#Price Of A Nation

[reasonsforhope]

"The Biden Administration last week [early December, 2023] announced it would be seizing patents for drugs and drug manufacturing procedures developed using government money.

A draft of the new law, seen by Reuters, said that the government will consider various factors including whether a medical situation is leading to increased prices of the drug at any given time, or whether only a small section of Americans can afford it.

The new executive order is the first exercise in what is called “march-in-rights” which allows relevant government agencies to redistribute patents if they were generated under government funding. The NIH has long maintained march-in-rights, but previous directors have been unwilling to use them, fearing consequences.

“We��ll make it clear that when drug companies won’t sell taxpayer funded drugs at reasonable prices, we will be prepared to allow other companies to provide those drugs for less,” White House adviser Lael Brainard said on a press call.

But just how much taxpayer money is going toward funding drugs? A research paper from the Insitute for New Economic Thought showed that “NIH funding contributed to research associated with every new drug approved from 2010-2019, totaling $230 billion.”

The authors of the paper continue, writing “NIH funding also produced 22 thousand patents, which provided marketing exclusivity for 27 (8.6%) of the drugs approved [between] 2010-2019.”

How we do drug discovery and production in America has a number of fundamental flaws that have created problems in the health service industry.

It costs billions of dollars and sometimes as many as 5 to 10 years to bring a drug to market in the US, which means that only companies with massive financial muscle can do so with any regularity, and that smaller, more innovative companies can’t compete with these pharma giants.

This also means that if a company can’t recoup that loss, a single failed drug can result in massive disruptions to business. To protect themselves, pharmaceutical companies establish piles of patents on drugs and drug manufacturing procedures. Especially if the drug in question treats a rare or obscure disease, these patents essentially ensure the company has monoselective pricing regimes.

However, if a company can convince the NIH that a particular drug should be considered a public health priority, they can be almost entirely funded by the government, as the research paper showed.

Some market participants, in this case the famous billionaire investor Mark Cuban, have attempted to remedy the issue of drug costs in America by manufacturing generic versions of patented drugs sold for common diseases."

-via Good News Network, December 11, 2023

[sunshineandlyrics]

🎫 15 March 2023 X

🎫 Robert Smith from The Cure tweeted about ticket prices and Ticketmaster's extra fees. He also tweeted about the verified fan process. 14/15 March 2023 x

X

[gomzdrawfr]

For my supporter!!

[applbottmjeens]

pretty boy taskforce confirmed

[baduzzxy]

dad!141 x mama!Reader masterlist:

dad!Price

dad!Price (2)

dad!Gaz

dad!Gaz (2)

dad!Gaz (3)

dad!Simon

dad!Soap

[dragonnarrative-writes]

just to add more fuel to the fire.. I want to let you know how happy I am that you are working on giving us more of the masterpiece autumn embers is.

i jumped, screamed, hollered, rolled in my bed, jumped up and down in excitement when I saw the slightest mention of autumn embers, MY BODY HAD AN AUTOMATIC REACTION IM SORRY😭 your writing is just so beautiful and it never fails to make me feel giddy.

you’re free to ignore this of course and I apologize in advance for ranting but I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you babes. please stay safe and healthy!! <3

Kinkvember 13 - Biting/Marking

Autumn Embers - Alpha Price x Alpha Gaz featuring Ghost and Soap

Autumn Embers Masterlist

Read on AO3

CW: Biting, implied permanent marking, blood and bodily fluids, frottage, omegaverse dynamics, dominance and submission

Notes: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR PUTTING MORE FUEL ON THIS FIRE. I've missed Autumn Embers so much. Have another pre-Wildfire piece.

Rut with a pack is always a workout. And Kyle? Has more than a little bite to him. John doesn’t bother to stifle a laugh as he shoves his bracered arm between the other man’s teeth and feels an almost concerning amount of pressure.

“There y’ go,” John snarls into the side of his neck as Kyle drools around soft leather. “That’s what you needed, eh? Set your teeth into your alpha? D’you think because Simon goes all sweet for a knot that I’d roll for you?”

The younger alpha bucks beneath him. He smells like sex, like rut, musky and spicy and potent. If he wasn’t under John, if he hadn’t already had a go on top of Simon, where would he be now? Probably mounting some sweet smelling little O, pumping them full of pups. Certainly, the week leading up to his rut had seen him picking too many fights for him to roll with other alphas.

Except, of course, for his pack.

Off to the side, Johnny is panting and whining for his own turn to slam around with Kyle on the living room floor. John swipes half-heartedly at him so he’ll go back to cuddling Simon, a distraction that Kyle twists to take advantage of. He’s clever in ways John keeps failing to remember, so instead of slipping away, he sets his teeth higher on the bracer and heaves John up over his shoulder.

Even with the padded mat set up, the breath whooshes from John’s lungs as he lands on his back. He has no time to recover before Kyle is on him, pupils blown. He slams his arms down on one of John’s biceps and ducks down with a snarl.

“Ow, fuck!”

Kyle growls around his mouthful of thick pectoral muscle and doesn’t let go when John grabs at the back of his neck and yanks. Sharp teeth break skin. The taste must be something nice, because Kyle moans and starts grinding his hips into John’s thigh through his joggers like he’s locked.

John barks a laugh at the feel of a solid knot against the inside of his thigh. He digs his nails into the glands on the side of Kyle’s neck with intent and bucks his own hips as he bends his restrained arm to grab at the man’s hair.

One thrust, two, and Kyle keens as his whole body shudders. His muscles stay engaged for a few seconds, and then he collapses. Even his jaw goes slack, which is Johns cue to roll him, none to gently, onto his back.

He goes, docile, before his rutting brain remembers that there’s another alpha on top of him, but his body is too slow to react in time. He can only keen and wriggle as John crushes him with his own body weight and sets his teeth into curve of Kyle’s shoulder. The first burst of blood on his tongue has him blowing his knot. Luckily, he has the wherewithal to reach between them and free himself from his pants.

He doesn’t let go until Kyle submits, body going pliant as he whimpers, “Alpha, alpha, alpha.”

John has to work his jaw for a moment before he can speak. “I’ve got ya, good boy, Kyle.” He swipes a wide palm over Kyle’s face, smearing blood and spit up into his hairline.

Johnny makes a more than interested sound and belly crawls toward them, chin tucked down to his shoulder. Price hums and pushes red finger tips between his other sergeant’s lips as Kyle purrs and chews idly at the stretched collar of his shirt.

Later, bandaged and bundled up in Simon’s arms, Kyle rasps. “There’s an omega on base. Smells like woodsmoke ‘n oranges.”

“Was wonderin’ why ye went off like a rocket,” Johnny laughs from Simon’s other side. “Bonnie thing in Intelligence? Smells like an alpha might be courting her, but if they’ve left nae marks by noo, we should snatch her up.”

John lets himself make an interested noise as he runs his fingers through Simon’s hair from Johnny’s other side. Kyle’s not really shown much interest in anyone outside of the 141, crush on Farah notwithstanding. Over the past year, they’ve all settled into their dynamics, a volatile but beloved push-pull that marks an all alpha pack. An omega’s softness, though? Especially under any one of them in rut…

“No poaching,” John grumbles. He presses his lips against the bristly side of Johnny’s head at his disappointed grumble. He chuckles and concedes. “We can introduce ourselves. See if she might be able to handle us.”

[sky-is-the-limit]

WHEN I SAW GAZ IN THEIR NEW VIDEO I THOUGH OF YOU LMAO

Oh my fucking god.

I haven't stopped playing it since, like, I'm losing my shit here. Folds opened about to take a FLIGHT. Please ignore me, I'm unwell and mentally unstable and Gaz saying "we're about to be a problem" with that smirk and voice isn't helping my condition 😀

I would do NASTY things to him, they'd have to rewrite the kamasutra and the bible.

[iamharryhale]

Chris: Fight me!

Buck: Superman, I’m not fighting you, look at your size! What are you gonna do, kick my ankle?

*Later*

Carla: Why is Buckaroo crying?

Eddie: Chris kicked his ankle really hard.

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

I missed #nationalblackcatappreciationday 👀

So, of course I had to make it right. 🖤🐈‍⬛🖤

[d0youc0py]

Hey ! Sorry for bothering you, I was just wondering if you'd do something with Ghost or all 141 about reader having a really bad mental breakdown/depressive episode? Maybe reader trying to hide on the base while it's happening but Ghost/141 finds them ? Not an established relationship, pinning if you want.

Sorry if you don't feel comfortable with this, please ignore if that is the case ! Love you and your writings , they are all amazing ❤️

Hope you're doing well 🫰🏻

Love you too! Thank you for your kind words! 🤍P.S sorry I’ve been absent I was on vacation!

He was looking for you when he had heard the labored breathing. He was going to ignore it, until he heard a cry that sounded suspiciously like you. His hand hovered over the door knob, debating whether or not he should enter. Another muffled sob was enough to drive his protective instincts forward.

You looked up at him with frantic eyes. A hand over your mouth showing you were trying to conceal the emotions pouring out of you. You quickly lost that battle.

“I.” You stuttered out. Your breathing was so uneven he felt his own lungs squirm.

“I know, kid, I know.” He lulled. His hands grabbed your arms, in a gentleness you didn’t even know he possessed. He brought you to the floor with him, keeping his hands on you.

“I don’t know why”- You swallowed. Your eyes darted around the room, but he squeezed your arms bringing your attention back to him.

“You need to fix your breathing, yeah? When I squeeze your arms- inhale, when I stop- exhale.” His voice was low and you found it hard to be frightened when he used such a warm tone with you. You nodded your head in understanding. You did as you were instructed, but continued to grow more and more panicked as it didn’t seem to help. The lightness in your head continued to increase, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“My breath isn’t going all the way down. I can’t do it.” You panted. Your arms reached out, tangling themselves in his hoodie.

“Yes, you can Sweetheart. Worst thing that happens is you pass out and wake up with a sore neck, come on now.” He attempted to soothe. He placed pressure on your arms and your drew you breath in. You lungs soaked up the air like a sponge, and you felt less uneasy once you were finally able to get a few breaths in.

“I’m sorry.” Was the first thing you could think to say after you had calmed. He shook his head disapprovingly. His hands left your shoulders in favor for your fingers that were still tangled in his hoodie. You went to pull away, thinking you had crossed a line, but the warmth- the security of his hands stopped you. You allowed yourself the comfort.

“What’s got you so worked up?” He questioned. Your hands shook in his grasp. His thumb ran over your knuckles. He allowed himself to comfort.

“I’ve just been feeling weird lately. Like things are out of my control and I can’t do anything about it. At first it made me sad now I think it’s making me scared.” You murmured. You admired the way your hand fit perfectly in his no matter the angle.

“I know the feeling.” He sighed, causing your eyes to shoot up.

“You do?” You questioned. The thought of your big bad Lieutenant being anything less than confident threw you for a loop. He nodded his head. “Have you ever-?” You trailed off gesturing to yourself.

“Had a panic attack?” He emphasized. “Course, kid.”

Knowing you weren’t alone caused a heavy weight to leave your tired shoulders.

“Don’t tell anyone though.” He pressed suddenly. His tone was back to the sharp wit you had grown to seek.

“I would never ruin your reputation Lieu.” You smiled, giving his hand a squeeze.

The creepy crawlies were back. The familiar feeling of hopelessness as you watched yourself drown. It had been a while since you’ve had it. That must be why it came back so strong- it was making up for lost time. Your knuckles rubbed your swollen eyes for the millionth time.

Today was an off day. You normally lived for those. Being around your team, the base buzzing with unusual liveliness. Impending death not hanging above your head for once. Yet today it meant you had no distraction. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Just outside your door there were a plethora of activities to engage in. But the thought of putting both your feet on the hard floor was daunting.

There was a knock at your door.

God, you didn’t want anyone to see you like this.

Maybe if you stayed quiet they would go away.

The door slowly crept open.

Of course it had to be Captain.

Would he dismiss you? You doubted he would want you on his team after this.

“Was waiting for you out there but you never came.” He sighed, making himself at home on the edge of your bed.

“I have a cold.” You lied, sitting up. You stared at the pool of blanket around your waist.

“Y/N.” The sternness in his voice caused you to instinctually look up. Your posture straightened. He could help a smile at the effect his voice had on you. “Please don’t lie to me, honey. I’ve seen that look on many peoples faces- my own included.” His face was so soft and understanding it made your throat tighten.

“I’m sorry I lied.” You groaned, running a hand over your face. “I’m just not having the best week, it won’t impact my work, I promise.” You quickly wiped away a tear.

“I know that.” He affirmed. “You know what I do when I feel that way?” He asked. You sniffled furrowing your brows at the question.

“No. Didn’t think you could even feel this way Captain.”

He chuckled.

“You bet your arse I do. On leave especially.” He paused for a moment. He hoped what he was about to say didn’t scare you off- or make you loose all respect for him. “Y/N, when I feel the way you do now I get piss drunk.” Your eyes widened at his statement. You knew Captain could throw them back, but you never saw him drunk. “I’m not especially proud of it, I’m working on it.”

“Wanna work on it together?” You asked suddenly. “I get out of bed, and you don’t drink?”

He thought about it for a moment. He had a higher chance of succeeding if he was doing something for you. He didn’t want to let you down.

“Deal.” He smirked, holding out a hand for you to shake.

“Can you stay till I fall asleep?” You whispered. Your fingers traced the tattoo on his forearm, the action causing him to nearly fall asleep. His hands rested against your hips, pulling you further up on his body. You quickly pressed your ear against his strong heartbeat. The rhythm relaxed the tense muscles in your back.

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving you, Bon.” The gravel in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

“Thank you, Mac.” You mumbled, your eyes drooping. He hummed in acknowledgment. “I don’t just mean for this. If it wasn’t for you I probably would’ve cracked my head open from passing out.”

“Ah, someone would’ve found you eventually.” He smirked, pinching at your sides. “Bonnie.” He started.

“Yea?” You hummed, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him. His body flushed at the closeness.

“Ask for help, okay? You feel that way, come and see me. You aren’t alone.” He spoke with nothing but sincerity. He wiped a tear that rolled down your cheek.

“Okay Jo.” You agreed. You leaned up, placing a soft kiss against his cheek, before relaxing against him once again. He wrapped to arms around you, a silent promise of safety and security.

“Are you on medicine or something for this?” He wished he could take back his words at the glare you shot him. “Not the time, Kyle, not the time.” He sighed to himself.

He took a few hesitant steps towards you. Once he realized you weren’t going to tell him to get lost he sat down beside you.

“What do you need from me, love?” He hummed. You sputtered something he couldn’t quite understand. You ran a hand over your face harshly, over the tears that never seemed to stop. “Hey, hey, gentle now. I happen to enjoy your face.” He scolded. He wrapped an arm around you, holding your hands in both of his.

“I don’t feel good.” You rasped out. “My head just won’t stop. It’s like there is someone just constantly yelling at me in my head. It’s exhausting.” You sniffled. You couldn’t help but press yourself closer to Kyle. His body warm and safe.

“Sounds exhausting.” He agreed, resting him chin on your head.

“I do take medicine.” You explained. “I dropped a weeks worth of it on the floor.” You panted, drowsiness already catching up to you.

“That’s happened to me before.” Kyle chuckled. “Well something similar. I went out on a mission with Boss and left my OCD medication in my pocket. It kept rattling so he made me ditch it.” The smile in his voice caused one to spread across your own face.

“Did that happen to be around the time you spent an hour unlocking and relocking the doors? Oh and you cleaned the whole fridge out.”

“Yeah, no one ever said thank you for doing that by the way.” He huffed.

“Thanks Ky.” You smiled. “For cleaning out the fridge and being good to me.”

[sgt-tombstone]

Saw this tiktok and had to make a hc post about it so…

The 141 (and co)’s reaction to The Wobble:

Price: knows what the wobble is, refuses to join in unless he’s at least five drinks in

Ghost: doesn’t know what the wobble is, watches with increasing concern and refuses to join

Soap: doesn’t know what the wobble is but has the moves on lock by the end of the first round and enthusiastically joins in halfway through the song

Gaz: knows the wobble and gets dragged to the dance floor by Soap

Alex: is the only one who grew up with the wobble and gets unreasonably hyped about it

Farah: got introduced to the wobble by Alex but prefers to stick close to Ghost, where they can silently judge their respective boyfriends in relative safety

Laswell: knows the wobble and will absolutely bust out the moves without hesitation

[beescrafting]

I love drawing of course, it is more fanart for @hexxedghost all that's stuck in my head is their au lol and drawing dj roach.

I could see roach randomly saving Simon just being in that lair because Phillip was a bitch and snatched him like a kid picking up a bug for a pet.

Like Phillip seems like the type to see the connection Roach and Ghost has and would take roach as a last straw to get ghost to follow him, like, "see I got your friend here, now follow my orders and he'll be safe just like the rest of your squad."

I stand for dj roach nation.

[gomzdrawfr]

||Jackals Operator|| : 【M A C E】

status: unknown

last seen location: Sergeant Kyle Garrick's apartment

Interview content: "Hm, I'm not sure who you're talking about, haven't seen that guy in months officer, think you got the wrong guy :)"

bonus, because I liked making Mace huge af, then realize i have to erase it for Gaz :(

[leosgreyfringe]

pre-pounce kaileo :)

[leathfaic]

soap's expresses his love in part by building whatever explosives ghost might or might not need on his next mission. loud and flashy for distractions? no problem. something that gets him inside with minimal possible noise? it's already in his bag.

he never just puts a name on these things. instead ghost finds himself in the field chosing between "the graves special", "bourbon" and "price if you take his cigar" and also one of his favourite protein bars with a little skull drawn on that johnny must've packed for him too. because no one else would dare to touch his stuff.

it's a good thing he knows by now how soap thinks so he grabs the "bourbon" and the protein bar with a little smile under the mask. he needs what johnny would call "a sweet little explosion" and not something that could presumably blow up a tank with a single charge or something that makes enough noise to alert the next three cities.

nik picks him up an hour later at the agreed upon exfil point and he's just waiting there, mask up enough to munch the protein bar. in a better mood than most people would think him capable of. excited to go home and kiss his boyfriend and have a glass of actual bourbon that hopefully will be as smooth and sweet as its namesake.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Part 9 - Pneumothorax

Slasher Handler Masterlist

NSFW under the cut.

CW: Accidental injury with knife, descriptions of wounds, wound care, field medicine, allusions/symptoms of lung collapse, blood, ingestion of bodily fluids, gagging

Something your nightmares have never been able to truly capture is just how unnervingly easy it is to push a knife through flesh. The smallest knife cuts through Simon’s skin easier than the MRE packaging. Something dangerous flickers behind his eyes as he looks down at where you’ve pushed the knife into the side of his chest.

Everything is eerily still for a moment. And then he looks back up at you and grins so hard you can tell through the mask.

The knife slips from between your numb fingers. It stays lodged between his ribs for a moment before falling to the ground. You scramble to your feet to stand over his still kneeling form. “Oh god. Simon.”

The way you’d slipped and rolled must have put the knife exactly where it needed to be to slide around his vest. His shirt underneath is ripped enough that you can see pale skin and so much red blood. The wound is bubbling, blood thinning in the cold rain. “Oh, god, Simon, what do I do?”

“Punctured a lung,” he whispers, barely a breath.

“You need a doctor,” you say, and it feels stupid, so obvious, but, “I don’t know where we are. How am I supposed to call for help?”

“’M okay, Precious,” he grunts. And then he stands up, like he’s not at risk of lung collapse. He points at the muddy backpack that flew from your shoulder as you’d grappled with him. “Get the bag.”

The bag? “We’re not playing games anymore!”

“’S got medical supplies in it,” Simon answers. He crouches down to pick up his own pack, and his chest makes a wet sound. “’N another gift for you. C’mon, we’ll go back to the cabin.”

Your heart is in your throat, but at least the cabin has running water. With the medical supplies, you can at least try to clean him up before driving him to the nearest hospital. Wherever that might be. You prop his arm over your shoulder and do your best to brace his good side.“Okay. Okay, let’s go.”

As you start to walk, the edge of the roof is barely in view through the drizzle. You’re so glad you were already on your way back to the cabin when he’d tackled you. Why did you have the knife out? You’d been playing with it, cutting shapes into a big leaf. He should have seen it, he’d run at you from the side. But that’s why he got you something so small, right? So someone attacking you wouldn’t see it, so you could have the element of surprise.

“Call Price,” Simon says, suddenly, knocking you out of your worried spiral.

You look up at him, then at the cabin that’s barely ten meters away. “What?”

“Use my phone. You know the code,” he says again, “Call Price, tell him we’re at the empty north cabin.”

Before you can ask “What?” again, or even, “Who the hell is Price?”, he starts slumping into you. And then all 18 stones of him are in a semi-controlled fall. You try your best to not drop him, gasp when he hisses as your arm presses against the hole in his chest.

The only thing in your head, as Simon slumps into the mud, his blood all over your hands, is that the weather didn't hold out the way you both expected.

Simon’s phone isn’t on him, or in his little knapsack. It’s one of the scariest things you’ve ever done, leaving him there in the dirt to run into the cabin. At the same time, it’s… familiar. Leaving a man to die while you call for help that can’t possibly arrive in time.

This is different. The first time you’d stabbed a man, you’d meant to do it.

The cabin is a little abandoned thing that Simon had fixed up a bit in the middle of nowhere. Outside of the room you’d woken up in, it has a wet room style toilet and shower and a counter with a hot plate. The rest of the weirdly clean little building is just one empty room leading to the only external door.

You hand shakes as you paw through the pile of stuff in one corner of the main room. Simon’s left his battered old phone in the pocket of his jeans, like he always does. Your hands shake as you punch in his passcode. You’re jogging back to his side as soon as you select the only named contact in the phone.

By the time someone picks up, you’re back on your knees by Simon’s side, relieved to see his eyes fluttering.

“Price,” a man answers.

“Hello?” You try not to let your voice get to frantic. “Simon’s hurt. He said to call you. We’re at the north cabin.”

“Empty,” Simon grunts, barely audible.

“The empty one,” you clarify. The line is silent. “Hello?”

“He’s wounded?” Price asks, cool and almost distracted.

“Punctured lung,” you say. “He passed out, but he’s kind of conscious now.”

The man on the other end hums. “That does sound a bit serious.”

“Please,” you insist. “I don’t know where we are, please call an ambulance.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” And then the line goes dead.

Your hands are shaking when you touch Simon’s face. “He hung up. Simon, I’m so sorry, he hung up. I don’t know if I can get you into the car. I don’t know if there’s enough time for anyone to get here.”

“’S fine, Precious,” he says, barely a whisper. He looks just as peaceful as if he was at home, in bed. The mud and blood and burbling chest wound ruin the illusion. “Been in worse shape’n this. Price’ll come.”

“We don’t need him here, we need you in a hospital!” It suddenly strikes you that Simon had mentioned medical supplies. “Should I try to stop the bleeding? Gauze and pressure, right?” You grab the backpack and tear it open. There’s gauze, antiseptic gel, and bandage wraps. You also find a small bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Splash of alcohol first,” Simon says, closing his eyes. When you slap him, he glares up at you with one eye. “Oi.”

“Don’t fall asleep on me!���

“’M no’. Just restin’ m’eyes.”

“Not that either!” The way his accent is becoming more pronounced, and his words more slurred, sets your already galloping heart racing. You uncap the alcohol and tip it, not at all gently, over the wound. “Stay awake.”

“Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell,” Simon growls, followed by a pained wheeze. “Okay. Fuck. Gauze next, you’ll have to hold it down. Don’t have enough bandages and too much mud, besides.”

The first piece of gauze gets soaked with rain and blood immediately, so you open another couple of packages and press. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you tell him over his hissing. Tears finally start catching up to you. “Simon, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Simon.”

“’S fine,” he sighs. One big, muddy hand comes up to pat your shoulder. “Shouldn’a come at you from the left. Better t’ stay low and come at you from the right.”

“I still might have stabbed you,” you protest. “I shouldn’t have had that stupid knife out, I should have known better-”

“You couldn’a known.”

“I should have,” you insist, and the tears are falling even faster now. “I didn’t need to be playing with knives, I knew you were out here, that you’d start chasing me any moment.”

“’S part of the game,” Simon sighs with a lazy grin. “Weren’ supposed t’ stab me in the chest, but tha’s on me.”

“I wasn’t supposed to stab you at all, Simon,” you sob. “I never wanted…! I don’t…!” Simon’s eyes flutter closed again, and you feel your heart break. “Simon, please, stay awake. I’m sorry. Please, Simon. I don’t hate you, I’m sorry.”

You're not sure how much time passes. But you jump when a hand touches your shoulder, whip around to put yourself between Simon and whoever’s come up behind you. A white man with a beard you would absolutely expect to see walking around in the woods looks between you and Simon with raised brows. He brings a cigar to his lips and takes a pull.

“Simon,” the man says. “You broken?”

“No, sir,” Simon says. When your gaze snaps to him, his eyes are bright behind his mask.

“She said you punctured a lung,” the man you can only assume is Price points out.

“Affirmative.”

“John Price,” he finally introduces himself. He offers you a hand up. When you look between his hand and where you’re keeping pressure on Simon’s wound, he chuckles. “Let’s get this drama queen inside, shall we?” Then Kyle appears at his elbow with a grin and an arm full of blue tarp.

“How’s the hobby search going?”

You can’t stop yourself from bursting into tears.

John Price had guided you inside while Kyle somehow maneuvered Simon onto the tarp to drag him the last few meters to the cabin. Now, there’s another tarp laid out on the floor, with Simon’s clammy, pale body on top of it. Knelt next to him, Kyle mutters something to himself, focused but relaxed. He’d complimented you on a clean strike, once he’d gotten Simon inside and cleaned the wound enough to look at it. Apparently, you probably could have done a lot of damage before killing him outright, if you’d really wanted to.

The sucking sound from Simon’s chest as he chuckled had made you run outside to throw up.

“You meet my girl, Skipper?” Simon eventually wheezes. There’s a big patch of of gauze taped over the wound. That side of him, from shoulder to hip, is the only part of him that’s really clean, besides his now-unmasked face. He winces when Kyle does something with the tubing sticking out of his chest. It’s still trickling blood, but that seems to be better than the flood from when Kyle had first pushed a thick needle between his ribs.

“I have,” John Price says, blowing a cloud of smoke. “You haven’t been keeping her here long. Surprised she stuck around to make sure you’d be okay.”

It strikes your ears as… absurd. The idea that Simon had whisked you away to this tiny, sparse little building for, what? For good? Nonsensically, you want to point out that there’s no kitchen, and Simon knows you like to prep and cook when you’re stressed. MREs wouldn’t cut it for long.

And then it occurs to you that John Price knows Simon. Knows him well enough that he expects you to die.

“She’s had Riley here on a leash for half a year,” Kyle informs him. He pats Simon’s cheek condescendingly, ignores his growl of annoyance. “Poor bastard’d been going mad, cooped up with nothing to do since Soap’s been locked up.”

“Eight months,” you whisper. You’re sitting on the edge of the tarp by Simon’s good side. You sip some water and offer it to Simon. He lets you tip the bottle carefully to his lips. “We met eight months ago.”

“Christ,” Price says, rolling his eyes. “I told you to keep a low profile.”

“’ave been,” Simon grunts.

“And, that little excursion at the ski lodge was what, exactly?”

Simon tilts his head to look at you, mischievous smirk under the black makeup around his eyes. “Had to make sure our first date was memorable.”

You want to smack him. The thought makes you feel guilty since you’ve already stabbed him today. You compromise by petting through his hair, right where the scar you gave him sits, then give his ear a little tug when you get to it.

“Hope it was worth it,” Price says. “You going to get rid of her, or am I?”

Simon is up and standing in front of John almost before you see him move. The back of him is still spattered with dirt and blood, silvery scars in stark contrast. You watch his chest expand, hear the whistle and bubble of air and blood through the tube you can’t see. You take one look at Kyle’s startled, worried face and quickly get to your feet.

When you come around his side, you shiver and shrink back a bit. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Simon’s face this frigid. He’s completely closed off as he stares down at Price, doesn’t even spare you a glance.

For his part, John remains completely relaxed. He takes a lazy pull from his cigar and blows the smoke from the side of his mouth, away from you. “Touched a nerve, have I?”

“She’s good people,” Kyle pipes up, coming to stand across from you, so everyone is in a loose square. He keeps his hands in his pockets. “Hasn’t made no trouble yet.”

John doesn’t look away from Simon. “That so?”

You reach out for Simon’s hand, then think better of it. You touch his back instead, in case he needs that hand. You step closer but stay a little bit behind him. “Simon?”

“She’s talked to the police, you know,” John says. “After your stint at the hospital, and again after your little date.”

That startles you. “I never-”

“Hush, now,” John says.

Simon flinches at the same moment that you feel your back straighten. “Excuse me?” You take a step forward into John’s space. “Maybe you forgot, but I called you here to help. If I wanted him dead, Simon would be dead right now. If I wanted him arrested six months ago, he’d have been arrested.”

“Precious-”

“No, Simon.” you interrupt him, staring into John’s eyes. “He practically lives in my apartment. He drugged and kidnapped me literally last night. He made me touch Brandon’s skull, and then I stabbed him this afternoon. I’ve been at the scene of two mass murders and now I’ve almost killed someone else. What the fuck makes you think you can come in here and talk about me like you know anything about me? Like you think I’m an idiot? Why do you think you get to shush me?”

The man doesn’t react except to pull from his cigar again. Your clothes are stiff and damp and uncomfortable, but you resist the urge to fidget. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Kyle look from you to John and back again.

“If you ever have him arrested, he’ll be out in a day,” John finally says. “You’ll be dead before then.”

“Oh gee,” you mock. “I wonder why that never occurred to me. Making the serial killer angry might get me killed. Shocking.”

Simon’s hand gently touches one of your wrists. “Easy, Precious. Price ‘s just lookin’ out.”

You let him take your hand. “He can do less of that, thank you very much.”

Simon reels you back against his front. He props his chin on top of your head and kind of sags some of his weight onto you. “Don’t think he can, love. Fundamentally incapable. Has to take care of his men.”

“Well he’s my man, now,” you grit out. “So you can fuck right off, John.”

For whatever reason, that cuts the tension. Kyle barks a laugh before he can stop himself. John tips his head back and huffs out smoke. Simon just presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Kyle told me you were a little off,” John says. He props a foot on his knee to stub out his cigar on the sole of his boot. “Simon’s been real tight lipped, but I see why he likes you. Not much self-preservation to speak of.”

Of all the stupid conclusions he could have come to…!

Simon’s hand covers your mouth before you can tell John exactly what you think of him. “She’s helping me find new hobbies.”

John just shakes his head. “I don’t want to know. Kyle, how long is he recovering?”

“Three weeks. Two, if he avoids aggravating it,” Kyle answers.

Simon hums. “’M gonna aggravate it.”

“Goddammit,” John swipes a hand down his beard. “Soap’s supposed to be my troublemaker, not you.”

The murderous stalker isn’t the problem child? You snort behind Simon’s hand. Hopefully, you never meet this Soap guy.

“Fun as all of this is, I’m on shift in four hours,” Kyle says, looking at his watch. “Need to get home and sanitize. Riley, usual wound care. Drain’s gotta come out in three days. And you need antibiotics. Seriously.” He looks at you. “Make sure he gets them and takes them. All of them. His feet will fall off.”

“No they won’t,” you say when Simon drops his hand to wrap around your shoulders, just as he says, “Fuck off, Garrick.”

“Take the damn antibiotics,” John says, standing from his seat. “Be ready for a call in three weeks.”

“Affirmative.”

“And you,” John holds a hand out to you to shake. Waits for you to take it and gives a firm shake. “Let me know if you get tired of him hangin’ all over you.”

“So you can kill me.”

He gives you an amused grin. “I’m not in the practice of wasting valuable assets.”

“I’m sure you meant that in a way that’s not offensive,” you answer. “I’ll do my best to never call you again.”

“Smart girl.” He gives Simon a nod, and then he and Kyle are out the front door.

The shower head sputters and spits, but eventually produces surprisingly warm water. Not hot, but warm enough that you don’t feel bad herding Simon in to get clean. Warm enough that you groan when you step in with him.

There’s a silicone bulb hanging from the tube in Simon’s armpit, compressed to create some kind of vacuum. It’s pink with blood and other fluids. It doesn’t seem to bother him, so you use your hands to gently wash you both with a generic body wash. When you start rinsing dirt and an errant piece of leaf litter from your hair, he smirks and leans in until your back is pressed against the cold tile.

“Fuck,” you can’t help but panic. Your hands go to his hips in case he’s losing his balance. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, just braces the arm on his wounded side over your head. The drain site looks a little red, but not concerning, so you check the edges of the waterproof bandage Gaz placed to make sure it’s still set.

That’s why you don’t realize what he’s done until a splash of his blood hits your cheek and drips into your mouth. You can’t really rear back, trapped against the wall. All you can do tilt your face away and sputter as he empties the drain onto the side of your neck to drip down your collarbones.

He grunts a disagreeing sound when you lift your arm, catches your hand before you can lift it very far. His hand comes up to your cheek, two fingers touching where his blood has dripped to your chin. He pushes his hips into you, and you can feel where he’s getting hard.

When he speaks, it’s little more than a whisper. “You were supposed to slash my arm, you know.”

“Wha-”

He’s not gentle when he shoves his fingers into your mouth. For all that he was laid out on the floor less than an hour ago, you can’t force his hand away with both of yours. It’s all you can do try to fight the urge to gag as you barely hold him at bay.

“Knew you’d like the gifts,” he growls down at you. “But you were s’possed to slash, hm? That’s what a good girl like you does, chased in the woods. Easy to drop a knife that way.” He uses his fingers in your mouth and thumb under your chin to make you stare up into his eyes. “Where’s a sweet thing like you learn to keep a knife close to the body? Felt you let it slide, flat. Felt you push.”

Had you? You hadn’t felt it, just the anxiety spike of being attacked, the cradle of his hand shielding your head from the ground. Just his huge body and that skull mask, on you suddenly, without warning. You can’t answer, can’t even try without gagging. Simon gives your jaw a little shake.

“You could have killed me, today.” He grinds your body between his and the wall for a moment, before stepping back. He drags you under the spray of water, other hand cradling the back of your head. You struggle to cough, try to turn your face down. Your heart races as you do, knowing it’s only because he let you.

And then he slips his fingers from your mouth and brings your face to his chest. He holds you as you cough, pets over your back. You cling to him, because what else can you do? When you finally look up at him, his pupils have all but swallowed the blue of his eyes.

“Fear looks so good on you, Precious.”

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