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gorbo-longstocking · 28 days ago

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Do Not Blame the Sea | Chapter 3

Pairing: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: As the new imperial physician, your first order of business if to give the emperors a general checkup.

Tags: Medical inaccuracies, various threats to your health and safety, poor ancient measurements conversions, I think that’s it???

Word Count: 4.5k Words

Read on AO3

Part One. Part Two.

As the emperor’s personal physician, your first order of business was a general checkup. Despite your terror, you had managed to insist on it, even against both twins’ frustrated protests. It was important that you got a good profile of their health before anything else so you had a baseline understanding of what they would need. That was what you managed to say through stuttering Latin, far more broken than normal due to your nerves. Thankfully, that seemed to amuse Caracalla enough to agree, Geta following close behind. Possibly to indulge his brother, if you had to guess.

Or, given the accusatory glares he gave you when he thought your back was turned, to be there in case you made an attempt on Caracalla’s life. Maybe it was a bit of both. You weren’t a psychiatrist, though you had, at the very least, a bare bones understanding of the field. Enough to try and understand these men in all their eccentricities.

Before that, however, a few praetorians insisted on not only patting you down for weapons, but searching your bag for any suspicious materials. General procedure, they informed you. In a separate room from the emperors, who waited just beyond an open archway, you, Aelius, and Marianus were dutifully frisked with all the care and attention of a donkey. It wasn’t that the praetorians weren’t thorough, quite the opposite actually, it was the fact that they weren’t gentle in the slightest. Half of your belongings were strewn about the room. Even your underwear was being manhandled in search of any hidden poisons. An embarrassed flush darkened your cheeks when a pair of boxers were unceremoniously tossed over a guard's shoulder into a pile with your other clothes.

“Any weapons, medicus?” One guard asked with a single stern eyebrow arched.

You cast an awkward glance at Marianus. Lying to him was one thing, lying to the emperor’s personal guard was another. “Yes. In the small right pocket there are weapons of self-defense. Be careful. One causes temporary blindness and the other debilitating pain. None are fatal, however.”

The hair on the back of your neck stood up under Marianus’ scathing glare. With an apologetic smile, you gave him a small shrug, only for his frown to deepen.

“You lied to me,” Was all he said, and you grimaced. He didn’t sound pleased at all, however, that was a conversation for another time. For now, you turned your attention back on the brutal search through your dufflebag as you fought the urge to reach out everytime a guard handled one of your belongings.

The praetorian eyed your pepper spray and your taser with curiosity. When he pressed the button on the side of the taser electricity crackled loudly, causing him to drop the device in surprise. It clattered to the ground, but thankfully didn’t break. More cautious now, he looked like he wanted to ask what that was before seemingly thinking better of it as he picked up the taser between his thumb and forefinger. He held it far from his body and dropped it on the pile of confiscated materials. At the top of that pile was your beloved ibuprofen. It didn’t bother you too much, all you had to do was prove it wasn't poison by taking one yourself, like with Marianus. For now, you focused on getting your hands on the few medical supplies you had so you could properly do your checkup.

“I require a few items for my inspection of the emperors’ health,” You managed to say.

The head praetorian turned sharply on his heel, his hands tucked behind his back. “And that would be?”

“That—” You pointed to the sphygmomanometer “— And those.” Then, you pointed to the stethoscope and the Taylor's hammer. When an item you had completely forgotten you packed caught your eye, you let out a delighted gasp. There, next to the small flashlight — the next item you were going to ask for — was an old-school mercury thermometer. “Those as well!”

His mistrust was palpable. Still, he handed you each item, filling your arms with the delicate supplies. While it was difficult to juggle it all, you managed, teetering slightly on your feet as the weight of it all changed your center of gravity. You gave the head praetorian a small nod, then one of farewell to Aelius, who looked nervous, and the still fuming Marianus. Before you could enter the room the emperors awaited you in, the head praetorian leaned down, his breath hot against the side of your face.

“Me and five other men will be in this room on the Caesarēs orders. Try anything, and you will be dead before you can beg for mercy.”

“I— I understand,” You managed, your knees locking for a moment in your fear.

You could count on one hand the amount of times you had been threatened in your entire life. A majority of those have happened in this damnable dream.

After a deep, steadying breath, you managed to take the first steps into what appeared to be an ornate clinic. Intricate murals lined two walls and the ceilings, each one featuring the Roman god of medicine, Asclepius. Vivid shades of blues and golds decorated each one, specifically the one on the ceiling, depicting Asclepius descending from the clouds to care for the sick and injured. You couldn’t keep the awe off your face, your neck craned upwards in order to take in as much of the mural as you could.

A harsh snap of Geta’s fingers drew your attention. He stood next to the bored Caracalla, who was busy leaning against the wall. Geta’s irritation was palpable. “Cease your staring and begin your examination. We do not have all night.”

“Right, my apologies.” You trotted over to the emperors, careful to keep any of your supplies from toppling over. Once you reached the desk they were standing near, you dumped the load in your arms onto the wooden surface. Without looking at either of them, you began to sort through what you had, placing them in the order that you would use, from the first, to the last.

Caracalla was intrigued for only a second before he turned his attention elsewhere, but Geta studied what you had brought with a critical eye. Specifically, the sphygmomanometer and the stethoscope.

“What is all of this?”

You hummed and picked up what appeared to be a small wooden book. When you flipped it open, you realized it was a blank wax tablet for you to write in. That was good, that meant you didn’t have to brave Geta’s ire by requesting one. “My medical supplies. Before I do anything, I will tell both you and your brother what it does, and I will only continue onwards with your permission. That said—” Finally, you turned your gaze to both men “— I ask that you both cooperate to the best of your ability.”

Caracalla snickered meanly. “You have no right to ask anything of your emperors, Alga.”

The sound of your new nickname made your blink, but you took it, mostly, in stride. “I apologize, I only wish to help you.”

To your right, Geta let out a disbelieving snort. “If we demand you stop, you will stop, medicus. If you do not, I will make sure you never practice your craft again.”

Another threat. Your throat bobbed and your palms felt damp. While you didn’t appreciate it, you also knew you had no power here. All you could do was take it and pray that any minute signs of your irritation were taken as amusing rather than anything else.

“I understand.” It was all you could manage. After you wiped your sweaty hands on your borrowed tunic, you felt a bit steadier. Your tools were all spread out, in perfect order, and though you were somewhere wholly unfamiliar, all clinics were the same. This was a simple checkup. You wouldn’t be able to do all the tests you wanted to do, but you could manage the basics. “Who first, Caesarēs?”

Caracalla moved to step forward, only to be cut off by Geta. “I will go first, medicus.”

There was a suspicious glint in his dark eyes. You recognized just how little he trusted you. He would rather brave your routine examination first, perhaps in case you were to try anything, he would be the one to take the brunt of it rather than Caracalla. It would be admirable if it wasn’t so annoying.

“First of all, I will need to record your height and weight.” Curious, you gazed around the room. A few feet from the desk was an examination table made of marble, but nothing you recognized as a scale. You hummed and scratched at the side of your face as you spun in place.

Geta let out a scoff. “We already know our height and weight from our last physician.”

“How long ago was that?” While you would prefer to take the measurements yourself, until you figured out how to use the Ancient Roman equipment at your disposal, it would have to wait. However, Geta’s answer was your deciding factor on whether you were going to humiliate yourself by fumbling with one of the strange devices in the clinic, or if you would take the last physician’s word for it.

“Two weeks ago,” He answered.

You swallowed a sigh of relief. That was recent enough for you to copy those answers. For now. Picking up your wax tablet and your stylus, you were prepared to begin writing your notes. “Please tell me the information, Caesar.”

“I am two hundred and nineteen librae in weight and six and two twelfth pedes in height.” Upon hearing the anachronistic and unfamiliar measurements, you couldn’t keep the horror from your face. Geta was too busy trying to recall the information you requested to notice the split second expression, but Caracalla saw. His grin sharpened into something wolfish. “My brother is two hundred and twenty nine librae in weight and five and three fourths pedes in height.”

“Brother,” Caracalla said, his blue eyes boring into you. “I don’t think our medicus knows what you’re talking about.”

You were quick to respond, scrawling the emperors’ measurements onto the wax tablet in english. It was awkward using one for the first time, and you took care to write small so you didn’t run out of space. “I— I can convert to measurements I am more familiar with later. This will do.”

“I should hope so, medicus. No self respecting Roman would ever stoop so low to use a barbarian’s methods,” Geta snapped. “Learn the Roman way or none at all.”

Instead of responding, or even acknowledging the pleased glimmer in Caracalla’s eyes seeing you so cowed, you gestured to the examination table. “Please sit, Caesar.”

With a harsh mutter — something about your stupidity — Geta did as he was told, leaving Caracalla to meander on his own. He was growing bored, something that did not bode well for your medical supplies as he approached your perfectly curated hoard with an air of curiosity.

“Emperor Caracalla.” Careful not to touch him, your hand hovered behind his back in an effort to guide him away from your tools. Ones you couldn’t afford to replace considering where you were. “Surely, you must be hungry, and I am sure your brother is as well. Perhaps you could think of a snack to eat that someone can fetch for you.”

He blinked at you, his interest in your supplies momentarily forgotten. “Yes. Yes! Figs and wine.” He marched towards the door leading into the hall, poking his head out to bark, “You there! Bring me figs and wine!”

Now that Caracalla was sufficiently distracted — he had thrown himself on a nearby lectus, his leg jiggling excitedly as he waited for his snacks — you were able to focus on Geta. For a moment, you could have sworn he looked almost impressed, albeit disappointed that none of your belongings were broken, though it was gone too fast for you to be sure. He was reclining on the table rather than sitting on the edge of it, bordering on the ‘paint me like one of your French girls’ pose. Rich Romans seemed to have a great love for lounging.

“Sit on the edge, please,” You gently asked. A part of you worried he would react to even a small request explosively.

To your surprise, Geta merely sighed and obliged, albeit with the grace of a spoiled child. You grabbed your stethoscope and draped it around the back of your neck. It was easier to breathe now that you were going through the motions, though you doubted you would ever be fully relaxed in the presence of these men. Both of their eyes were on you, Geta’s almost wary, his eyes fixated on your stethoscope, while you only knew Caracalla was watching you because of the sense of dread creeping up your spine.

“Please remove the top half of your tunic, Caesar.”

Again, Geta complied despite acting like it was a monumental task you assigned him. With a grace that wasn’t usually prescribed to this particular motion, he slipped his arms through the collar of his ornate tunic and let it puddle at his waist.

Now that his top half was bare, you could take his heart rate unobstructed. Following that, you would listen to his lungs as he breathed, if only to cover all your bases. After sticking the earpieces in, you hovered the circular chest piece by his breast. “I will listen to your heart now. Count to ten and tell me once you have finished.”

You waited for him to nod before you began. Geta tensed when you pressed the end of the stethoscope to his skin and didn’t relax until you removed it, almost as if he were expecting it to hurt.

“Well, your resting heart rate is rather high.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “Either that is an issue we must work on or I make you nervous.”

Geta scoffed. “A man such as yourself could never make me nervous, not when I have a dozen of the praetorian guard waiting for my word to remove your head.”

Threat number three. Your smile fell and your eyebrow twitched. To hide your annoyance, you turned away to write the information regarding Geta’s heart rate on the wax tablet. When you faced him again, he was about to put his tunic back on.

“Not yet, Caesar. I must listen to your lungs.”

Geta glared and huffed, but, thankfully, listened. You wondered if it was only your status as a medicus that made him so pliant.

The rest of the exam went off without a hitch. Sort of. When you took his blood pressure with the sphygmomanometer, even with a warning that the cuff would be uncomfortable, he very nearly shrieked as it began to tighten around his upper arm. It took a lot of frantic explaining to Geta, a handful of praetorians, and a confused Caracalla what the device was meant to do. Geta only calmed when you promised to skip that part of Caracalla’s exam, only to be met with said man’s protests. Contrary to what Geta wanted — maybe because it was contrary to what Geta wanted — Caracalla insisted you take his blood pressure as well.

“I am not as easily frightened as my brother, Alga. I want to know just how tight you can make it,” He had said, leaving you both confused and bewildered by his interest.

After jotting down that, like his heart rate, Geta’s blood pressure was sky high — you would have to convince him to relax more, you wrote — using your flashlight to examine his ears and throat was met with shock. (“What kind of strange torch is that?” Caracalla had asked.) Again, after some minor explaining, you allowed Caracalla, who had grown tired of his figs and finished his wine, to play with it. Not that you wanted him to, but he had commanded that you let him. So, unfortunately, that left you with little choice.

Save for a canker sore on the inside of his cheek and his stress levels, Geta was perfectly healthy. At least from your cursory examination.

“Rinse your mouth with a mixture of salt dissolved in boiled water for the next few days. The sore will go away faster,” You informed Geta, your nose in the wax tablet as you reviewed your observations.

“And my humors?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

Ever since you were young, you were rather poor at hiding your emotions. Everything you felt would show clearly on your face, whether it be elation, or misery, or complete and utter frustration. A good example would be right now, when you froze like a deer in headlights at the mention of his humors. You had completely forgotten that the four humors were a widespread belief in both Rome and Greece when it came to medicine, and while you knew it was a bunch of nonsense, you also knew you would sound like an absolute quack if you said so. Especially to Geta and Caracalla, who held not only your life, but Aelius’ and Marianus’, in the palm of their hand. You had to be useful, you had to be smart, and most of all, you had to play along. When you looked up, you had to swallow your sigh of relief. Neither emperor noticed the mental hurdles you had jumped through considering that Caracalla was busy shining the flashlight in a very annoyed Geta’s eyes.

“Balanced, for the most part, Caesar,” You said after a moment. “I’m worried about your stress levels, I will work out a regimen for you to follow that will allow for more relaxation tonight.”

Geta jumped off the examination table to wrench the flashlight from Caracalla’s hands. Without looking at you, he held it out in your direction for you to take, muttering harshly to his brother low enough for you to not hear. Caracalla responded to whatever was said by setting his jaw and glaring up at his brother, fists clenched tight by his sides.

Awkward, you sidled close enough to Geta to pluck the flashlight from his fingers without touching him and set it with the rest of your supplies. The last thing you wanted to do was get in the middle of one of their fights. However, as the sun had set, you realized you didn’t have time to wait until it was over. Cursing your lack of self preservation, you cleared your throat.

“Emperor Caracalla, it is your turn.”

Caracalla whirled to face you, lips pulled back in a snarl. “Either he is gone or you are gone, I do not care which!”

Somehow, you managed to remain calm. “I would prefer not to leave, Caesar, although I can reschedule your physical examination for another day.”

“And waste away in here any longer than I already have?” Caracalla raged. His face was red, even under the layers of makeup he wore. “Get on with this nonsense, medicus! I am tired of waiting!”

“Please sit on the examination table and remove the top half of your tunic.”

Caracalla began to obey, far more willing than his brother, if only to spite him. Before he got far, Geta stopped him, his hand like a vice around his upper arm.

“… Can you not see I am trying to protect you?” Geta hissed, his voice loud enough for you to hear. You pretended as if you didn’t, your gaze fixated on a mural.

Caracalla looked offended, his hooked nose wrinkled. “What damage do you think that medicus could do to me?” Lower now, his words a harsh rasp. “Besides, what do you know about protecting?”

Whatever that meant, you knew a low blow when you saw it. Geta jerked back as if had been struck, his expression twisted into a sneer, while Caracalla merely seemed pleased that his insult landed. Without another word, Geta stormed out of the clinic, two praetorians hot on his heels from the adjourning room when they saw him pass, leaving you alone with his brother.

“He always does this,” Caracalla complained as he hopped onto the examination table and slipped his arms out of his tunic. He was far less graceful than his brother, almost wrestling with the fabric to get free of it. Once his torso was bare, you recognized he was a fair bit pudgier around the middle than Geta was. “He always acts like he knows best, that his way is the right way, and I must defer to him. I am emperor as much as he is, he has no right!”

You should stay out of it, you told yourself. Unfortunately, your mouth was too fast for your brain. “He seems worried about you.”

Caracalla tilted his chin to look down his nose at you, eyes narrowed into angry slits. “I did not ask for your opinion, Alga. Remember your tongue and you may keep it.”

It didn’t take much for you to keep quiet after threat number four. For some reason, it felt much more real coming from Caracalla rather than Geta. Probably because of Aelius’ warnings from the night before that Caracalla found a sadistic pleasure in causing harm to others. Even if they were rumors, it was still a good idea to give them the weight they deserved, especially when you were at the subject’s mercy.

Caracalla’s physical exam went similarly to Geta’s. Except, instead of yelling when the sphygmomanometer tightened around his arm, Caracalla let out a delighted giggle, the only sign of his improving temper. He had even asked if it could go tighter, to which you lied and told him no. His irritated disappointment confused you immensely.

He was mostly silent during the ordeal, yawning every so often as he flopped in the various positions you requested. It was obvious he was bored, and his frustration with Geta mingled with annoyance for how long you were taking, which seemed like a deadly combination. Still, he was your patient and you intended to be thorough. There was no point in giving him half-assed care simply because of your own anxiety. So long as you didn’t harm either emperor, Aelius and Marianus would be safe. Since it was your own life on the line as you studied Caracalla, you decided that doing your job correctly was worth more than anything else.

Unlike Geta, while his heart rate and blood pressure were within normal ranges, his lymph nodes were swollen and there was obvious mucus in his lungs. You could hear the rattle in each breath when you pressed your stethoscope to his diaphragm. Along with that, he had a minor fever, still under hundred degrees fahrenheit, but enough to make you tut under your breath.

“You’re sick,” You said bluntly as you began to gather your supplies in a neat pile. One of the praetorians had given you back your duffle bag some time ago, the items they deemed safe for you to keep stuffed haphazardly inside. Later tonight, while you were working on a regimen for Geta and Caracalla, you would organize it a bit more.

Caracalla’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “And if I am?”

“That means you will need different treatments than your brother.” With a small hum, you examined his irritated fidgeting. He seemed desperate to be anywhere but here. So bored, he could die. “Tomorrow, I will need you to list out your symptoms. It seems minor…” More to yourself, you mumbled, “Perhaps allergies.”

At the knowledge he would have to come back tomorrow, Caracalla slumped further on the examination table. You couldn’t help the small upwards quirk of your lips.

“It will be faster than today, no more than a quick conversation,” You assured him.

Caracalla turned his eyes on you, an edge of warning in his tone. “Do not lie to me, medicus. I don’t tolerate liars.”

You swallowed hard, shuffling in place. “It is no lie.”

“Tomorrow then,” Caracalla said, almost in a miserable whine. His mood seemed to flip on a dime, which would be amusing if it wasn’t so nerve wracking. After a moment, he grumbled, “I assume you will be telling my brother that I am ill?”

You looked up from your wax tablet with a confused noise rumbling in the back of your throat. “No. Why would you think I would?”

“The other physicians told Geta everything. It nearly drove me mad!”

You blinked. The Hippocratic Oath existed at this point in time, you knew that. What you didn’t understand was why the emperor’s former physicians so crudely spit in the face of one of the most important tenants. Well, at least to you it was. Thinking about it, the only threat that would make you tell anyone confidential information about one of your patients would be to someone else’s life.

You managed to crack what was intended to be a reassuring smile. “What I learn about you and what you tell me within this clinic, I will share with no one, not even your brother.”

Caracalla narrowed his eyes. “I want you to swear on your life.”

A rhyme from your childhood was the first thing that came to mind. You weren’t sure if it would translate well to Latin, but perhaps the morbidity of it would get him to laugh. “Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

After what felt like centuries of anger and boredom, Caracalla laughed, though it wasn’t more than a shrill snort. It wasn’t a friendly sound either, far more at your expense than you would like. However, beggars couldn’t be choosers. At least he wasn’t glaring at you anymore. “A needle in your eye, medicus? Now that would be a sight.”

“I do not think I would be seeing very much if I were to break that promise.”

Caracalla laughed again, a high-pitched bark, as he hopped down from the examination table and started out of the room. Halfway there, he realized his torso was still exposed and he, once again, struggled to get his arms through the sleeves of his tunic. “No, you would not, Alga.” Another giggle bubbled from between his lips. “I would stick the needle in both your eyes myself.”

A shiver shot up your spine at the thought. Despite that, you tried to smile at him. “See you tomorrow, Caesar.”

Before he turned into the hall, the rest of the praetorian starting behind him, he gave you a dismissive wave. “Perhaps!”

With that, he was gone, leaving you alone with his half-eaten figs, empty cup of wine, and some measurements to convert.

God… When would this dream end?

A/N: This one was shorter than usual, but if I went in depth in the checkups, we would be here all damn day. I pray Geta and Caracalla are in character, I’m having trouble with Caracalla’s dialogue in particular. Lays down on the floor. Plus, Caracalla not having syphilis in this fic and actually being lucid is weird to write. I constantly feel like he’s too… something??? I dunno. Mannnnn. It feels weird having them listen to someone they very obviously think little of, but you are a physician, which results in some modicum of respect. Enough for them to follow simple instructions in the clinic. Emphasis on in the clinic.

Also if my conversions of pounds to librae and feet to pedes is wrong, I’m sorry 😭😭😭 I’m so bad at math!!! I was fighting for my LIFE trying to convert.

Anyway, I sure hope that promise doesnt cause any issues. I’m sure Geta will take being denied access to his brother’s health with grace and decorum. He definitely won’t start tweaking the fuck out.

As usual, thank you for reading!! Feedback would be much appreciated <33 Hugs you, bye!

Taglist: @snazzynacho @t6gse370

#emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader #gladiator x reader #gladiator ii x reader #emperor geta #emperor caracalla

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