#and the highlights on her hair shaped like an EKG

[doctorsiren]

“Tears pages from spines as she judges the cover and shamelessly spoils the end!”

[rain0205-blog]

Terminal State

Summary:  She tried leaving, submerging herself in work to escape the horrors she had seen. The horrors she kept seeing. She never wanted to go back to that life. But when the Empire takes her home, she's forced to face her past. Can she move on? Can she cope? Or will she require a bit of help? still bad at summaries, still working on it. ever so slightly more than slight AU gadioxoc

Prologue

...

The stagnant odour of vomit entered the room as the monitors beeped in a frenzy. Humming lights were drowned out by the sounds of retching and screaming. The man on the bed was done emptying his stomach of bile and began to spasm. Nurses piled in to hold him down, pushing medication through the intravenous tube attached to his arm. The temperature in the air was rising from the many warm bodies inside. They yelled orders in a frantic attempt to calm down their patient. His screaming persisted, the monitors joining in as they whined in despair. The gurney shook, making the room feel as if it were undergoing a tremor. Then it was silent.

A pair of hazel eyes looked around, observing the now-sedated patient. He was completely bald, overweight, and pale, with eyebrows that were furrowed in pain. The oxygen mask under his nose eased his troubled breathing and he glowed in the light, skin coated in a thick sweat. His rounded face had been lowered into a flat position, making his extra chins smooth back out into a neck. The man's arms were limp and red from his earlier struggle. Nurses and cleaning staff had moved to clean the vomit from around him and sterilized where it had seeped onto the floor. The monitors showed that he was stable but what would happen when he woke up?

Dr. Virum looked down at her scrubs, covered in the man's bile. She could feel it in her hair, and as she did her eyes shot toward the clock. Her shift was nearly over and all she would have to do is write up the paperwork for this patient, clean up, and go home. Virum grabbed a disinfecting cloth to clean her skin and face, then ran her hands through the alcohol-based hand dispenser and rubbed them together. Once her hands were dry she grabbed his chart, noting the man's health issues. She looked back at the patient thoughtfully, grabbing her pen from the pocket of her lab coat. It, too, was covered in vomit. She sighed, threw the pen in the garbage, and walked toward the nurse's station to grab one of the pens there.

"You reek," said the resident nurse sitting at her computer, "What do you have for me?"

"48 year-old male presents with severe abdominal pain, dehydration and shortness of breath. Set up oxygen, administered fluids and it resulted in rejection. All over me," she said, signing off on the chart and handing it to the nurse, "Patient was very anxious and began to seize, pushed three milligrams lorazepam. Anxious behaviour continued, so we gave him two milligrams of ketamine. Patient is sedated and resting. I'm ordering a CBC, an EKG, and a stool sample."

"You got it."

"You'll have to transfer him, my shift is over."

The nurse looked at her watch, "So it is. Are you actually planning to go home this time?"

"I think so. Getting puked on was definitely a sign I shouldn't be here this long."

The nurse laughed, "I praise you. Try and get some sleep, okay? You look like a zombie."

"You look pretty too. Have fun."

Virum hurried away, hoping to escape the hospital before another patient arrived. She wasn't so lucky.

"Incoming!" another nurse yelled.

Virum looked behind her as the doors burst open. Two paramedics were wheeling in a stretcher with an unconscious young girl on it. Her neck was in a brace and the medics were squeezing oxygen from a bag into a tube running through a hole in the girl's neck. She wasn't breathing on her own. Close behind them was the girl's mother, frantically following the stretcher. An orderly kept the hysterical woman out of the treatment room her daughter was brought into.

"Talk to me," Virum said as firmly as possible.

"13 year-old female, car accident, GCS: eight, blunt trauma to the sternum, not breathing, severe blood loss," answered the medic.

"Alright, transfer her on my count."

They put a bed right beside the stretcher, the paramedics on one side with the doctor, three nurses on the other side. Another nurse continued to pump oxygen from the bag. They gripped the backboard tightly, getting ready to lift.

"One, two, three!"

It only took a few seconds to hoist the girl onto the gurney. The paramedics quickly got their stretcher out of the way as the nurse continued on oxygen duty. After getting her hooked up to the monitors, they noticed she had a dangerously elevated heart rate. Virum ordered the nurses to find some medication to slow it down, then gave directions to the head nurse.

"Prep the operating room, her lungs are crushed and we need to relieve that pressure. Grab some blood from the bank and replace what was lost. Fill in the mother and do a full follow up with the relief doctor."

"Yes ma'am," said the nurse.

Porters came to wheel the bed out of sight with the mother following behind like a hawk. Virum sighed again, taking off her gloves and putting her hands through another round of sanitizer. She walked out of the treatment room in near defeat. What a day it had been. Most of it had been so quiet, with the usual mix of drug-seekers and hypochondriacs. She should have known it would get hectic later on. Vomit crusted the top of her head and the thought of it made her cringe. Dr. Virum finished signing off on the paperwork and handed it to the same charge nurse.

"Get out of here," the nurse said.

"Already gone," the doctor replied, hands up in defeat.

Virum walked toward the locker rooms as quickly as she could, definitely unwilling to get pulled into another job. She didn't even register the people she passed, the exhaustion of sixteen hours of work finally settling in. Graveyard shift was bad, and even more so when she ended up working until mid-afternoon. But then, if she were at home she would just be finding an excuse to come in any way. It wasn't like she had any sort of life beyond her work. Virum walked into the locker room, nodding at the doctor coming to relieve her. The two didn't speak, the look on her face suggesting she was in no mood for talk. Not like she ever really was any day. She punched in the combination to her locker, opened it, and took out a change of clothes. Grabbing her personal cleaning supplies and a towel, she headed into the showers.

Steam billowed out from the stall almost immediately. A blissful sigh escaped her once the scalding water touched her skin, turning it red instantly on contact. Her eyes closed once she was surrounded by the heat, providing her with the long sought-after comfort only achieved in such a scorching environment. Moments like these were peaceful, allowing her to lose herself and chemically recalibrate her mind. They were never long enough, and it was with agonizing regret that she forced herself to leave the tranquillity of the shower's warmth.

The doctor ran the towel over her head after getting out, drying her hair and face off a bit and then wrapping it around her tiny frame. She grabbed her fresh clothes and took them to the counter where the sink was. The mirror was a bit foggy, but not enough to hide the reflection that stared back at her. Layers of hair reached to just under her chin. It was a light dirty brown, with blond highlights running through it. Her skin was pale and her eyes were bloodshot with dark circles smeared under them. The zombie comparison made more sense now. Even the scar running from her mid-neck down her collarbone stood out more than usual. Her gaze bore into it for a few moments, her head awash with unwanted memories before she tore her eyes away from the mirror with disgust.

The towel was fairly time consuming, so she grabbed a blow dryer to get it over with quicker. It didn't take long and now the hair flared out from her face, covering the back of her neck. She dried off the rest of her body and slipped on her jeans, socks and boots that ran up to her mid-calf. Pulling on the long sleeved v-neck shirt, her eyes searched for her most important item. She removed the pendant she had worn during her shower, a silver chain with a disc encircling a tree. Her leaf-shaped earrings returned to their rightful place, at the base of her ears where they tended to dangle and move with her head. The rest of her earrings - a dragonfly in her left ear, an anchor at the top of her right ear, and a silver hoop in her right earlobe - never needed to be removed. She applied the light coating of makeup she usually wore, in a vain attempt to look more lively if anything. Virum looked herself over and at last packed up her things, satisfied that she at least looked less zombie-like than before.

She placed her bag in her locker and pulled out her purse. The satchel-like bag was placed over her shoulder, the bottom of the bag hugging her right hip. Next came her grey and black striped fingerless gloves, and then she put her arms through her black form-fitting light leather jacket. The locker door was closed with a bit of a slam before making sure it locked and then walked briskly out of the room. Virum was passing by the emergency department, ready to make the break to her car when the charge nurse stopped her.

"The Bossman needs you," said the nurse.

Virum frowned. "What about?"

"He didn't say."

She sighed. "Thanks, Gin."

The nurse nodded, turning back to her desk as the boss arrived at the nurse's station.

"Leaving?" he asked. He was a stocky man, balding on the top of his head and sported a mustache - although it didn't fit him at all.

"End of shift, sir," she said in her most pleasant voice, "I've been here sixteen hours."

"I need you to go to the Citadel," he said, completely unaffected by her words.

"What? Why?"

"They need a doctor to fill in there, being short staffed with the war and all. You're the only one we can spare."

"But sir," she protested, "I just finished a sixteen-hour shift. You had all that time to find a relief for me."

"I know, but the King asked and you know I can't say no."

"Why can't another doctor do it? Or even yourself? I specifically requested to never work at the Citadel."

"To be perfectly honest, Doctor Puinon asked for you."

Virum sighed, "Very well."

"I'll switch your morning shift tomorrow to the afternoon if I can. I'm sorry, but… King's orders."

"Yeah… " she replied dryly.

The Boss nodded and walked away. Virum groaned, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before she begrudgingly left the hospital and headed toward her car. She started the engine, put on her seat belt, and then nearly collapsed on top of the steering wheel. Fatigue wore away at her and she knew that there was no way the Boss was going to move her shift to the afternoon tomorrow. He knew she was a total pushover, that she would work 24/7 if allowed to. But her body was protesting. At least at the Citadel there usually weren't any emergencies, just Kingsglaive and Crownsguard getting a few bumps and bruises during training. She might even be able to relax a little for once. With that fresh excuse in her mind, Virum pulled her head up and began the drive to her third consecutive shift.

There was no trouble at the gate, her hospital badge allowing Virum to enter with ease. The overenthusiastic guard had known she was coming and directed her to the closest parking lot. She thanked him with a smile, not having the heart to tell him that she already knew where she was going. Puinon's usual spot wasn't taken, so she parked her car there. He obviously wasn't going to use it and she had no desire to drive around looking for a free space. Virum then opened up her trunk, grabbing the spare work clothes she kept packed inside. Yeah, she was definitely a workaholic. On her way toward the clinic she stopped in at the cafeteria, grabbing herself a small latte. Ordinarily, she didn't put caffeine in her body but given how long she'd been working, her willpower wasn't up to its usual standards.

The Citadel was buzzing with all kinds of workers. There were easily close to a thousand people living there, including the King and his son. Although she had heard his son no longer lived there, she was sure he visited on occasion. Virum hadn't met with any of the royals or their Kingsglaive and Crownsguard in quite some time, nor did she want to either. Not anymore. She walked the familiar path toward the clinic, ignoring the memories within her that wished to resurface. That life was behind her. The doctor walked into the entrance of the clinic and reported to the nurse's station. The charge nurse looked way too happy. It must have been early in her shift still. Virum tried to not look too envious as she allowed the nurse to lead her to the changing room.

Virum spent the first four hours mostly sitting around, tending to a couple of sprained ankles and one broken arm. She was happy with that, using the extra time to finish up the paperwork that she was falling behind on from the emergency department. The nurses in the clinic were very thorough with their examinations and didn't need Virum's guidance very often. At least she had been right about this being an easy shift. She even got a couple of short naps in between patients and managed to finish the backlog of hospital work that she didn't even have to do, with only an hour before she could go home. Something she heard one of the nurses say made her frown. They were speculating as to whether or not the rumours about her were true, apparently unaware that she could hear them. This was why she liked working in the emergency department over at the hospital. Everyone there was far too busy to gossip and the few that already knew about her past didn't bother to share it.

"Doctor, we have another patient for you," said one of the nurses, coming in to hand over a clipboard with a chart.

Dr. Virum smiled sweetly at the woman as she walked to the patient's room, hiding the irritation she had felt from overhearing them. She closed the door behind her, not even looking up and grabbed her pen to correct mistakes written by the nurse. Down went the chart and on went her gloves after washing her hands before she picked up the chart again, still not looking up.

"Okay, 23 year-old male presenting with a head wound and possible concussion," she muttered, mostly to herself, "Cause of injury: sparring. We definitely haven't had a lot of that today."

"Not here of all places!" she heard someone say, laughing.

Virum placed the chart down and looked up. There were four men in the room, three seemingly uninjured and one with the laceration. On the right of the patient was the smallest of them. He was the one that had spoken, his face red under the eyes that were freckled. The unruly blond hair on his head gave him a more youthful appearance. On the left was a more stern-looking man, with sharp features accented by the glasses clinging to his face and dirty blond hair swept up at the front. He had green eyes and was dressed quite formally. Standing just slightly in front of him was a boy she recognized from the pictures to be Prince Noctis, the son of King Regis. He had a mess of navy hair with angular blue eyes and a sullen look on his face.

The patient of the group was by far the largest of them. Even sitting down he towered over the other three. His arms were as thick as small tree trunks and covered in tattoos. His hair was shaved at the sides but spiky on top as well as long at the back. He sported a beard around his jaw and gentle amber eyes. Although he was smiling, his mountainous form still made him quite intimidating. The laceration was on his left eye, starting from his forehead and reaching diagonally down to stop just under his cheekbone. It looked like he'd been lucky; managing to miss his eye socket. It had been cleaned previously, which meant he was only here as a precaution. Virum walked over to him, taking his chin in her hands, her hazel eyes scrutinizing the injury. While it was unlikely to be necessary, she wanted to make sure there was no damage to his actual eye. She let his face go then, taking a step back.

"Okay, Mr..." she glanced at the chart, "Amicitia. Want to tell me what happened?"

"He wounded his pride, that's what," said the boy on his right, giggling.

"Prompto," the stern man spoke with a warning tone.

"We were sparring and I won," explained Prince Noctis with evident pride.

"He got the best of me this round," added the patient, "Iggy already cleaned it up but he said I was better off coming here,"

"Well, Iggy was right to be careful," she agreed, "I'll also compliment him on how well he cleaned it," she placed the stethoscope on his chest and commanded, "Breathe."

Amicitia complied and continued to do so with all of her wishes during his examination. There appeared to be no obstruction in the lungs or airways. Satisfied, Virum removed the stethoscope and placed it around her neck once more. Carefully, she placed her hands underneath his chin to feel for any sort of swelling or tenderness. He didn't react and she took that to be a good sign. The next thing to be examined were the lymph nodes, where she felt some abnormalities. But they were faint and nothing to worry about. She ran her penlight once over his right eye, then carefully opened his left eye and ran it over that. The results were conclusive with the swelling she had found in the rear of his head.

"Follow my finger with only your eyes," she instructed.

Virum held up her left index finger and moved it from left to right slowly. His amber eyes followed her more so than her finger. She managed to keep a straight face in spite of it. Virum then moved the finger up and down.

No issues there, so she prompted, "Now with your entire head," and repeated the movements, noting his the discomfort as he moved his head. She could only assume he was trying to put on a brave face for his friends in the room.

The report on the patient said that he had been given a potion after the sparring match and that he had a cut and a minor concussion. The laceration was very thoroughly cleaned, this Iggy character was very professional, but it would still need stitches to heal properly. The doctor picked up the chart and a pen before beginning to write.

"Mr. Amiticia—"

"Gladio," he corrected.

She smiled insincerely, "You have a small concussion and that cut of yours will need stitches. I need to prepare a few things, but then I'll be back to patch you up and send you on your way."

He grinned, "Thanks, Doc."

Virum nodded a little stiffly before exiting. She made the trip back to the nurse's station, clearly interrupting a conversation they'd rather she didn't hear.

"23 year-old male," she explained, "minor concussion, small laceration to his head on the left side. Can one of you please prepare the repair kit while I finish my report?"

"Yes ma'am," a nurse said at once, taking the chart and hurrying away.

After a glance at the other nurse - who was still staring at her - Virum went to the bathroom. Splashing water on her face was tempting, but her makeup was still mostly intact and she wanted to keep it that way for just a little while longer. Beats per minute in her heart was increasing thanks to the anxiety of the ensnaring gossip. But her hands had remained steady. Good, because once she was done stitching up the Crownsguard she could go home. That was the last time she would ever work 24 hours straight. As much as she loved immersing herself with the distraction of work, she did need time to try and sleep her usual hour or so here and there. Slapping her pale cheeks lightly, she took a large breath and willed herself to focus.

Virum walked back into Mr. Amicitia's room, his friend's joking comments stopping after she opened the door. She was about to pull up a stool but decided against it. Amicitia was much bigger than an average person. The nurse had laid out the tools she needed and stood at the side of the room, waiting for instructions. Dr. Virum grabbed a cotton swab and dipped it in the blue fluid, running it along the laceration gently, a numbing agent.

"Please be still," she advised.

He didn't move, so she began threading the first stitch through. The needle moved through the skin without a problem. The doctor could hear the young boy, Prompto, making noises while the Prince looked away uncomfortably. Iggy, however, was watching her with the same intensity that her patient was, although Virum was sure it was for different reasons. Iggy appeared to be trying to learn her technique while Mr. Amicitia was clearly just fawning on her. She largely ignored them both but was still a little distracted by the warm breath on her neck as she worked. It just reminded her that she was cold, she was always cold. Once she was finished, she cut the remaining thread before expertly tying it off. The doctor's pen came out one last time to write down a prescription.

"You're all set. Take this for the pain and try not to exert yourself for the rest of the week."

"Thanks, Doc," he said again, his fingers brushing against hers as she handed him the paper, "You wanna grab a beer?"

She swung around, looking at him incredulously. It was for only a very brief moment, as she smiled again.

"Sorry, I don't date patients."

"I'm discharged, remember?" he held up his prescription with a grin.

She took off her gloves and sanitized her hands, "I don't date Crownsguard," she spoke again before closing the door firmly behind her.

"Oh, swing and a miss big guy," said Prompto, laughing.

But Gladiolus's eyes didn't register defeat. He was still smirking at the door she had gone through, not even really hearing Prompto and Noctis laugh at him. As her words were spoken, there was only one thought on his mind. Challenge accepted.

...

thanks for reading. i’m not a medic of any kind so if i make a mistake please feel free to let me know.