes with long, gracile fingers.

“You’re very welcome. Ah, I see you’ve brought a cup for me too. Am I allowed to stay for a bit then and eat my cakes while you watch your movie? I’ll get a chair from the living room, don’t worry.” He waited for her to acquiesce, making it very clear that he’d accept it if she just wanted him gone.

“Yes, sure.” Victoria smiled. He was indeed very pleasant and the more time she spent with him, the less scared she was in his presence. He was nothing like that other fellow who made her seize up inside.

“Oh, everyone’s favourite sourpuss.” Victoria mumbled around her cake as Thornton appeared on screen. She had followed the movie quietly this far but hadn’t been able to suppress that little comment.

“Ah, come on.” Hiddleston exclaimed, defending his fellow actor without berating her directly, which made her feel more repentant than if he had scolded her. “It was a joke. He looks particularly unsmiling here though.” She grinned.

“He does, he’s not like that in real life though.” – “In my experience, he is?” Victoria cocked her head.

~Richard~

As he was there, he and Elizabeth went through a bit of work-related stuff as well and the time crawled along.

Her phone chimed a few times, but she didn’t let it distract her until a cascade of notifications made her look up in annoyance. “Excuse me.” She murmured and lifted her phone from the desk to see what the commotion was about.

“Ah…she meant it.” She just commented and put her phone back, ready to return to business.

“Who meant what?” Richard asked, tired and remembering the glasses he was once again not wearing. He was desperate for any kind of distraction from the closed-in feeling in his chest that wouldn’t shift.

“What? Oh, Vic. She told me she had bought a fainting couch and planned on watching a few movies. Apparently, she has just shown up at the tearoom with a copy of North & South. Her and Hiddleston have gone to her place to set up her new furniture. Must be what she has planned with the drawing room upstairs. Hmm.” Liza sounded absent-minded.

“She…what? Can you please explain the correlation between a fainting couch and the movie? And what is Hiddleston doing there? What is going on?” So much for the distraction, Richard thought when the vice around his ribs was tightened.

“I do not know, Richard. I’ll see her tonight and I’ll ask her.” Liza’s lips were quirking, and he was not sure what grimace she was trying to hide from him, but he suspected that he didn’t even really want to know.

“Maybe she’s a glutton for punishment? I have done a few horror movies; she can add those to the list.” He said sombrely. Liza’s hearty laughter in reply to his self-deprecation took him by surprise and, after a moment, he joined in.

She suggested he gift her those, signed, as a token of humour and friendship, but he was afraid that she’d take it the wrong way or be offended. There was nothing he could do right when it came to Victoria, and he was growing tired of being the laughingstock in this whole affair.

Victoria was just a bitter, cold-hearted, callous Xanthippe who was probably now sitting in her drawing room cachinnating about him with that fresh-faced fool of Hiddleston…no, that wasn’t right…how could she be both a bitter virago and a mocking seductress, at the same time?

It all came down to her poor opinion of him, she was cold and abrasive to him, but she would certainly be much more welcoming to someone she didn’t loathe with such fervour, wouldn’t she?

He decided then and there not to ask questions about her anymore and to keep as far away from that woman as he possibly could. In less than 24 hours, she had brought doubt and misery galore into his life and he was too old to just bear this silently. Unlike what he had said about her, he was NOT a glutton for punishment, especially if he hadn’t deserved it.

There were a thousand things on the tip of his tongue though. He wanted to know if Hiddleston was still there and what she had thought of the movie, what that story of the fainting couch meant and what other movies she intended to watch…but he would ask none of these things, he would no longer be strung along in the maelstrom of her insanity.

“I wonder how she’ll like the movie.” Elizabeth mused aloud, her eyes gleaming behind lowered lids. He knew that she was fishing, and he would resist stoically; he would not fall into the trap of confessing that he had thought about the same thing only seconds ago.

He looked dour in that movie, he knew that he did, and she would probably scoff at the screen and feel vindicated in her vision of him as a sour, hostile, disagreeable man. Well, there was nothing to be done about that.

“I think she’s seen the Crucible.” Elizabeth went on goading him and, this time, he couldn’t prevent the exasperation flashing fast and hot across his face. No wonder she thought so little of him as a person if all she ever watched were representations of him stalking around moodily before screaming his head off.

“Well, I’ll see about it tonight. Let’s get back to business.” Elizabeth finally said with a shrug, shuffling her papers self-importantly, whereas her eyes tracked every minute shift in his face all the while.

He merely grunted his acquiescence, listening to her talk about work with a dispassionate voice while trying not to dwell on his irrational irritation whenever the picture of Victoria laughing heartily bubbled up in his mind.

[platinumjeon]

Be Patient - Hospital Patient!Yoongi//Chapter 2

Summary: You’re a new intern at St. Mathis General Hospital and Min Yoongi is your first and most annoying patient.

Comedy/Angst/Fluff/Smut (later on)

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Length: 2249

Click for Chapter 1 here

                                                      CHAPTER 2

The next morning was a total blur. Katy The Nurse™ had found you once again the day before just to hand you more yellow folders and to send you right back to the conference room with the big mahogany table. After she left you, you stuck your middle finger up at the door, wishing she knew how much you already hated her.

As it turns out, you can’t change your first patient, and you were lucky enough to get stuck with the infant-like man child that was Min Yoongi. “An attractive..man child, I guess,” you mutter, walking into the building again that morning. You had lied awake all night wondering why a gorgeous boy, who you thought was familiar looking, was admitted to a hospital. You also thought the friend of Min Yoongi’s that you so awkwardly ran into like a bulldozer was so familiar as well, but brushed it off as being paranoid.

Walking up to the front desk, you’ve decided that it’s time to get serious. “Min Soo, I need my files.” You say, your nose in the air but glancing down at the young secretary (who was honestly, probably your age anyway, but she didn’t need to know that). Min Soo just glared up at you, and slapped the yellow folder on the desk that you already knew oh so well.

“Your first patient’s file has been updated, don’t go around asking what’s wrong with him this time. He told one of the nurses.” Min Soo said plainly, going back to her phone conversation. Your lip snagged between your teeth to prevent a growl that threatened to come out thanks to Min Soo’s attitude, and you snatched the folder before flipping it open to read the contents.

NAME: MIN YOONGI

AGE: TWENTY-THREE (23)

WEIGHT: FIFTY-SEVEN KILOGRAMS (57)

HEIGHT: ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY FOUR (174) CENTIMETERS

The file listed his basic information, and also doted what must be an old photograph of Min Yoongi with bright, mint colored hair and a rosy pink blush settled on his cheeks. He looked so happy, with a gummy smile spread across his face as if someone just told a joke so bad it was funny. The curiosity you had for this boy only grew as your eyes floated down to the information below the basics.

OCCUPATION: IDOL

ADMITTANCE: OVER EXHAUSTION + DEHYDRATION

TIME ADMITTED: MARCH FIRST, 8:23 AM

“Min Yoongi is an idol,” you said to yourself, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, “Alright then.” The file closes with a snap and you lock the folder under your arm, deciding that you were gonna be sassy to Min Yoongi right back. Just like yesterday, a surge of confidence pooled in your chest and you knew today was going to be better than yesterday, it just had to be.

You arrive at the room where Min Yoongi resides, and the room is full of light and the black haired boy’s incessant and intolerable hollering. The TV was on full blast, the scorekeepers shouts echoed around the plain, white room. You see the flowers that Pretty Boy came in with yesterday, the ones you had knocked from his hands and awkwardly handed back before running off. Maybe Pretty Boy will visit again today, and decide that’s what you hope to get out of visiting Min Yoongi this time around.

In the middle of one of his chants, you saunter into the room, the files gripped in a fist.

“You don’t look so exhausted to me.”

Yoongi rips his eyes from the TV to look you up and down, scrutinizing your scrubs and the hand on your hip. His eyes catch on the yellow folder, staring at his name written across the top in now clear, black Sharpie. ‘What are you doing, Y/N? Keep yourself together, breathe, this is where you become the one in charge,’ you say to yourself as butterflies seemed to rise up in your stomach and flow through your veins like electricity.

Yoongi drops his hardened gaze and looks back to the TV, seemingly uncaring. “And you don’t look like a doctor, so get out.”

His response is cold and it makes you want to apologize. “Look, Mr. Min Yoongi, I-” You begin, but stop yourself and think about what you’re doing. ‘Don’t be a weak bitch, come on.’ The devil on your shoulder says, and you urge the words to finally come out of your mouth. “-I am an intern and I’m assigned to your room. I’ve already tried to switch, but the hospital has you and I on lock so we’re stuck with each other whether you like it or not. So get used to it.”

With that, you spin around with one last glance to his face and walk towards the door, proud of yourself for-

“What’s your name?”

His words stun you, making you stop in your tracks as if you were an animal being hunted. Your body turns involuntarily while your mind screams at you to stop and walk out; to stand your ground and attend to the other things you had to do, rather than entertain Min Yoongi any longer.

But your heart stopped you from walking out; it pumped so fast and you were sure you were going to have to be admitted to the hospital soon yourself. His eyes were icy as he stared at you, waiting for an answer to come from your lips.

“Ms. Y/N Y/L/N to the ER,” You hear Katy’s monotonous voice come over the loudspeaker, which was highly unnecessary thanks to the pager you got ahold of the day before. But at this moment you were utterly thankful and remembered to try and be a little nicer to Katy after she practically saved you from answering to Min Yoongi this time around.

You look back at the boy sitting cross legged in the hospital bed, who is still analyzing your face and waiting for a reply. He arches his eyebrow when you hike your thumb over your back and say, “Looks like I’m being paged.” And disappear from his sight.

You felt like telling him your name would open a door you didn’t even dare to think about, like forming an actual kind, intelligent intern-to-patient relationship and...yeah, okay, you thought about that door a lot actually.

Apparently everyone on the first floor adored Yoongi. You were in the break room, stirring cream into the awful coffee someone had made earlier that morning. You were always the last to get the coffee because of your status, but somehow, you began to not mind as much as you used to. It was your third day at St. Mathis General Hospital, and things were slowly looking up.

You didn’t return to Min Yoongi’s room the day before. You feigned the extreme urge to go to the bathroom, and since you just had to go, Cecilia offered to go check on Yoongi instead. Ceci was one of the nicest nurses you had ever met - one of the nicest people you had ever met - and albeit a few years old than you, you hoped that she would become your friend. God knows you needed one in this place.

Since Yoongi wasn’t a “first priority patient,” as Katy called them, your days never started out with going to see Min Yoongi. As soon as your shift started you’d be called to Pediatrics to calm a screaming child for a flu shot, or to the ER to help transfer patients between the ambulance and the OR. This is what you wanted - pure and raw experience in the medical field.

Sipping on your almost-cold coffee, you sat in chair closest to the sink. Nurses, doctors and technicians sat around you, laughing and cutting the pale yellow coffee cake that sat on the table. The room itself was decorated like all the hospital rooms - pure and plain white, but this room had colorful furniture to brighten it.

“Yeah, it’s just crazy how he’s really an idol. He’s a rapper, and my nieces go insane over him. They like the other boys too, but I can’t tell them that he’s here.” Ji Su said sadly, lifting a cookie to her mouth and biting down, making crumbs fling everywhere.

Ceci turned to look at you as you were slumped down in your chair, hurriedly drinking the coffee before your shift started in ten minutes. You were preparing to go to Yoongi’s room, take his damn vitals, and flit away again like a bird on a branch. He was attractive, despite his sour personality, and the other patients you had assisted sometimes had a similar attitude. Maybe it was just the environment of the hospital itself, but Yoongi was just different. You were drawn to him although you never wanted to admit it.

“Min Yoongi was asking about you yesterday, Y/N,” Ceci said, a kind smile across her lips as she set her own coffee cup down on the table. “He said that he wanted you to come back.”

You sat up quickly at her words and the coffee traveling from the cup to your mouth got caught in the wrong tube, making you cough and hack until all the eyes in the room were on you. “What?” You croak.

“He’s not all that bad, really. He’s Dr. Ganz’ patient, so I don’t know a lot about him besides what I read on the internet. But he was so sweet to me when I was in there, asking how I was before asking about you.” Ceci said. The alarm on your pager went off, signalling that break time was over and it was now time to face Yoongi. Ceci gave you a wink before you opened the door and left with a huff, unsure of what to do.

‘He doesn’t even know my name. If I could still change patients, I would. I didn’t come here to crush on the patients,’ you said, hoping you could trick yourself into believing that lie. You let out a bitter laugh at the thought. ‘Ah, fuck.’

You walk into Min Yoongi’s room with determination. You found him under the sheets, head against the numerous pillows that he had stacked up under him. His phone was in his hands, scrolling through what looked like an endless string of tweets.

“My name is Y/N.” You uttered, your hands dropping from your hips and looking up at Yoongi, who had only turned to look at you, swallowed, and went back to scrolling through his phone.

Well, I didn’t think this would happen.

“Um, I’m just going to check your vitals. Okay?” You asked, settling into the routine you had established for yourself whenever you went to a patient’s room to check on them. Something you noticed was different about the situation was that Min Yoongi was now hooked to an IV drip, the needle taped to his inner elbow. Grabbing his clipboard, you went to the side that Yoongi was facing and stood in front of his face.

It was only then that you noticed the purple-grey bags under his eyes, and the expression of something you couldn’t quite pin on his pretty face. Flipping the sheet up, there was much more scribbling than the day before, this time the handwriting neat and readable.

UPDATE: “March 4th, Patient #653 Min Yoongi refused to eat the day before, refused all medications and was severely dehydrated. Dr. Ganz was called in at 6:43 AM this morning to prescribe fluids and insert IV.”

You looked back up at Yoongi, who had put his phone down and now had his eyes closed, breathing deeply with each intake. You wondered what he was going through to make him refuse all medication and be dehydrated to the point where they had to put him on a drip.

“Are you okay?” You asked, realizing two seconds later how dumb that was. Because he was already in the hospital, of course, he’s not okay.

Yoongi cracked one eye open to look at you, “Yes.”

In this moment, all you wanted to do was sit down next to him and brush the black strands of hair from his face, to comfort him in any way possible. His face was contorted in an odd look as he closed his eyes again, this time moving his hand out of the sheets to rest on the pillow under his head.

You sighed and put the clipboard on the table beside you, and stared down at his hand. Is he really okay? I don’t think so, I mean, why is he acting like this? You can usually hear the TV on from down the hallway.

Your brain must have went grey for a second because on an impulse, you leaned down and placed your hand on top of his. It was hot - too hot, so you moved your other hand to rest on his forehead. He was burning up.

“What are you doing,” he muttered, opening his eyes and looking from your hand connected with his to your face. You were focused on the fact that Min Yoongi was burning up from a previously undetected fever, a slight anger rushing through you along with worry flooding your bones. You figured he would have immediately knocked your hand away from his, but he didn’t, and the fact that he didn’t register in your mind until you had pressed the emergency button for a nurse and pulled your hand off of his.

[janiklandre-blog]

Monday, April 17, 2017

On Easter Monday - 9:45 a.m.  - not a holiday - yet part holiday - my eye op scheduled for this afternoon - I am to be there at 1:30 - equipped my grandson with phone numbers - very grateful that he is coming. - Once again my mother - she often talked about how when in the 1930's things were getting worse and worse in Europe it was the blood families who were drawing together - her best friend Marianne for whom I was named - she and her daughter later perished in Auschwitz - but close as she had been to my mother - after we had come to Prague and Marianne and my mother lived in the same town again - my mother lamented, the friendship was never the same again.

The Catholic Worker prides itself on being a family - often I was assured of being a member of that family - yet in this instance - how fortunate my grandson now lives in Brooklyn. How fortunate I am to have a grandson.

When I came here at 9:15 the computer room was still closed - security told me of the three maintenance men only one on duty - a holiday? - once again my bells were going off, learn to use the ipad - she promised it would be open by 9:30 - I waited a bit beyond that - glad to find it open. Cannot deny being nervous about the operation - it was nice two weeks ago to have Pim and his friend take me - having time for me later, Pim helping with the drops, taking me next next morning for a 7:30 appointment to the doctor - but I will manage - somebody there to walk out with me from the clinic is a law. The laws. Our president will do away with all of them - also may do away with us, altogether. Things do look scary.

People all say - nothing to it with these cataracts - and of course compared to most other operations it is "nothing" - still I think it was late February I went to the original doctor - now out of the picture but the two doctors still seem to collaborate after some fashion - and it will be the middle of May that my last eye drop is scheduled for. Besides - when did I begin fretting over this operation - the optometrist who had been my student whom I so much liked had, so I was told by his nasty successor written something about cataracts in my file but kindly not told me - this was 10 years ago. It was seven years ago his successor nastily told I had cataracts - it's written here he said - I never went to see him again - and have found out how many people are trying doctor after doctor. You are never sure do you really need a procedure or are they trying to make money. That is what modern medicine has come to. Harder and harder to find a doctor who went into it because he/she loves people and not "it is a good business". 

Luckily until now I have been able to live with a real minimum of medical care - my European doctor friends always willing to share their knowledge with me over the telephone. Never an American doctor - the law forbids it - and the law has made so many people happy to sue - which has made things worse and not better. Insurance rates for doctors are astronomical - also years and years to pay off debts for their education -  urgent reforms are needed. Once I found a wonderful nurse practitioner - she was sitting next to an anatomical chart - had time - was happy to give me anatomical instruction that I badly need - it was an instance where an expensive Park Avenue wanted to operate immediately - this must have been 1975 - the nurse practitioner suggested exercises. The doctor had been recommended by Christine F.

I guess a topic to dwell on this morning - though there is something I had met to mention. Among the familiar faces I met at the funeral on Saturday was a man who long has been called Jerry the Peddler, a Vietnam veteran, in his 60's now he already came to my attention around 1985 when a woman who had changed her name to Cassandra mentioned him. She died a few years ago, she came into my life in 1968 - still Thelma then - a student at the New School about to take PhD qualifying exams in anthropology that she passed. She was the mother of four sons, she also was a student of communes. I met her at a meeting where urban communes were planned - and again in my memoirs you could read about my involvements with urban communes, other communes - always an observer. Cassandra wanted to do a dissertation as a participant observer - filled reams and reams with her observations - got three of her four sons involved - never could get any funding. Under Carter - the president - she got some job in some program she liked - teaching computer skills - funds were cut - she was disgusted - and got into peddling - yes, she did love marihuana. On East 9th street she met a squatter, Jerry - and this was actually how I learned about the squatters - also would have loved to write a book - no connections, no funding, no guidance - did not know how to go about it. Peddling, any kind of business, alien to me, I made do on shoe strings.

I see Jerry practically throwing himself under garbage trucks hauling away pocessions of homeless people who had set up a tent city in Tompkins Square Park - they with help from the squatters and also other people fought City Hall for three years, almost unprecedented. I was there at every raid - bringing cookies, hoit coffee and helpoing people robbed of the little they owned in small ways. One woman asked me to safe keep her journal - Cassandra asked me to safe keep beautiful poems she wrote - all burned in 2000 -  including my 6th Street Log - typed forerunner to this here blog. Hundreds of pages.

Back to Jerry last Saturday -  I had spent not too long ago a little time with him and he had told me about the program he had found - it involved gardening - and when I saw him Saturday he was fitter than ever - I asked had marijuana kept him young - no, he said - gardening. I think the garden he works is not too far away and in days not very long ago I walked, and walked watched what was happening in this here neighborhood and well might have come across his garden - yes - gardening - my mother loved it, my younger son loves it - I - when we lived in post war Germany my mother did wonders with a little stony soill at her disposal - no tools, no water hoses - we worked practically with bare hands, carried water out in pots - yes, she supplemented our rather poor nutrition in signficant ways - but scolded and scolded and scolded my father and me for not helping enough - in any event, I never wanted to garden again. It seems - my mother's father when they had almost no money turned a little bit of land practically into subsistence farming - my grandmother did not garden much, she raised geese and chickens, was a wonderful baker, cook - house, laundry spotlessly clean - and as my mother describes in her memoirs - a most wonderful volunteer social worker - many people seeking her council.

The green thumb, it has passed me by - the Central Park Conservancy has a long list of applicants who love to garden - and have turned the park into a great garden. I do enjoy their efforts, much is in bloom now, I love to gp there - don't have a desire to put my hands into the soil. Might keep me a lot fitter than sitting at this here computer. Jerry does also show that marijuana consumption has not hurt him. A truly kind, alwasys smiling man - he gave me a friendly hug.

Well, it 11 a.m. - quickly about yesterday - a lovely long lunch at the Ukrainians with Haralld - we met when he was 20 and I was 22 - for years were very little in touch - alas he lives in Los Angeles - by now we both have lost many friends who died - and enjoy each other and have much to tell each other about our lives. He gives me excellent advice - he is a lot more practical than I am. We then came to my roof - it was a bit windy - and we both preferred the sun vehind clouds where it stayed most of the time. We enjoyed the green furniture. Then on to the Catholic Worker - where he wisely suggested I should keep my long time bonds - was greeted in the usual very friendly way - Edgar insisted on playing on the piano for us in the auditorium - took Hrald over to 1st Avenue for the #15 that only comes on ther rarest of occasions, specially on a Sunday - but there it was and Hrald got on.

At the CW I had seen the lovingly set tables for Easter dinner - tablecloths, cloth napkins - the best service in the world - I returned for the dinner - was served by M.H. - lovely dinner, devilled eggs, slices of kielbasa with - now the German comes: Kren - cubes of cheese, endless refills of apple juice - mashed potatoes , carrots, string besns with a cheese sauce, roast beef that I forwent - they really were outdoing themselves - I watched - just don't have much to say to the topics broached.

Kept waking up - but here I am - ready to leavetoo early - I am everywhere too early - peasant background?  Have caught charter flightd that left two hours early - Zurich - too expensive for them to sit on the tarmac - they had arrived early - the flight was a shaky affsir, very old plane, no idea who flew it, but it got me to New York - to a difficult scenario - all described in my memoirs. I know,I am writing them over - since I don't find ways for publishing, that is what I have been doing. And yes, I do repet myself. Also Harald told me horror story of a man publishing on face book - I think he nearly landed in jail - also said tumbler is often used for pornography - who knows into what hot waters I still my get - with a little bit of luck, a little bit of luck - hopefully I'll be back here tomorrow, and tomorrow - some more tomorrows   adios Marianne