#a lot of it was straight depressing like ALL of the paperwork from her funeral was in it

[winter-hoof]

I’ve been having a very emotional past day. But hey, I have my mom’s wedding dress now. I love how simple and plain 70s wedding dresses were lol

[artzee-bee]

Not going anywhere | Lucifer Morningstar x reader

Fandom: Lucifer

Request:” Hi i have request for you ,Lucifer and the reader have a big fight they are married, and this fight it's lucifer fault The reader leaves home and Lucifer decides to give her space After a few days, he goes to the reader and realizes that she has been missing for a few days,When the person behind all this claims that the reader is dead and gives them a her body . Everyone thinks that the reader is dead and Lucifer He gets depressed and thinks it's all his fault , and after a few days, the thieves release the singer and the reader goes to Lucifer.Lucifer first thinks it is an imagination and then apologizes to the reader Thank you so much”

Genre: Angst with happy ending

Warnings: kidnapping, death

~~~

Your intention had never been to start a fight. All you wanted an explanation (preferably one that also made sense) and an apology, but apparently that was too much to ask, because as soon as you voiced your opinion, Lucifer went up in flames

“Don’t start this again!”

“I dislike it just as much as you do but what I hate more is being cancelled on, AGAIN, through a text message no less!”

“It was an emergency!”

“It’s always an emergency Lucifer! It’s starting to sound a lot like work means more to you than I do!” “The detective needs me, damn it!” your husband yelled

“And she has you! Every day of every week! All I ask for is one date night and for the past month you’ve done nothing but avoid committing to one or backing out at the last second! I’m tired of being your second choice Lucifer! I’m your wife and you are my husband, I love you to the ends of the world, I just wish you'd say no to Decker from time to time...”

“I’m saving people’s lives Y/N. So if you’re not on your deathbed, other people are and they need me now!” as he said this, Lucifer walked right past you and into your bedroom, seemingly ignorant to the painful words he’d just said. You looked around the living room, vision blurry with tears, your chest heavy with anger and disgust. You rushed towards the elevator.

“When you find time in your busy schedule and feel like being my spouse again, let me know!” the elevator door closed before Lucifer could say anything

~~~

When Lucifer woke up the next morning to a cold and empty bed, he didn’t think much of it.Truthfully, he was still kind of pissed at the attitude you had given him a day before, so he got dressed as usual and went to the precinct, assuming you’ll be home by nightfall.

Except when he got home that night, he stopped by Lux first, which ended up like it always does: with him sucked into an endless cycle of booze and dancing, that lasted until well into the night. When he did enter the penthouse eventually, he found it empty. Exactly the way he had left it in the morning. Even the tie he had left on the floor, after deciding last minute that it didn’t go with his suit, was untouched. Now this was curious, but still, Lucifer felt like you must be playing hard to get. He sent you one text message, before going to bed

“Call me when you can!”

The day after that, he figured his part was done! By reaching out first, he had already made a big compromise, so now it was your turn! To reach out, come home! But that didn’t happen that day, or the day after that.

Three days after the text message,Lucifer was getting worried. He was looking at his phone every other minute. Always making sure he hadn’t accidently put it on silent or missed any texts. He sent more messages, telling you he was sorry and that he wanted you to come home. That he would listen and spend more time with you, promising luxurious dates and weekend trips, if only you forgave him. You didn’t even open the messages.

“Lucifer are you listening?” Decker was insanely annoyed at her partner’s lack of concentration

“Sorry detective. I’ve...I’ve got a lot on my mind”

“Well, better get it out of the way now, so that we can move on to our case!” she said, cleaning out her desk quickly, before resting back into her chair “Talk to me!”

“It’s Y/N. I’m worried about her!”

“Why?” “We...had a fight a couple days ago and she left. She hasn’t come back since”

“Have you heard from her at all?”

“No…” Lucifer said, embarrassed at his own lack of care for you. He should have called you earlier, reached out more! He should have tried harder!

“How long had she been missing for?”

“4...maybe 5 days…”

“Lucifer, are you sane? And you’re only telling me now?!” Chloe jumped from her seat, turning on her computer

“I thought she needed space! I thought she was avoiding me intentionally cause she was angry! I didn’t know…” Lucifer choked back a sob, not wanting to break down in tears in the middle of the precinct

“Lucifer!” Chloe caught hold of his hand “I’m gonna find her! I promise you!” A few days later, she did. Well, more like Y/n came to her, in the shape of a pretty little gift box left on Decker's doorstep.

“A lil too late on your case detective” read the note attached to it. 

Inside were Y/N’s clothes, all of them stained with dark, dried blood. Y/N was declared dead that day and the case was closed. At her funeral, only her closests friends were present. Lucifer wanted it to be as intimate as possible.

That day was also the first time anyone had seen Lucifer, since the news. His eyes were bloodshot and the dark circles under his eyes almost matched the black suit he was wearing. Throughout the ceremony he kept twisting his wedding band, a habit he’d picked up on since you went missing. He chose not to do a speech, but once the crowd disappeared, and he was left face to face with your grave, he pulled out a little piece of paper from his pocket and sat down on the grass.

“In hell, everyone feared me. There, I was nothing but another server of the universe, ruling over an empire I never really wanted, because I never had a choice. So eventually I left, thinking anywhere will be better than what I had, and I came to earth.

I ran into you about 2 weeks later, before I really even knew how to behave myself. Before I knew anything about who I really was besides ‘the devil’. I longed to know, grow and discovers different sides of me, where I could be something new, and you gave it to me. You made me who I never thought I could possibly be. You made me a lover. I never thought of myself as capable to love anyone, in any degree, but your light shone everywhere you went and your kindness touched me and everyone around you. It became impossible to not get infatuated with your person. I allowed you to see and feel around every dark corner of my soul and being and every time I thought it was the end. Everytime I would take in your touch as if it was the last, I would prepare myself for abandonment, but it never came. Through everything you stood by my side and when I felt my darkest, you gave me a fistful of your light and that was enough to keep me going. You married a broken man and called him perfect, despite everyone telling you how much of a foul you were. Even then, you shooed them away. Even then you chose me. I wasn’t worthy of your love or your trust and our last night together proved it.

You’re not here anymore to hear my apologies and I’ll never forgive myself for it. You’ve gone now somewhere I can not follow, but I know you are well taken care of there. I hope, someway, somehow, you’ll hear these words: I am sorry. I loved you with my entire soul. Not listening to you was the biggest mistake of my life and I’ll never forgive myself. I choose however, to remember you as you were, because I know that’s what you’d want. I’ll remember you and your laugh.I’ll remember our date nights and shopping sprees. Nights in Lux or on the penthouse balcony. I’ll remember all the meals you prepared for me and the flirtatious remarks you used to make, because you thought they were so silly. I’ll remember the little frown on your face whenever you worked on an important project for work and I’ll remember every evening walk around the block you’d make me accompany you on. I know I always complained about them, but they were always fun. Everything I ever did with you was always fun.

I loved you. I still do. You are my everything Y/N. Thank you for devoting yourself to me in all the ways that you did. I’ll forever live on in my heart.“

~~~

It had been months since your disappearance. After all this time, you finally managed to escape your kidnappers and report them to the New York police station, since that’s where you had been held hostage for so long. As soon as the paperwork was done and you were sure that the people who ruined you were getting the punishment they deserved, you jumped on a train and headed straight back home. Straight to Lucifer.

Lux looked exactly the same as you had left it. You were washed over by a wave of comfort that almost brought you to tears. Home. You never thought you’d get to step in here again. Overwhelmed, you took a seat on one of the couches, allowing your head to rest back on it, as you took in every detail of your surroundings: the feel of the leather on your fingertips, the cool breeze of the air conditioning, the warm lights. Everything was still here.

“Y/N?” you jumped at the sound

“Hi love…” your voice broke as you said those words. Words you never thought you would be able to mutter again. The sight of your husband, messy as he was, made you weak in the knees. He was standing at the top of the staircase, dressed in nothing but his robe, tied carelessly around his waist. He had probably just woken up. You wanted to say something again, but before you could, he laughed

“Nope” he said simply, before making his way down the stairs and to the bar “I’m not doing this. Not today, not ever!” Lucifer filled his glass to the top with bourbon, before turning around and trying to leave back to where he came from

“Lucifer, it's me!”

“Sure you are, except you’re not real! Nice of dad, taking my ability to stay endlessly sober, getting me drunk, forcing visions of my dead wife onto me to teach me another lesson about managing my emotions. Real clever, except this is too much! So I’m going to enter that elevator and I expect to never have to see you again, hum? Right, well, au revoir now!” he continued on his way, but before he could get far, you were clutching on the silk tie of his robe. Lucifer felt the tug around his waist and turned around slowly to look at you, this time a little more unsure. As if he was trying to figure you out

“Lucifer, I’m Y/N. I escaped”

“Escaped? But that’s impossible, she died! I saw it-”

“What you saw was a bloody shirt!” he looked up to meet your gaze, tears already forming “They lied to you Lucifer”

Finally, it seemed like he had connected all of the pieces of the puzzle. The glass of alcohol fell to the ground and your husband wrapped you in a big hug for the first time in months. He nuzzled his head in your hair and took in your scent, your figure, your warmth. Hell, you were even more perfect that he remembered! Silent tears fell down both of your cheeks as you collapsed to the ground, still holding onto each other for dear life

“I’m so sorry” Lucifer sobbed in your hair “I’m so so sorry”

“It wasn’t your fault Luci”

“If I hadn’t been a jerk you wouldn’t have left! If I would have simply listened to you, they wouldn’t have gotten to you! You would’ve stayed here, where you belong! You would have stayed with me but instead I was too busy with my stupid job and the stupid cases and I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry” he continued crying on your shoulder as you rubbed small circles on his back

“I’m here now my love” you whispered, kissing his cheek “And I’m not going anywhere”

[stonertransdad]

Life Update since I hadn't been on here in forever

The pandemic was/is wild! Lockdowns started literally around the time we were going to the fertility specialist to get her pregnant. I lost my job to COVID in March shortly before we did the procedure, but we decided there's never really a good time to have a kid. Why not during a global pandemic when one of us in unemployed? (BTW, I don't recommend having a kid during a pandemic. Not being able to go to all of the appointments and having to sit in the parking lot was brutal.)

Let's talk about May friends...it was rough. (TW for mention of suicide btw. I'll post a gif where it's safe to start again if you wanna skip over it.)

So May 1st is the anniversary of my father's suicide. It had been 4 years. I found his body and since he wasn't married, I had to handle his affairs and arrange his funeral. May 1st, 2020 my wife and I had a Zoom game night with our friends and I got drunk because everyone was drinking (except my wife because she was pregnant). After our game night at like 2am, I had a psychotic break. I threatened to kill myself numerous times. My wife tried to talk me down, but eventually called the cops to take me. I thank her for that because looking back, that was the moment I knew something needed to change. I was convinced the cops were gonna kill me because I'm a trans dude in rural West Texas. I legit took the phone out of my wife's hand, hung up on 911, and yeeted her phone across the backyard and tried to hop the fence. Eventually the cops came and talked me down. They took me to the hospital an hour away in handcuffs (for their protection I did nothing wrong). They took me to the religious hospital that I was born in. So when they looked up my info by my name and date of birth from my driver's license (I only changed my middle name) literally all my paperwork and my bracelet had my deadname and wrong gender despite all of my legal stuff saying male with my new middle name. I mentioned it to them and they didn't care. They misgendered me the entire time I was there. I had hit my head hella hard on the bath tub when my wife was trying to snap me out of it, did the hospital even check me for concussion? Nope. I had punched so many things and my hand and wrist were swollen and discolored. Did they check out my hand and wrist? Nope. I was there for over 10 hours before I was able to convince them I was okay and that it was just the alcohol. Did I mention during that 10 hours I was literally out in the hall on a gurney with no mask and this was when COVID was running rampant in Texas (the first time)? I heard people die that night. I had nothing to distract me because they took away all of my personal items and clothes. My wife picked me up and we went home and I have been sober ever since. It's not the first psychotic break I've had with alcohol in my system. Alcohol just doesn't agree with me, but I'm finding new things to replace it with.

TW has been lifted...it's safe now.

A couple of weeks after that I began teletherapy because I had been on the same mood stabilizer and anti-depressant for almost a decade. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense that I felt like it hadn't been working for at least a year. This is a reminder to check in with your doctor if you feel like your meds aren't working. You may just need a different dose or a new med. There's no shame in that. I bounced around on various medications trying to find the right combo, some side effects scarier than others, but we got there. Before this, I had been diagnosed with ADHD, Major Depressive Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. My therapist threw out my Borderline diagnosis and said it was CPTSD instead, which made sense.

Fast forward to December because my wife was pregnant, I was unemployed still, and we did absolutely fuck-all because the global panini was still raging.

Our son was born on December 3, 2020. He weighed 5lbs 9oz and scared the ever loving shit out of us. He wasn't breathing when he was born so they called NICU in ASAP. I'm freaking out because I can hear and see what's going on while my wife was asking if he was okay as they put her guts back in place to sew her up. 5 or so minutes pass and a nurse asks if I want her to take some pictures. I'm like is he okay, he still hasn't cried. She's like "oh yeah, he's chillin." This goon was being held by a nurse and was just looking around not crying or anything. Chillest baby ever (he still is btw). I held him next to my wife's head until it was time to go back to the room. Little dude did have to spend 4 nights in the NICU because he couldn't keep his sugars or temperature regulated, but he was healthy otherwise. He's now 4 months old and is starting to sit up on his own a little bit and he's OBSESSED with standing. He's still a little guy, but very healthy and growing like a weed. He saves my life daily.

So after being unemployed for over 9 months, I started a new job working in a call center. I absolutely hate talking on the phone. It gives me anxiety and throws me into panic attacks, but I had been putting out hundreds of job applications since I lost my last job and this was the first offer I got. I wasn't really in a position to turn it down since my unemployment had ran out 2 months prior. It was 2 months of training, then we'd be on our own. I got thru the training and thought I could handle it...until they started putting us on live calls with someone helping us if we got stuck. My mental health hit the lowest point it had in a few years and my wife was terrified she was going to lose me. She convinced me to quit on February 28th (not because I didn't want to, but because I'm a stubborn ass who felt guilty). My meds got tweaked a little bit more dosage wise during this mess.

Starting about mid-February, I was experiencing severe shakiness, tremors, and spasms. I've always been a shaky person and never really thought too much about it, but at some points I could barely feed myself, or get a drink, or hold my son. On March 7th, I tried to make an appointment with my doctor about the weird symptoms I was experiencing, but she was out of town and her next opening wasn't until the 31st. My body said that won't work and my wife rushed me to the ER on the 9th...I had begun having seizures that day. I had no previous history of seizures. Got to the ER and had a seizure literally as I was walking thru the door, so they rushed me straight back. They took some blood and that was literally it. No MRI. No CT. They pumped me full of Ativan and said it was just a panic attack and to go home and chill.

Spoiler Alert: It wasn't just anxiety. I was having 20+ seizures a day. On the 10th, my wife rushed me to a different hospital...the good hospital over an hour away. First we had to drop off our gremlin with my mom to make things a little easier. Yet again, I had a seizure as I walked in the door and was taken back immediately. I don't really remember much because they kept pumping me full of Ativan and morphine because I had been in excruciating pain from the number of seizures I'd had. I do remember them doing a CT pretty quickly after I got there. Then they weren't happy with the results of the CT, so they took me to get an MRI, which showed possible signs of Multiple Sclerosis (but I didn't find that out until AFTER the notes showed up in my patient portal after being home a few days, so I raised hell...more on that later.) They did a 24 hour EEG on me and it showed nothing abnormal. Also, EEG glue is a bitch on your hair and scalp. After looking at everything and given my previous mental health history, they diagnosed me with Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizures, or PNES. It is a subset of Functional Neurologic Disorder, or FND. I couldn't walk well anymore and had to use a walker when I was discharged. I was in the hospital for 3 days.

When I had my follow-up appointment on the 23rd, I asked why the possibility of MS was never mentioned to me since it was very clearly in the notes. The doctor didn't have an explanation. He called in a referral to neurology so I could get a 2nd MRI to confirm MS and marked it as high priority. He also didn't take my pain seriously. My pain levels had been at a 5 or higher every single minute since they took me off of the morphine in the hospital. He told me to keep taking prescription strength doses of ibuprofen and Tylenol, which I had been. I let him know I had been and it didn't even take the edge off the pain. He ignored me. Leading up to this appointment, I had also added urinary incontinence to my growing list of symptoms and was forced to wear diapers so I didn't have to do laundry all the time. The doctor also took me off my ADHD meds because they were lowering my seizure threshold. He also took me off of my sleeping meds and nightmare meds for the same reason I'm assuming.

I kept my appointment on the 31st with my primary doctor because she's been my doctor for 5 years now and I knew she'd take my pain seriously. She did. She immediately wrote me prescriptions for a muscle relaxer and Tylenol 4. She also told me that my referral had been rejected by neuro. She said my case wasn't a good one for what she called a "wallet biopsy" and the doctors in neurology could be real assholes. She immediately sent the referral to other locations to get an approval. I am still waiting on that despite it being marked as high priority. She wrote me a prescription for a wheelchair because we both agreed my wheelchair was not enough for particular days.

Yesterday my wheelchair was finally ready for pickup, so my wife drove me to go get it. I'm still unable to drive due to my seizures and my tremors and twitches as it's predominantly in my legs and arms. I am an ambulatory wheelchair user now. Some days I can go short distances without my walker, some days I can't go without my walker, some days I can't even get out of bed, and some days I will be using my wheelchair. Don't judge a book by its cover, not all disabilities are visible. I have managed to keep my daily seizure count down in single digits and have even had a few seizure free days. They are still incredibly taxing on my body. I feel like I can't ever replenish my spoons fast enough to keep up with anything in my life.

So all in all, life has been chaotic. We are moving from Texas to New Mexico in the next few weeks, which should be interesting considering I can't overdo it without throwing myself into seizures. We will be closer to my mother-in-law so she can help us with our son and I can start resting a bit more on the more difficult days. Being a stay-at-home dad with an invisible illness has been one of the most challenging things I've done in my life, but I wouldn't change it for the world.

Sorry this is so long. I just wanted to update my followers since it's been over a year since I posted before a few days ago.

[audrey-lim]

Raw Nerves - A Good Doctor Fic

It’s ME returned from the void to throw more good doctor fic at y’all before I retreat beneath my troll bridge once more. This one features Morgan and Audrey because they don’t get enough love so I have to give it to them. And I will. 

Title: Raw Nerves

Summary: Morgan's RA causes her to make a mistake during surgery that rattles her. She goes to Audrey determined to resign, and confesses her newly diagnosed RA. Audrey has other ideas. Canon compliant up to 3x15. 

Excerpt: : '“You did that today. You were ready to give up on all of your ambitions, on the thing that you have worked for, set aside your pride, and all your hopes for your own future in order to do what you felt needed to be done for your patients. I’m proud of you.” 

The shaky smile that lit Morgan’s face at that was both heartening and depressing. Heartening because it was obvious that it meant something coming from her; that she carried enough weight with Morgan for her pride to matter. Depressing because it was obvious they were words she’d rarely heard.'

Link: AO3 

“Doctor Lim?”

Audrey paused, about to enter her office, and turned to find Morgan hovering outside it, hands clenched tightly into fists at her sides, looking tense.

“Doctor Reznick, can I help you?”

She was fairly sure she could. Audrey knew an ambush when she saw one. Reznick had been waiting for her to get back and after the events of the day, she wasn’t all too surprised to find her here.

Taking a deep breath, Morgan said shakily, as though she was having to force out every word, “I would like to remove myself from the residency program. I no longer think that I’m capable of dealing with it.”

Audrey blinked. It took a lot to surprise her. She’d been a trauma surgeon for the better part of twenty years. She’d seen every ugly, gory, messy piece of humanity; both inside and out. This surprised her.

“I wanted to thank you for this opportunity,” Morgan continued. She had now clasped her shaking hands in front of her. It seemed to be taking every bit of composure and grit she’d built up since starting her residency to get through this. “It’s been an honour working with you, Doctor Lim. I learned a lot.”

She only just managed to choke out the last word. Then she stood almost defiantly, head held high, back almost painfully straight, and gave Audrey a slight nod.

A beat of silence followed this emotional pronouncement, both women staring at each other as the moment swelled. Audrey burst it. She’d never been one for dramatics. That was firmly Neil’s department.

“Come in here,” she said, nodding towards her office, stepping inside and then holding the door.

Morgan remained standing stiffly, eyes glassy, a muscle feathering in her jaw as she fought to control herself.

“Please,” she bit out, finally, “Don’t make this any harder than it already is. I don’t want it to be drawn out, I don’t want to be processed, and fill out paperwork. I don’t want you to hold my hand and tell me I’ve done a good job and I should be proud of myself, and that I shouldn’t think I’m weak or whatever other managerial bullshit you’re required to spout now as my chief. I just...I just want to go. Please.”

That last word undercut the strong defiance in the rest of her little speech.

Audrey was unimpressed.

It had been a long fucking day. She was tired, she was sore, she was pissed off. She wanted to go home, open a bottle of beer, and put on one of the gardening shows she taped and would never reveal to anyone outside of her bad-tempered cat that she watched willingly.

“Morgan,” she said, emphasising the word with as much ‘I don’t have the energy for bullshit right now’ tone as she could muster, which was a lot, “I’m not asking you to come in and have a cup of tea with me as your mentor or friend. I’m telling you to get into my office as your chief of surgery. Do you understand?”

“Okay,” Morgan said, finally. 

She stiffly moved into the room and Audrey hurried her on with a wave of the hand before closing the door and tilting the blinds. The hospital was designed in a very open, minimalist style with plenty of glass walls and doors to let in the light. It was great for her plants, but she had never liked the feeling of existing in a fish bowl, with passersby able to ogle her whenever they felt like it.

Audrey moved behind her desk and sat down, gesturing Morgan towards the chair opposite her. She sat slowly, still looking a little thrown. Clearly whatever she’d expected Audrey’s reaction to be, it hadn’t been this.

She leaned down and rummaged in a drawer for a moment before pulling out a box of tissues, which she nudged pointedly across the desk.

Morgan stared at them then, with a touch of her usual arrogance, said, “I haven’t cried in front of another person since I was eight.”

“Maybe you should,” she observed mildly, steepling her fingers in front of her, reminding herself irresistibly of her first chief of surgery.

Morgan blinked incredulously, the context of the situation temporarily lost to the situation, “This? From you?”

Audrey raised her eyebrows.

“I just mean,” Morgan amended, forcibly softening her tone, “That you’re not exactly the most...Emotionally frivolous person I’ve ever met.”

She smiled at that. Emotionally frivolous. She had to remember that. Neil would get a kick out of it, she was pretty sure, and immediately resolved never to let him hear it.

“Fair,” she conceded, “But I’m not devoid of emotion; I just control it. There’s a difference. And I also know when controlling and holding everything back is no longer the best course of action. Sometimes you need to let a wound bleed before you can patch it up. So-” she pushed the tissues closer still to Morgan with the aid of a pen.

Morgan drew the box to the edge of the table in a small sign of acquiescence, but didn’t take one. Well, miracles took a little bit more work than the impossible, she’d take what she could get.

“You have been the most obviously ambitious and driven resident at this hospital from day one,” Audrey said bluntly, leaning forward, hands clasped once more.

She didn’t see the point in beating about the bush. Not this late in the day. And not with Morgan. Straight talking was a trait they both shared and appreciated in each other.

“Tell me why you want to leave now. Without any mention from me or Doctor Melendez. And more importantly, without any kind of fight.”

“I could have killed that boy today,” Morgan whispered shakily.

“You didn’t,” Audrey pointed out.

Confronting your own mortality was hard enough. Confronting the fact that you were fully responsible for another human being’s mortality was something else. Even the hardest, most reserved and arrogant surgeons she’d ever worked with had met that beast and been shaken by it. She sure as hell had.

“I could have,” Morgan said, more forcefully. Her voice broke back down to that of a frightened child realising how small they really were in the face of the world for the first time again as she added, “That scares me.”

“Good,” Audrey said bluntly.

One of her previous mentors had observed that, with her scalpel, she had all the true delicacy that a surgeon needed. With her words, however, she could somehow have all the subtlety of a scalpel. She figured there were times for scalpels, and times for sledgehammers, and that was just how she was.

Morgan looked up from her focused contemplation of her own hands looking shocked. Audrey rather liked being able to produce that effect in her. In any of her residents. It was good to challenge them, push them out of their comfort zones, tease something new from them.

“We’re not superhuman,” she went on, when it became clear Morgan wasn’t going to be able to find a reply to that. For once. “You fucked up. It happens. Surgeons are trained to achieve perfection every single time, with every single thing that they do. That’s because when we don’t people can die.”

“Well I definitely fucked up today,” Morgan whispered, shuddering.

She stared down at her hands again, as though she could still see the mess she had made stained upon them. That might linger for a while. Audrey hoped it did. She still had blood on her hands after years of scrubbing. If she ever lost that she’d leave this profession she loved and never come back.

“You did,” Audrey agreed. No point sugar-coating it. “That’s the fact of the matter. The big secret that everyone knows about surgeons; and no-one wants to admit. That mistakes can happen. We’re flawed. We’re human. Shit’s going to happen.”

Morgan shook her head slightly.

Audrey knew that feeling. She had believed she could be perfect. She had believed she could get through all her surgeries flawlessly and never make a mistake. She’d believed that herself. When it had all come crashing down it had nearly crushed her.

There were a lot of make or break moments on the road to surgery. This was usually one of the first. How did you deal with your first big error. What did you do when you realised how easily you could kill someone? A lot of people couldn’t handle that kind of responsibility.

Med school was all about saving lives. Helping patients. Doing good. Beating the odds. Changing lives.

Residency was when the real world kicked back in. That was when you remembered that the harsh realities hadn’t disappeared while you were buried in books. And that those who had the power to save lives; equally had the power to lose them.

“You fucked up,” Audrey said, drawing Morgan’s eyes back to her, “But you handled it. You put that boy’s life in danger with your mistake. Then you saved it. He’ll go home tomorrow with his parents and his life will change for the better because of what you did today.”

“It could so easily have gone the other way. His parents could be going home right now making funeral arrangements because of me.”

“But they’re not. That’s also because of you. A monkey could nick an artery in the middle of surgery - anyone can do that. Not everyone can handle the situation afterwards. That’s the difference,” Audrey said.

Morgan blinked. Audrey enjoyed the effect of her processing the rollercoaster of that little nugget of advice for a moment.

Then she said, more seriously, “If we kicked out every resident who made a mistake during a surgery the world would very quickly run out of future surgeons.

“I don’t want to leave because I made a mistake,” Morgan said rigidly, her jaw clenched, that same feeling that she was having to force out every syllable back in her tone again, “I want to leave because I should never have been able to make that mistake in the first place.”

The deep breath she sucked in to compose herself shook audibly in the quiet of her office. Morgan hesitated, then reluctantly yanked a tissue from the box in front of her and proceeded to twist it between her hands, fraying it.

“I should never have been in that OR today. I shouldn’t have been in one for a while,” she finally got out, with the same aura of a person relieving the darkest sins of their soul in a confessions box.  

“Why not?” Audrey pushed.

Sometimes you had to apply a little pressure, cause a little pain, to get to the root of a problem before you could yank it out and stitch up the wound.

Morgan stared at the tissue she was now shredding between her fingers without really seeing it. Audrey was impressed with her steel as she managed to swallow, actually look up with her head high, when she spoke next.

“A few weeks ago you noticed that I was...Shaky during the tracheal surgery. I told you that I hit my finger with a hammer while I was hanging a painting at home…”

Morgan closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. The words were barely distinct when they came, but they came. For that Audrey commended her more than anything she had yet seen from the young woman.

“I lied to you.”

The admission hung heavy in the air for a moment, both of them hearing it and processing the implications, the enormity of this moment in the life of Morgan Reznick.

“The truth is,” Morgan said, her whole body shaking along with her words now. “The truth is that I-” She broke off and reached for another tissue, having successfully crumpled the first into a mulch of confetti in her agitation. She used this one to dab at her eyes which had started shedding tears against her concrete will. “The truth is that I...I…”

“You have rheumatoid arthritis,” Audrey said, gently.

She’d heard enough. Morgan had done enough to convince her she was ready to tell her the truth and trust her with this most vulnerable new aspect of her existence. She wasn’t cruel. She was a mentor. She was there to challenge, and push, but also to guide and assist where she was needed.

Morgan stared at her, eyes wide, every other emotion forgotten for a moment in the face of her shock.

“How did you know?”

Audrey gave her a rueful smile. “You told me that you hit your hand with a hammer, Morgan. I’ve never seen more perfectly manicured hands in my life,” Morgan gave a small watery smile, staring down at them. “No cuts, no bruising, no marks whatsoever,” Audrey said, shaking her head. “In future if you’re going to lie to my face, at least put some effort in.”

Morgan huffed a soft laugh at that, dabbing her eyes. “To be fair I was under a lot of pressure.”

“Well I’m glad you stitch better under pressure than you lie,” Audrey observed.

“That’s why I became a surgeon and not a lawyer,” Morgan joked. Then her face crumpled and she had to bite her lip hard to stop herself crying. Audrey was about to reach out to her when she coughed and said, with forced composure, “How did you know it was RA, though? It could have been something else, something other than what I’d said.”

Audrey sighed heavily. “I’m not an idiot, Morgan,” she said flatly. “You have a family history. I have eyes. And you decided to confide in Glassman who, for the record, lies even worse under pressure than you do.”

“He promised me that he’d give me a chance; that he wouldn't’ say anything to anyone,” Morgan mumbled.

“And he didn’t,” Audrey admitted, “Not until I implied that I already knew and then, well…” she trailed off with a shrug.

“So...So how long have you known exactly?” Morgan asked, now frowning slightly.

“A few months or so,” Audrey replied calmly.

“So you’ve just been waiting for this,” Morgan said, gesturing stiffly, “Ever since you figured it out?”

It was obvious she was trying to control the anger and frustration Audrey had known this would provoke in her. She was largely failing.

“Yes, I have,” she said evenly.

Morgan scoffs, shaking her head. Audrey sat up a little straighter and prepared herself with the rebuttals she had worked out for this eventual confrontation. Morgan surprised her however, “Then why didn’t you just fire me on the spot as soon as you found out? Why did you let me keep going on as a resident when you knew I was...Compromised,” she spoke that last word as though it left a bad taste in her mouth.

Audrey leaned back, considering her. She’d expected an angry tirade about why she had let Morgan continue in pain and fear all this time without reaching out to her. She wouldn’t at all have blamed her for asking that; it was a valid question. She’d spent a long time weighing the pros and cons of each option.

She took a moment to adjust to the altered trajectory of the conversation, then said carefully, and honestly, “I wanted to see how you handled the situation. That’s part of being a good attending. If you dive in the second one of your residents makes a mistake, or encounters an issue, and fix it for them, they’ll never learn or grow. Neither will you. You’re always learning in this job and anyone can have an idea you would never have thought of. You miss those opportunities if you’re too quick to assert what you think is right onto a situation.”

Morgan nodded stiffly, and Audrey softened her tone and added more gently, “It’s not easy. And this is not a decision that I took lightly in any way. But...You received a setback. I wanted to see how you recovered. And you did. The same way you did today in surgery. You dealt with it before it became a problem that I had to intervene in because you no longer cope with it yourself.”

“So you just...You used it as a test?” Morgan said, sounding hurt and betrayed, in spite of herself, Audrey knew.

The relationship between an attending and a resident was a lot more intimate than someone who hadn’t experienced it could ever understand. There was a lot of trust, that went both ways. But especially from the residents. Their attending was someone they could look up to, someone they knew would have their back, be in their corner, but who also made all the decisions in their day-to-day lives.

It was a relationship with a big, natural power imbalance, and it was difficult to negotiate from both sides.

Audrey loved it. She loved being able to teach, being able to learn from her residents. She loved being able to guide, and train, and help her surgeons thrive. And she thought she was suited to it.

She’d met attendings who worked the way Morgan assumed she had. She’d had them use those tactics, and play those games, with her. And the betrayal cut deep.

“No,” she said, voice still gentle, “This isn’t a game, Morgan. This is your life, your career, your dream. I get that,” Morgan looked up at her, a kind of desperation in her eyes, seeking that validation, the validation of someone who understood her and her love for this job.

“But you didn’t say anything,” her voice wasn’t as accusatory as it had been a moment ago, but there was still an element of distrust in it.

“No, I didn’t.” She took a deep breath, wondering how exactly to explain herself, “Being a good surgeon is about more than knowledge or skill-”

“You have to care,” Morgan interrupted, with thinly veiled sarcasm.

Audrey smiled, thinly, “We all care, Morgan,” she said wryly. “Maybe not as openly as someone like Claire, or as abstractly as someone like Shaun, but no-one does this job if they don’t care. That’s a given. I don’t care what anyone says, how aloof they appear, how emotionally frivolous,” she caught Morgan’s eye and they shared a small smile, “They care.”

“I do,” Morgan mumbled, a little unnecessarily, but she could be forgiven under the circumstances.

“You can teach surgery,” Audrey said, “You can teach technique, and medicine, and even how to cope under the kind of pressure situations we face. But you will never be a truly great surgeon if you can't be aware of your own flaws and manage to overcome them.”

Morgan swallowed, and Audrey was sure she felt this was going to go in the direction of ‘your RA is a flaw you can’t overcome, so you can never be a great surgeon’. It wasn’t. She was kind of offended Morgan still expected her to go that conventional route. Audrey was many things but she tried, as a rule, to never be conventional.

“ You have to be able to take yourself out of the equation. You have to be able to make decisions beyond yourself - to ignore your own feelings, your own beliefs, and judgements. Your hopes and dreams, and demons, all need to go inside a little box in your head that you throw out of a window every morning before you come to work. You have to be able to do what is right for your patients, no matter what it costs you, or how hard that might be.”

She saw a faint spark of hope rekindle in Morgan’s eyes, and endeavoured to tease it into something stronger, bring back that fire she was known for.

“You did that today. You were ready to give up on all of your ambitions, on the thing that you have worked for, set aside your pride, and all your hopes for your own future in order to do what you felt needed to be done for your patients. I’m proud of you.”

The shaky smile that lit Morgan’s face at that was both heartening and depressing. Heartening because it was obvious that it meant something coming from her; that she carried enough weight with Morgan for her pride to matter. Depressing because it was obvious they were words she’d rarely heard.

“This really wasn’t a test?” she whispered the words as though they were a question, but both of them knew it wasn’t. Not really.

“Life is a test,” Audrey said, frowning slightly at how unfortunately philosophical that had sounded. “This is just something that you had to face during the course of it. It was a choice you had to make. It’s a choice that every resident will have to make before they qualify. Or they won’t. It’ll come from different places, and affect you all in different ways...But it always comes.”

“So if I hadn’t done this...If I hadn’t come to you and told you the truth…”

“If you hadn’t been able to make this decision I would have made it for you,” Audrey relied brutally. “But today you showed me that you could. You have the self-awareness and understanding to put aside your ambitions, and your dreams, and your fears and admit when you can’t do something.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t come to you sooner,” Morgan said, slowly. “Both in the sense that I feel guilty for lying to you by omission for as long as I did...But also because I think it would have made things a lot easier for me.”

“Being a resident is tough. It’s competitive and it can be cutthroat. Showing weakness or vulnerability to your superior is tough, too. Especially as a woman. Especially as a woman with a newly diagnosed disability.” Morgan flinched slightly at the use of the word, but didn’t challenge it. “I get it,” Audrey said, nodding.

“That day you confronted me in the locker room - you figured that I’d made a complaint preemptively to try and protect myself...It just made me so sure that if I came to you about any of this...You’d fire me on the spot,” Morgan admitted quietly, addressing the mess of tissues still clutched in her hand.

Audrey sighed heavily at that. “I know,” she said ruefully, “But I had to impress upon you that certain tactics weren’t going to work with me, and that you’d only cause more harm with them.”

“I understand,” Morgan said, nodding, “But...You knew then, right?” She nodded. “I know what you said about seeing how I coped and having to make decisions but...Why didn’t you just come out and confront me then and there? Force me to deal with it, to make the choice then?”

“I considered it,” Audrey said honestly, “But I decided that forcing this out of you before you were ready wasn’t going to be very productive. I didn’t want you to feel like I was another odd stacked against you in the hand you’ve been dealt. I thought that the likelihood of you responding was low, and that the chances of you turning defensive and lashing out were pretty high.”

“You just...Let me struggle alone,” Morgan said, her face becoming more closed as she said it.

“Yes,” Audrey admitted quietly.

It hurt to say. It hurt to hear. But it needed to be said. She wasn’t going to lie and deny that she caused pain. She just had to lay it bare and hope it had been worth it.

“Why?” Morgan breathed. She knew. They both knew. But Audrey understood why she had to ask. “Why didn’t you help me?” she said, voice breaking. “I- I needed help.”

It took all of Audrey’s self-control not to flinch at that.

“I know,” she said, as gently as she could. She reached across her desk and gently squeezed Morgan’s clasped hands. She waited until she looked at her to add, “BUt you couldn’t ask for that help. You couldn’t admit to needing it. Before today, you wouldn’t have been able to accept it, either, even if I had tried to give it to you.”

“You couldn’t have known that,” Morgan accused, shaking her head and pulling back.

“But I did,” Audrey said quietly. She had to proceed carefully, now. Her scalpel was balanced precariously in the middle of a network of raw nerves. One wrong move would do irreparable damage. “We know our residents a lot better than they think we do. A lot better than you all probably want to think about,” she added musingly. “But I also know,” she went on, before Morgan could interrupt, “Because I’ve been where you are now.”

Morgan looked startled, “You have-” she began, and Audrey swiftly intervened to correct.

“Not exactly where you are,” she said, and Morgan deflated a little. “But you still remind me of myself when I was a resident.” Morgan looked up again, head cocked slightly to one side, looking genuinely curious now.

As a general rule she tried not to reveal too much of herself to her residents. Her personal life was hers. She wasn’t the most fiercely private person at the hospital. But there were lines, and boundaries, and in her experience it was best to be careful when crossing them. This was one of the times she felt it would be a benefit to share her experiences as a person, not just a doctor.

“I was underestimated, too,” she began, “I was smart, driven, ambitious, and talented.” There was no point denying your own worth to anyone; least of all yourself. “I was also the one they waited on to fail every day. I was the one they wanted to see fail. And so I had to be twice as good every step of the way to prove them wrong.”

Morgan nodded, a small, unconscious thing, Audrey’s words resonating with her.

“For me ‘they’ were my superiors in the program - dusty old white men who felt challenged and threatened by very existence in their hospital.”

“With good reason,” Morgan muttered.

She blushed, telling Audrey the words had slipped out accidentally. But she smirked, pleased. “Quite,” she agreed.

Neil had confessed to her over drinks that he was never sure how she’d restrained herself from breaking bones in their chief’s body on more than one occasion. She told him she’d satisfied herself with breaking all of his records in surgery instead. Which she had. Repeatedly.

She took a breath and softened as she returned to the task at hand, “Your ‘they are your family. And, more importantly, yourself.”

Morgan glanced up at her, apparently both wanting, needing her to go on, to understand...And also terrified that she actually might.

Audrey went carefully, slowly, “You need to prove to yourself that you should be here. You need to know that all the bridges you’ve burned, all the opportunities you’ve turned down, all the things you’ve sacrificed, all the fights that you’ve had...You need to know they were worth it.”

Morgan met her eyes then slowly, tremulously, she nodded.

Audrey smiled sadly and continued, “Living every day under that kind of pressure..Eventually it breaks you.”

Morgan shook her head in disbelief, “I find it hard to imagine you ever breaking.”

The smile Audrey gave her this time was rueful. She would have loved that to be true herself, but she knew damn well it wasn’t.

“Oh believe me, I broke,” she said with a humourless laugh. “It wasn’t pleasant. But it forced me to finally ask for help, and to acknowledge something about this job it takes a long time for most residents to realise.”

“That we aren’t invincible?” Morgan said quietly.

Audrey understood that feeling, too. There was a rush to surgery that she had never been able to replicate. Not with her bike, not with sex, not with anything. Knowing that you had saved a person’s life; that they would be dead without you...It could very quickly go to your head, make you believe that you could do anything.

Coping once that bubble burst and the dam it had kept on the real world crumpled and it all came rushing back in was tough.

“Yes,” she agreed, “But it taught me that we don’t exist in a vacuum. No matter how good you are, no matter how many things you can do, no-one can do everything alone. No matter how much they might want to,” she added, correctly interpreting the wry look on Morgan’s face. “And we’re human. Holding yourself to impossible standards every day is only going to truly change one person - yourself.”

Morgan blinked, surprised. “But you did change people’s minds, didn’t you? You proved yourself to your superiors - all the men who thought you couldn’t do this job. You proved them wrong.”

“I did,” Audrey said, “But it didn’t change as much as I thought it would at the time. Everyone else will think what they want to think, regardless of what you do. Their thoughts won’t affect how you do your job. Destroying yourself trying to prove a point to them will.”

“This is all very inspiring and everything, Doctor Lim,” Morgan said shakily, staring down at her hands again, “But there’s a major difference in our stories.” She raised her head and looked Audrey in the eyes when she said, “You didn’t have a chronic incurable condition eroding away your nerves.”

“No,” Audrey agreed gently, “But I had to deal with a lot of prejudice - which, believe me, can be just as chronic, painful, and incurable as rheumatoid arthritis. Not to mention the effect it has on the nerves.”

Morgan managed a weak smile at that, but it quickly faded as she sobered once more, shaking her head, staring down at her hands again with a look of such betrayal in her eyes it hurt to watch.

“It’s not the same,” she whispered, tears forming again, despite her obvious attempts to hold them back.

“No,” Audrey said again, and Morgan looked up at her once more. “BUt they’ll say the same thing to you that they said to me,” she told her. “The same thing that they said to Murphy. They’ll tell you that you can’t.”

“And they’ll be right,” Morgan interrupted with a hysterical note to her words now.

“They don’t get to decide that,” Audrey cut in firmly. “You do. You proved that to me today. If you know what you can’t do, if you understand your limitations, then you know what you can do, and you understand your own capabilities.”

“And that’s enough?” Morgan said, with obvious disbelief.

“It’s enough for me,” Audrey replied.

She’d made her decision on this. One of her friends from med school had specialised in rheumatology and they’d had a lot of late night conversations and dinner meetings about this. The condition was damaging, but it was also variable, and relied a lot on the individual’s understanding of their own well-being and function day to day. She’d decided that if Morgan could prove she could master that, she still had a place at this hospital on her team.

The visible relief that flooded Morgan’s body seemed for a moment to sweep away every bit of pain she was in. Her eyes brightened again, and for the first time in weeks, Audrey felt that fire from her again.

“It will not be unconditional,” she said quickly. She didn’t want to ruin this moment for Morgan, but at the same time she had to establish boundaries. “I will trust you. If you tell me that you can do something, then I will let you do it. But I also need to know when you can’t do something, or if you’re unsure at all.”

Morgan bit her lip, and Audrey thought she could sense the reason for her hesitation, so clarified.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal. I don’t need you to come in here every morning with a neon sign detailing where you’re at on a pain scale. We can work a system between us - but I do need to know.”

“Of course,” Morgan said. She was nodding eagerly now, sitting up straighter, perching on the edge of her seat, looking alive and intent, ready to do whatever it took to be a good doctor.

“And you’re to keep seeing your rheumatologist regularly,” Audrey went on, “I would like to be kept up to date with your progress, your meds, any new symptoms. If things get worse, if they get better. I’d like to know your options.”

“Alright,” Morgan said, though she looked a little more uncertain.

“This is not something I can force you to give me,” Audrey clarified, “It’s your choice to divulge those things to me, and it’s your right to keep them from me, but it will help me, which will help you, if I understand as much about your condition as I can.”

“I’ll forward you over all of my notes tonight,” Morgan promised, a spark of defiant resolution in her eyes that Audrey decided against challenging.

“I also think,” she went on, tone softening as she knew how this was likely to be received, “That you should tell the team about this.”

Morgan balked visibly at that, which Audrey understood. The competition the program fostered between them all was good, and generally healthy, producing good results, but it made it difficult to confide weaknesses. This was something that frustrated her, as understanding the weaknesses of your coworkers was as important as knowing their strengths.

She raised a placating hand, “Like I said, it’s not something I’m going to force you into. I know that it’s hard, I know that you don’t want to, but I think that it might help.”

“I don’t want them to treat me differently,” Morgan said quietly.

“I know. But you should be,” she started. “You have a disability, Morgan,” Audrey said, as gently as she could while not sugar-coating the facts of the matter. “That’s hard to accept, I know that. But it does change things. And it means that some things will have to be changed in order to manage that. Accommodation is not a bad word, and having team members who understand what you’re going through and can support you will not make you weak, or less talented, or less deserving of a place among them.”

“I know,” Morgan said, “Logically I know all of that. It’s the same advice that I would give to a patient in my position reacting the way that I am but…”

“But emotion is the death of all logic,” Audrey said with a sigh, “Humanity throughout history has struggled with this. I don’t expect you to come up with a solution for it in an afternoon.” Morgan relaxed at those words. “But I do think you should at least consider what I’ve said,” she added firmly.

“I will,” she promised in turn.

“Alright then,” Audrey said, pushing her chair back and getting to her feet. She could almost taste the kiss of the fresh air on her skin and she was ready to embrace it on her ride home.

“Morgan remained sitting, looking a little shell shocked by the abrupt end of their meeting. “You’re...You’re really not getting rid of me?” she said, as though she felt stupid asking but couldn’t stop herself.

“No, I’m not,” Audrey said with a small smile. “Not unless you want to tell me right now that you don’t think you can contribute anything to this team anymore. That’s the only reason I would have for letting you go. Are you going to tell me that?”

“No,” Morgan said defiantly, also getting to her feet. “I can. I will.”

Audrey smiled. “Good. Then go. Do.”

Morgan actually smiled. It had been a long time since she’d seen that expression on her face.

Audrey stepped out from behind her desk and moved towards the door. “Then I think we’re done. Good night, Doctor Reznick.”

Morgan smiled and marched briskly to the door, which Audrey was now holding open for her. “Good night, Doctor Lim,” she said formally, giving her a small nod.

She moved to walk out of the office, hesitated, then, in a sudden rush, turned and pulled Audrey into a quick hug.

“Thank you,” Morgan breathed in her ear, squeezing her a little more tightly than was strictly necessary, “I promise I won’t let you down.”

Audrey recovered from the shock of the move and patted Morgan on the back a few times until she released her.

“You’re welcome,” she said warmly, “And I know you won’t.” Morgan nodded again, looking confident and renewed. “See you tomorrow,” Audrey said with a smile.

Morgan smiled back, “See you tomorrow.”

[glasgowgirl92-blog]

Linstead: The Playlist - When someone stops loving you.

Okay, so this originally wasn’t next. However conversations with @halsteadpd have been full of realisations and this was one of them. You’ve rocked this week in listening to me rant and rave and discussing all kinds of theories with me! So this one is for you. 

There should be another one of these up on Monday and hopefully another Lullaby chapter, too!

Anyway, this is When Someone Stops Loving You  by Little Big Town and really, for posterity, you should listen to it while reading this. It just adds to the whole ugly crying experience. This piece is angsty as all get out and really should have trigger warnings probably, I just don’t know what to tag. 

Still gotta button up your collared shirt The one she used to button down Sleep on the mattress where her body left a curve Or maybe just the couch

The only time Jay was usually in either a suit, his military green or his Police blues these days were court appearances or funerals. Which is why when the chance to go undercover as a uniform had come up, Jay had jumped at the chance. Give himself a different set of memories in the uniform.

The case had closed now, and Jay hadn’t bothered to change back into his regular clothes, he’d finished his paperwork and headed straight home, making one stop on the way.  It had been months. Months of nothing but silence. He’d fallen into his routine and it was unshakable, he’d been numb. He’d been numb until he’d heard Al talking to Voight about how she was doing in New York and suddenly he’d felt sick. He’d broken out in a cold sweat and he’d had to go make himself coffee in the breakroom to calm himself back down. The raw grief gripping him hard. It had felt like someone had torn his heart from his chest and all of a sudden he was empty again. Hollow. But the agony had stayed, taken up residence in his chest, and it beat like his heart did. Every step, every breath hurt and he had no idea how it was going to work.

So on the way home; to his new apartment, one that didn’t have floor to ceiling windows and band posters, he’d stopped at the liquor store. He’d promised Will that he wouldn’t do this again, promised the guys at his support group that he’d talk it out, but he didn’t much feel like talking about this. Not tonight anyway. Tonight, he wanted an escape. He wanted the numbness back. He didn’t feel strong enough to talk it out, to actually voice the thoughts that had been bouncing around his head since the moment she left the breakroom, leaving him stranding there, gripping the counter. Jay had hated the pity in her eyes, hated the way she left him, but he hated the hurt in her eyes more – knowing he was the one who put it there.

His key turned in the lock and he pushed the door open, his tie and jacket being tossed haphazardly in the general direction of the coat hook, his vest following suit. He walked into the living room, pausing in the doorway, debating a glass, but deciding he didn’t need it. He snorted at the blanket and the pillow on the sofa. He hadn’t slept in an actual bed since he walked out of her – their – apartment. He’d tried when he moved in here. But sleep wouldn’t come and he found himself back out on the sofa. Will had found it strange when he needed a place to crash that he got the bed, but he decided not to question it.

Jay dropped onto the sofa and placed his badge and gun on the table, nudging them over with his foot as he leaned back and put his feet on the table, reaching for the remote and turning the sports highlights on. Removing the bottle of whiskey from the paper bag, he opened and it took a large swig, wincing as he swallowed and coughing, but taking another swig. After the third, the amber liquid went down smoothly and he settled himself back into the cushions, the last few years flicking through his mind.

He loved her. Probably had from the moment he set eyes on her; hearing her give Antonio shit. That raspy voice of hers and then her laugh. Just thinking about his now was like a punch to his gut and he took another swig to dull the pain. She’d given him a look when he walked in, called him cocky. He’d bit back the original retort and went for something along the lines of fitting in well here. She’d laughed. Voight had told her to take the grasshopper under her wing, show him the ropes. She’d been his first female partner. She’d set the bar. Erin Lindsey had been a fucking storm in a teacup and Jay Halstead had been the one shattered and scarred when the china had cracked and sprayed in various directions. He’d do it all again, though. Every single little thing. He’d break apart a million and one times to save her; take the fall, take the hit. He knew this just as sure as he knew his army number, just as sure as he knew tomorrow the sun would rise and set.

Jay had never loved anyone the way he loved her. There was something about her that he couldn’t stay away from and it wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t something that he could figure out. She was an enigma to him and his world just felt better knowing that she was gonna be there when he went to work; long before they had started dating, long before he’d gone to her high school reunion with her, he’d known she was going to turn his world upside down.

He swallowed hard and took another drink; something swelling in his chest that he didn’t want to name, but the pain was real. He’d take another bullet in the shoulder. Hell, he’d take a bullet anywhere at this point for this ache to go away. Jay had only known this feeling one other time in his life and as his mind tried to go there he took a longer drink of the liquor, coughing but letting his eyes drift close.

Erin Lindsey was it. That was clear. She wasn’t like the rest of them. She was broken and beautiful and pulled together. She’d left him before. Technically three times, but who was counting? He wasn’t. She’d chosen the job over him; her job. He’d told her he understood that being her partner was enough; but he couldn’t tell her how he slept better with her in his bed, couldn’t tell her she’d been the one to keep him together, to keep the nightmares away. She needed to keep her job and to please Voight. Jay loved his job; but he’d always loved her more. He’d have given his damn badge to keep her, but he understood her want to keep Voight onside.

Then she’d quit. She didn’t tell him; barely looked at him when he’d finally tracked her down. She didn’t care. She’d left him. She’d walked away from him when he’d begged her for closure. He’d needed it, couldn’t deal with the fact there was no goodbye. Just like this time. He took another drink and realised that this was turning into a game of Never Have I with his own damned mind. He’d chuckled, but it was humourless. It sounded broken and fake and he cleared his throat.

She’d come back that time. She’d been the one to save him from the drug Lord after 24 hours of hell. She’d come into the room like a fucking angel and while she looked like hell? She’d been so beautiful in that moment. She’d come back before, the thought offered hope, but as quickly as it rose it was squashed back down. Erin had said she could handle it; handle whatever demons he was fighting, carry the weight of his luggage from war. Under the guise of needing time, though, of them both needing time, she’d taken his confession of seeking help and fled. Then after some pretty painful cases, some heart wrenching interactions, she’d gone.

He'd given the ring back to Will on Monday. Hadn’t said anything, just handed it over. That’s when Will had followed him out into the parking lot and begged him to talk it over. There was no point in talking, however. No point at all. He’d been talking for months, once a week. Didn’t fix him. It broke him on a weekly basis.

How do you talk over not being enough for someone? How do you talk about needing space and getting so much more than you bargained for? How do you talk about someone leaving without saying goodbye? How do you talk about not being worth that much? Jay scrubbed a hand down his face and took another drink before glancing at the bottle and letting out another humourless laugh. He'd managed to drink around a third of the bottle in the half hour he’d been in apartment and the hangover was going to be a bitch when he woke up; but a physical pain was something easier to deal with than the thoughts in his head.

There was another thought circulating; but he’d been pushing that one deeper and deeper. He couldn’t look that one in the eye yet; Jay knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this in check if he did. He’d managed so far at keeping his tears at bay; keeping the tidal wave grief inside for close to a week. He figured he’d past denial and anger, skipped bargaining and was now in the deep depressive state of losing someone. He just didn’t want to be here, wanted to get to the acceptance. Wanted to reach the part that everyone thought he was at. They’d expected him to be there months before she’d taken the job in New York. Except, he wasn’t. Couldn’t. Hope of a reunion was definitely a cruel mistress.

Jay felt his stomach churn and decided that perhaps drinking on an empty stomach was probably the wrong idea; but he was already starting to feel more relaxed, less tense. He was already beginning to go numb. He put his feet on the floor and stood, taking two steps before his stumble had him catching the leg of the coffee table, tripping up and hitting the floor, his hand knocking the small table he’d taken to dumping the keys and sending it flying, the table hitting the floor and the contents of the drawer scattering everywhere. Luckily enough he’d had the wherewithal to keep the bottle from hitting the floor. He pushed to his knees, cradling the bottle and taking another drink as he assessed the damage, wondering if anyone would call the cops or come see if he was okay.

He doubted it. No one actually cared. He’d probably lay here for days before anyone would come looking for him. The thought was a sobering one and Jay took another long pull from the bottle before putting it down on the floor and crawling towards the wreckage, because it was safer this way and it wouldn’t hurt so much if he fell over. There were the usual things in that drawer; spare batteries, bullets for his gun, an address book, a pen and paper, a candle and a lighter. He gathered the items up, dropping some again and then finally putting them all in the drawer and righting the table, sliding the drawer back in.

A piece of paper caught his eye, near the entrance to the kitchen and he reached to get it, wobbling slightly but catching himself and dragging it towards him. When Jay turned the paper over, his breath caught and his word spun. It was a picture of him and his mother, he was about 5 and she was smiling at him as he played with his police car. Jay felt the bile rise in his throat and he put the photo on the table as he stumbled to his feet, crashing shoulder first into the wall and groaning before finally making it to the bathroom and emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

He managed to get his knees under him as he hugged the porcelain, body shuddering through the heaves of his body. Bourbon never did taste quite as good coming back up as it did going down. When he finally was reduced to drive heaves he wiped his mouth and pushed to his feet, flushing the toilet and moving to the sink to rinse his mouth out. He caught sight of himself in the mirror when he spat into the sink and saw his mother’s eyes looking back at him in place of his own and suddenly couldn’t hold it in anymore; his shoulders shaking as he dropped to the ground again.

His mind was spinning as he allowed himself to feel the rush of emotions; the loss and loneliness, the hurt and the fear, the bitter heartbreak and disappointment, the feelings of inadequacy and emptiness. Jay’s entire body began to shake as he drew his knees to his chest for protection; not fighting the tears as they finally came. Allowing himself to mourn the loss of his relationship; sobbing harder, gasping sobs, as the reality set deep into his bones and the pain rocked him from his core.

Erin had left him multiple times; proved time and time again that she was fine without him; that in their relationship, he was the one who loved the most and he was okay with that. Why was this time so different? Why was this time so final? So permanent?

As his sobs grew louder, the pain tearing through him at an alarming rate along with the one thought he’d tried to keep buried.

Everyone woman he’d ever loved had left him.

 When someone stops loving you It don't keep the sun from rising, the clock from winding, your heart from beating Even when you want it to

[intrepidolivia]

The Killing Moon pt 1

This is for @noodlecupcakes Negan writing challenge!

I had Detective Negan as a prompt... and I realized I cannot make this a one-shot. So now I’m writing another multi-part AU story and I blame her.

Pairing: NeganXOlivia (OC)

Warnings: cursing, discussions of death and violence

Summary: AU! Negan is nursing a hangover, when a girl in trouble knocks on the door of his detective agency, and gives him a case that may well end up his last.

A/N: My inspiration is hard-boiled film noir style detective stories. I hope I did them justice. To be continued, since I can’t seem to stop with the AUs.

    I was hot and I was tired. The first part couldn’t be helped, not with the fucking AC broken (again) during a record-setting heatwave. The second part was all me. I woke up that morning with a nearly empty bottle of Jim Beam and only a vague memory of the night before. Something to do with a silly acronym the kids use nowadays. YONO? YOLO? At the time it seemed pretty profound. That morning I wanted to fucking punch whoever came up with it.

    I sat in my office nursing a cup of black coffee and a headache, hoping for the first time that today would continue the month’s tradition of zero meetings and zero clients. Of course, it didn’t pan out that way. It never did for me. They should rename Murphy’s law to fucking Negan’s law.

    So there I sat, hoping the whole world would just fuck off and leave me to die of my hangover in peace, when someone knocked on the office door.

    I always liked that door. It had one of those frosted glass windows, with Savior Investigations painted on it in gold. Real classy. I never changed a thing when I had to get it replaced from time to time when clients got pissy and had to take a trip through it.

    I could see from the silhouette on the window it was a woman, otherwise I might have crawled under my desk and ignored them. I was in no fucking mood to talk to anyone, but then again I needed capital to keep me in booze. And maybe I got a soft spot for the ladies. Fucking sue me.

    “Door’s open,” I called. Maybe it’s more polite to open the door for someone, but I like staying at my desk and watching people when they come in. You can tell a lot about a client before they even open their mouth by how they enter a room. Their posture, where their eyes dart to first, how they walk. All of it good information. Also I was too fucking hungover to want to move much.

    What watching the client walk into my office told me was this: I was fucked.

    She was on the petite side, with curves that if you were in a car would make you want to hug the road. Her green dress rode her body like it loved her and damn if I could blame it. She had great big emerald eyes set in a soft, cute face with pouty lips. And she was a redhead. Of course she was a redhead. Clearly someone went down a checklist of “Things to Get Negan Into Trouble” when they made her.

    I tried to act like I wasn’t feeling like shit, and leaned forward with my best smile. “Hi there. Welcome to Savior Investigations. Please have a seat.”

    She seemed nervous. It was hard to tell if it was whatever she was consulting a PI about, or if it was me. Apparently I am seen as somewhat intimidating. It’s part of why I stayed seated; the difference between our heights would have made me seem to be looming, which isn’t all that helpful at putting clients at ease.

    The redhead hesitated, glancing around the room before settling on me as the most interesting feature. She shut the door behind her, and sat down. “I… hello. I’ve never consulted a private investigator before. Do I jump right in, or…?”

    “Well, first things first. I’m Negan. Would you like some coffee miss--?” I didn’t think I had a clean mug, but those big eyes gave me plenty of motivation to wash one.

    She blushed, looking down. “I’m sorry, I just--”

    “No need to be nervous,” I assured her. “I don’t bite.” That last bit was a lie. One I couldn’t help hoping she’d find out.

    A little smile. The girl was nervous about something. She fidgeted with her necklace, perched at the edge of her chair, back straight and stiff. No wedding ring, which made me happy. I guessed boyfriend troubles. I almost hoped I could catch him cheating and break her poor little heart. I’d be right there to help sweep up the pieces.

    She took a deep breath and looked up at me. “M-my name is Olivia. Olivia Sullivan. And I think someone is going to kill me.”

    I forgot my hangover.

    Tailing cheating spouses, blackmail issues, insurance fraud… sure, I’d done it all. Even missing persons a time or two, even though those tended to be fucking depressing. But thwarting an assassination attempt? That was a little above my paygrade.

    I laced my fingers on the desk. “Right, well, Miss Sullivan--”

    “Mrs.” she corrected. Damn it all.

    “Mrs. Sullivan,” I continued. “I think maybe what you want is the police.”

    She gave a bitter little laugh, and I knew what she was going to say before she said it. “They don’t believe me.”

    “Fuck,” I said. Hungover, a married woman tailor-made to be my own personal weakness, and a complicated case. See what I mean? Negan’s law. “Well, I guess you should start at the beginning.”

    She nodded, folding her hands on her lap. It didn’t make her look any less tense. “I suppose the beginning was a little over a year ago. My husband was murdered.”

    I winced, feeling shitty. God knew I was more than familiar with how fucking awful it was to lose someone you loved. “I’m sorry.”

    “The police said it was an accident,” she continued softly. “I was--it was in the evening. I had the flu. John decided to walk to the store to get some soup and medicine while I took a nap.” Her voice was empty, the words like a recitation.

I knew the drill. Everyone wants to know the story. Oh, first is the ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ bit. Then they give in to that morbid curiosity. Human nature I guess. So you find yourself repeating the story over and over, until the words lose their meaning, and all the emotion attached retreats down into a little speck of screaming pain you can almost ignore sometimes.

“I didn’t wake up until that morning. I didn’t know where he was. I had a fever, and I was frantic, and--” Her voice cracked.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “Take your time.” I didn’t have tissues, or a handkerchief to offer. I passed her a couple fast food napkins. Better than nothing.

She cleared her throat. “He’d been hit by a car. They drove off. It wasn’t a busy street so no one saw it. And since it was dark out, no one found him until the next day.”

I nodded. “I can understand how fucking awful that must have been, but… A hit and run would probably be prosecuted as manslaughter, not--”

“He was targeted,” she interrupted. The heat in her eyes and voice had me reevaluating her. Interesting. There was a tiger in this lady.

“Alright, go on.”

She reached in her bag and pulled out a manilla envelope. One of those big jobs with the string-closure. It looked like it had seen some rough treatment, and when she handed it to me, whatever was inside was heavy. “I think this is what got my husband killed,” she told me.

I unwound the string, pulling out the contents. Notebooks, paperwork, a few CD-Roms with weird-ass labels.

“I couldn’t stay in our house after--” she looked away, biting her lip.

“Yeah, been there,” I muttered. I guess I was distracted. I didn’t mean to say it, but I was fucking hungover.

I saw the play of thoughts over her pretty face. Confusion, realization. I waited for pity, which was the usual chaser, but she just gave me a little, sad smile and nodded.

“There was a break-in. Day of the funeral. I guess they wanted to be sure no one was in the house. Everything was trashed. They stole the whole safe. A few other things to make it look like a robbery but… they took apart the office. Stole the laptop. All the files in the cabinet.”

I knew where this was going, and I didn’t like it one little bit. “They were looking for something.” I suddenly really, really wanted nothing to do with the pile of shit that was on my desk right then.

“Yes,” she agreed. “His computer at work was wiped as well. His laboratory partner died in a house fire the next week. Along with her husband and kids.”

“Fuck,” I said, because I didn’t have any better response. “The police don’t see this as awfully convenient?”

She gave a frustrated sigh. “There’s perfectly plausible explanations for everything. And I’m a grieving widow looking for someone to blame or some higher meaning.”

I opened one of the notebooks out of curiosity. It looked like next-level science bullshit, so I closed it again. “What did you say your husband did for a living?”

“He was a virologist,” she replied. “He and his partner were researchers.”

The sinking feeling that I’d been getting since she started talking was taking me into all new and undiscovered depths. “And this…?”

Olivia seemed to sense my bad feeling. “I think that’s what they were looking for. When I realized someone was looking for something… John did woodworking. He made a big chest that sat at the end of our bed. The blankets we kept in it were all pulled out, but… When I was cleaning up I noticed the inside seemed smaller than it should have been. I started looking at it, and--”

“False bottom,” I completed. “Simple but effective, I guess. So what then?”

“It was right after that when the fire happened. I… got scared. I was afraid whoever it was might come after me next. The police were no help so I moved. I thought maybe since they didn’t find anything, no one would think I had it.”

I looked at the mess on my desk. I knew the prudent thing to do would be to pack all that shit back in its envelope, give it back to the widow, and ask her to fuck off. This was beyond cheating boyfriends or even missing children. This had ‘bad shit’ written all over it, and was sealed with ‘you’re fucked’ tape.

That’s probably why I was so fucking excited.

“All right, baby. You’ve got my fucking attention. Tell me everything.”