#boxes in the corner of the living room full of comic issues they Certainly did not get for free

[chompe-diem]

ok i've listened to the latest ep now and u cannot tell me albin and sol are not qpr. sorry but they are bonded 4 lyfe like that. we already knew this but now it's finally canon. Do Not Ask Caldwell Or Murph but it's canon. i'm not crazy-

[scribeofmorpheus]

Chasing Tornadoes {2/6}

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Series Warnings: poorly written medical procedural, mild delving into spirituality, language, overbearing egos, graphic descriptions of medical procedures. more warnings to be added. 18+ Generally, like my blog.

A/N: mention of/scenario depicting an anti-vaxxer situation.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3

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~

“Read ‘em and weep,” Marcy smacked her winning cards on the food tray for you to see. “Go fish!”

“Again?” you scrunched your nose as you gathered the cards on the tray and placed them onto the deck. “You sure you aren’t cheating?”

Marcy flashed her pearly whites at you through steady breaths. She was certainly enjoying the win, “Years of practice.”

She looked better today, less pasty, just as pale, but better. It was comforting to see her smile.

“One more game?” She asked with keen interest. You could tell she hoped you’d say yes.

“I already broke the rules smuggling this contraband for you,” you shook the cards then sighed, disappointed in the fact you had to let her down, “Besides, you have to rest, little missy.” You put the deck of cards in its box and then sealed it inside a ziplock bag.

“Rest is boring,” she huffed. “It’s all I do anyway.”

After stashing the cards in your lab coat, you tucked the blanket around her, “Well you need to keep up your strength for the transplant.”

An announcement sounded off from the PA speakers outside the room: “Mike Weschler to Observation Three. Mike Weschler to Observation Three.”

As if summoned by the devil, Mike knocked on the door to Marcy’s room. He nudged his head for you to go out, undoubtedly in too much of a rush to go through decontamination.

You held up a finger and mouthed: “One minute.”

Mike tapped his wrist like his watch was on.

You turned your attention back to Marcy, “I’ve gotta get back out there, but if you need anything...”

Marcy breathed shallow, turning on her side to stare at the wall, “I know.”

Quietly, you walked away, feeling there was nothing more you could say. You tapped the sanitiser dispenser and worked the clear gel all over your hands once you left the sealed room.

Mike shoved his hands in his white coat, “You got a sec?”

“Hey to you too,” you folded your arms. “What is it?”

“Kids,” Mike’s eyes went large as if he’d seen a ghost, a comical shudder followed suit.

You rolled your eyes, “Lead the way.”

 The hospital was calmer the day after the tornado struck. Still buzzing with adrenaline-fuelled fellows and tired residents, only now there were more white coats around. More senior staff relieved the stressful work load. Their presence had helped ease the minds of the younger staff members, allowing them more moments to sneak up to the roof for a smoke or time to themselves.

Even though the rooms were as full as the day the tornado struck, the brunt of the more serious cases were moved to the hospital in the town over.

Mike’s hair was dishevelled, a sign of poor sleep.

“Here we are,” he opened the door to Observation Three and waited for you to enter first before grabbing a clipboard.

There was a family of four all huddled together. Of the two children, the oldest –a teenager by the looks of it– was hunching over the edge of the examination bed. The mother was busying herself by wiping down every surface with disinfectant wipes. The father was less on edge.

“Hello, I’m Dr Mike Weschler, this here is my colleague,” Mike droned with no emotion in his voice. He flipped through the clipboard quickly before clearing his throat, not bothering to look up. “Persistent headache,” he mumbled to himself. Then he grabbed his pen and started filling in the form, “Any other symptoms?”

The father leaned closer, as if his voice would take less time to reach Mike if he closed in their distance. “He’s had a fever, and yesterday he threw up twice.”

“Did you try Paracetamol or Ibuprofen for the fever?” Mike said.

The mother eyed him coldly, “We gave him cold medicine, didn’t work. That’s why we’re here.”

Mike scratched his nose, picking up on the mother’s condescending tone. The nib of his pen pressing into the paper harder. The scratching noise of his writing more pronounced.

“What’s our patient’s name?” You interjected as you looked over the teenager’s features and instantly noticed the redness around his eyes, pale skin and shiny forehead. Though that last observation could simply be a dermatological issue like oily skin.

The teenager stayed silent, waiting for one of his parent’s to answer.

“His name’s Noah,” the mother said, a seriousness to her demeanour. From her attire, you assumed she’d be an academic or a teacher.

“Hello, Noah. I’m Dr Y/N. Do you mind if I take a look?”

He shook his head.

An introvert, you thought. You could relate.

You felt under his jaw for any swelling. Then you tilted his head side to side. He winced.

“Stiff?” You asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” He answered.

“Anyone you know exhibiting similar symptoms –maybe from school or around–?” Mike asked the room.

“Not that we know of,” the mother replied.

Mike inhaled, “Go anywhere outside your usual routine?”

The mother spoke more sharply, “No.”

You fished out your otoscope and looked into his ears. You sighed in thought. “We’re going to have to run bloodwork, check for cultures.”

The father stammered, “Y-you don’t think it’s…meningitis do you?”

Mike answered matter-of-factly, “Fever, headache and neck stiffness. It is a possibility.”

You put on your soft, calming voice, “But, it could also be a common cold. We’ll know more once the tests come back.”

The mother shuffled on her feet, nose high in the air, “And how long do we have to wait?” She wasn’t comfortable in the hospital.

Mike held the clipboard behind his back and plastered on a straight-lined smile, “I’ll get right on it.”

“Excuse us,” you dragged Mike out of the room by his lanyard, discretely. When you were both out of earshot you gave him a tongue lashing. “Show a bit more empathy, Mike. Those parents are probably worried sick.”

“It’s always the parents,” Mike scoffed. “Ironically, when I told my dad I was going into medicine, he suggested paediatrics,” He worked his jaw till it turned red.

Suddenly, Stephen appeared from behind a corner, hands in his pockets, seemingly with nothing to do. He picked up his pace when he saw you.

The clipboard was snatched out of Mike’s hands. Stephen read over the notes and asked: “Have you ordered a blood workup?”

Mike sighed, “It’s on my to-do list.”

“Must be a long list,” Stephen condescended.

“Longer than yours, by the looks of it,” Mike send behind clenched teeth.

Stephen rose a brow and tilted his head to the side. He handed the clipboard back.

The air between then was as prickly as the first time they’d met. Mike was trying his hardest to keep things civil between them. Stephen liked pushing that particular envelope. You imagined it gave him something to occupy his time. Being referee was going to grow old very quick. You could feel it.

Thankfully, Arlene jogged up to just in time to shift the mood. She handed you a tablet, “Hey…Uh, Dr Weisz put me in charge of doing the drive roster. I need at least two senior medical staff to supervise. I asked Dr Sanje and Dr Cho, but they’re swamped.”

 Mike groaned, “Nope, I’ve had enough of kids for today.” He walked away.

“Mike, where are you going?” You called after him

He raised the clipboard in the air, “To exercise my empathetic muscles.”

“Drive?” Stephen looked over at Arlene, his height and hooded gaze made her wring her wrists anxiously.

Her voice went several octaves softer, “F-flu sh-shots. The hospital sends out a van to the school district each season.”

“Wow, you really do that?” Stephen sounded surprised. “And you guys sign up for this?”

You signed two names on the roster, “You’re not at Met Gen anymore, Stephen. We do things differently here.”

Arlene accepted the tablet with a nod and hurried on her way. You turned to Stephen and asked: “Do you have any patients?”

“Not many in need of brain surgery here,” he sounded almost wistful.

“Good,” you smirked. A mischievous twinkle in your eye. “How are you with kids?”

You started heading down the hallway.

“Terrible,” Stephen followed, looking particularly perplexed by the question. “Why?”

You held back your need to laugh.

 “So this is why you asked,” Stephen folded his hands over his chest, looking down at you as though you were the devil himself. He wasn’t at all thrilled about the fact you had dragged him away from the hospital to give out flu shots at a school.

“The alternative would’ve been babysitting,” you poked fun at him. “And my Spike has a tendency to bite strange men.”

“You have a kid?” Stephen was taken aback.

You bit back a laugh, letting Stephen do a little mental gymnastics as you walked away.

He was ridged and out of his element around the kids. It was the first time his larger than life personality seemed grounded, awkward. You loved every moment of it.

“This is a seasonal occurrence?” Stephen asked with a hint of exasperation in his tone.

The two of you were seated on a bench in the cafeteria while you waited for the other Fellows and Interns to clear up the equipment. A small juice box was held between Stephen’s palms. His long fingers appeared cartoonishly large holding the small juice box.

“What Met Gen never ask you to give out shots?” you asked rhetorically.

His brow had been furrowed the entire time, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” You popped the lid off your yoghurt drink.

“Work here. Live here,” He shook his head, confounded by it all. “All those years of medical training to wind up here? In a town that’s so…predictable?”

You let out a slow breath, feeling somewhat insulted. “I used to work in the city. I was raised in the city, actually.”

“And you left, willingly?” Stephen guffawed.

“When I first got here, Dr Weisz said that this wasn’t a place for those who wanted to make a name for themselves –to spread their wings. She told me this is where we perch,” you took a long gulp of your drink.

Stephen ruffled his professionally styled hair, “And what’s that supposed to mean? That this is where your career comes to die?”

“That this isn’t a place that puts ambition before practice. Not everyone in this field is in it for the fame.” Your words came off accusatory.  

Stephen picked up on the fact he had offended you. You closed the lid on your drink a little too tight. The ridges of the cap burning your palm. Stephen didn’t apologise, he just looked elsewhere as if pondering life’s mysteries. That annoyed you even further.

What did Christine see in him? You wondered.

“Help!” A teacher burst into the cafeteria in a panic, arm pointing behind her. “Earl–one of our staff members–he just collapsed!”

You and Stephen shot up, taking an emergency kit with you.

 The man, Earl, was lying on the ground, unresponsive.

“Any medical history we should be aware of?” you asked the woman who led you to Earl.

“I- N-n… I don’t…” She shook.

Stephen got to him before you did. He checked his respiratory rate and pulse like it was second nature, counting the beats with the ticking of the second’s hand on his expensive watch.

“Unresponsive,” Stephen said. “Get the tube, I’ll begin chest compressions.”

You looked over at the unresponsive man, methodically weighing the options. The amount of time it would take you to unpack the tube, get it into his airways, attach the pump and begin to force air into his airways… You didn’t linger on it, it was best to get him breathing now.

Without warning, you leaned over, pinched the man’s nose and began mouth to mouth.

Stephen lost his cool, “What are you--?”

“Begin chest compressions,” you ordered, ignoring Stephen’s glare.

The two of you worked together, no need for extra words. In tandem, you were like a muscle unit. When you contracted he relaxed. And vice versa.

Finally, after more compressions than you would’ve liked to wait through, Earl coughed and groaned to consciousness.

“Wha- happ’n’d?” Earl slurred his words.

“Welcome back,” you flopped back onto the floor, wiping sweat from your brow. “Come on, buddy. You’re coming with us to get a check-up.”

The grey haired man gave no fuss, he got up on wobbly feet, aided by Stephen and said: “Yes, ma’am.”

 A beeping sound went off as you helped Earl into the back of an ambulance. Stephen had been uncharacteristically quiet since the whole thing went down. You chalked it up to wounded pride.

The car ride had been uncomfortable. Neither of you said a word to one another. Even if it was wounded pride, he was blowing things way out of proportion.

You wheeled Earl into the hospital with the help of the paramedics, “Sixty-five-year-old male, collapsed from unknown reasons. Slurred speech and incoherence. Had to perform CPR on sight.”

“Earl?” Jan recognised the man.

You walked over to her desk, “Know him?”

“Yeah, my son’s history teacher. Think he has a heart problem,” Jan said.

“Possible heart failure!” You shouted after the residents. One of them nodded in response.

“Why’s he so sour?” Jan looked over at Stephen.

“That’s what I wanna know,” you huffed. 

You pulled Stephen aside.

“What’s the matter with you?” you whispered.

He flexed his jaw muscles, eyes growing smaller and he leaned down to speak in a careful tone, “I specifically told you to use the tube.”

“It would have taken too long,” you protested.

“Do you know why I specifically asked you to use the tube?”

You bit your lip, “No, why?”

“Because of Mike’s patient. He’s a teenage kid exhibiting symptoms of either bacterial or viral infection, possibly contagious. There’s a high chance he goes to that school. You could have exposed yourself to a contagion,” he made sure to stress his words so they fell like bricks rather than cards. “But then again, what do I know, since I’m just in it for the fame. Right?”

He was right. Damn him, but he was right. You had thought only of the patient, not the environment.

You couldn’t find anything else to say. Stephen pinched his nose bridge and strode away. The temple on his forehead was throbbing.

And then the second wave hit as soon as you walked into the main wing.

“Do you know how irresponsible this is? It’s not just your kids that are put at risk by this,” Mike held his hands on his hips, stance wide. He was in a heated conversation with the parents from earlier. Noah’s parents.

Stephen caught wind of the commotion and butted in, “What’s the issue?–Observation Three, isn’t it?–I’m guessing you got the tests back?”

“Sure did,” Mike sucked in air through his teeth and handed the chart to Stephen.

“Type B…” Stephen sounded worried. “Why wasn’t he immunised?”

“They chose not to,” Mike waved his hand at the parents.

You were about to play referee again, only this time it seemed Stephen and Mike were both on the same offensive team while the parents held their defensive position.

Stephen straightened his back and somehow he appeared taller, intimidating. His professional face was on, and he instantly began barking orders, “Mike, there’s a patient we just brought in, elderly man, mid 60’s, possible heart condition. Make sure they run a blood screen on him too in case this isn’t an isolated incident. Has the CDC been informed?”

“Dr Weisz is making that call now,” Mike sounded defeated.

“Make sure the kid gets a chest x-ray and do cultures for the parents and younger sibling too. Oh, and inform the school,” Stephen grabbed your elbow and led you away from the crowd. “You’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

“An isolation unite. Noah tested positive for Influenza B.”

You swallowed.

 The testing took a few hours and four Sudoku games before your results came back. Stephen walked into your isolated unit without taking the necessary precautions.

It was good news then.

You sighed in relief.

Stephen hadn’t cooled off yet.

“Lab work came back negative,” Stephen kept both hands in his pockets. “Turns out Earl had a pacemaker installed a year ago. It’s been giving him some trouble for a while. He didn’t come in due to insurance issues.”

“And Noah?” you asked.

“Antibiotics seem to be working. Caught it early enough. He’ll be fine. School only had one other case to report.”¨

There was a beat of silence. Then you decided to bite the bullet, guilt gnawing at your gut.

“Listen, Strange, I wanted to app—”

“You should get some rest,” Stephen cut you short.

You weren’t going to leave until you said your piece. Otherwise you’d toss and turn all night, “But first let me—”

He was avoiding your gaze, “I should go and check on Earl.”

“Stephen!”

He stopped.

You realised, just then, that that was the first time you’d called him by his first name. It felt…personal. No longer simply professional.

He turned to look at you, slowly.

“I—I’m sorr—”

“I was wrong,” he said suddenly. “This town. It’s not as predictable as I thought. It appears there are still some things that can surprise me.”

Did Strange –Stephen! – Just admit he was wrong?

You were stunned, pleasantly so.

Before you could think to say something else, he was gone.

 To be continued...