#didn't do money work and stared at the fic doc and also didn't get anything done there LOL

[possamble]

Girl help me I fell in love with a fanfic from someone fully employed and the chapters are too long betwix

Man me too wtf 🥲

[middleearthpixie]

Better Days ~ Chapter Eighteen

Dunraven Pub Series- Modern AU

A/N: It's been a long time since I last updated this - I hope some people still remember it... Anyway, school is winding down for the semester and so most of my fics should be updated on a more regular basis as a result. Thank you for your patience! 💜

Summary: Frerin Durin had the perfect life, until he found out his wife was cheating on him. Now, he’s navigating uncharted territory as an about-to-be divorced single dad. Dating is a mess, he’s dealing with the fallout where his kids are concerned, and really, he would just love a vacation away from all of it. 

Elena Madison is new to Sidleburg, and also navigating life as a newly single parent. The last thing she needed was for her daughter to come down sick, when she hasn’t even had time to unpack the moving boxes, never mind find a pediatrician. And the last thing she ever expected was to meet a man like Dr. Frerin Durin…

Neither Elena nor Frerin were looking for anything, but fate has a way of messing up even the best laid plans. However, both have been hurt and both aren't at all sure they trust themselves, never mind trusting someone else...

Pairings:  Modern!Frerin x ofc Elena Madison

Warnings: None

Rating: T 

Word Count: 4.5k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-mer-6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @buckybarnes-thorin @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep @court-jobi @masterofhounds @genius2050

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

Frerin groaned as he let his head thunk against his desk. “Again?”

“Sorry, Frerin, we’ve got three docs out with the flu.”

“Yeah, a likely story.” He picked his head up once more. “This is ridiculous, Jay, I spend more time in the ER than I do up here and I have to cancel plans with someone again.”

Jay Reese, Sidleburg’s chief of staff, nodded. “I know. I’m not happy about it, either, but we need docs down there.”

“I’m a pediatrician, Jay.”

“You still went to med school, didn't you? Look, it sucks and I know it sucks, but until the hiring freeze is lifted and we get actual warm bodies who know what they’re doing, we have to pick up the slack. I had plans, too, and I’ll be seeing patients down there as well.”

“Mine involved a gorgeous brunette I was planning to be naked with,” Frerin grumbled. “And now, I’ve got to cancel those plans—again, I’ll remind you—to work a double shift—again as well—in a department I’m only barely qualified to work in.”

“You’ve got an MD after your name. That’s more than barely qualified and kids come into the ER as well.”

“So, then let me get back to working on the pediatric ER. At least then it will make sense for me to be down there.”

Reese sighed, closing Frerin’s office door behind him. “Look, I’ll be honest with you, I don't see that getting off the ground any time soon. There just isn’t money in the budget for it. We’re trying to keep the doors open as it is and going to the board with an idea that will help the smallest of fractions of the population isn’t what they’re looking to okay right now.”

Frerin sat back in his chair, staring at Reese. “What if I can find the funds? I haven’t written a grant proposal since the dark ages, but I’ll do it if it means I have a decent reason to be down there. You should see the looks I get when a guy who comes in because he’s nearly taken a thumb off trying to change the cord on a weedwhacker realizes he’s got a pediatrician taking care of him. Unlike you, they don’t seem to realize I also went to med school.”

“They don't care what specialty you are, long as you’re a doc and you know it.” Reese skirted one of the two chars in front of Frerin’s desk to sink into it. “And honestly, you’re good down there, Frerin. Patients like you. The nurses like you. The students like you.”

“I’m not an ER doc and I have no desire to be one.”

“But you’re willing to open and run a pediatric ER.”

“That’s different. Look, Fritock is a jackass and I’m not answering to her. As long as I’m covering the ER, I don't have a choice. I run the pedes ER and I do have a choice. I’ll answer to you, but not her.”

“Yeah, no one likes her, but she’s competent and keeps that place running.” Reese rubbed his forehead and let out a low sigh. “So, can you cover Riley’s shift?”

“I don't have a choice, do I?”

“Sure you do. But say yes and I’ll see what else I can do about funding for the pedes ER.”

“That’s extortion, Jay.”

“I know. But we need you to cover the ER tonight. Your girlfriend just has to understand.”

“She already does, but damn… I was looking forward to tonight.”

“Just think of this as foreplay,” Reese said, rising from the chair. “The longer you make each other wait, the sweeter the payoff.”

“Get out of my office.”

“I owe you, you know.”

“Yes, you absolutely do!” 

Reese chuckled as he pulled the door closed behind him and Frerin swore softly beneath his breath as he overheard Reese flirting with Katie, as he did every time he came through the department.

“God damn it,” Frerin muttered, staring at his phone, lying face down on the corner of his desk blotter. The last thing he wanted to do was cancel on Elena again. 

With a low sigh, he reached for the phone and turned it over to toggle to his contacts, scrolling down until he reached her number, then tapped it. 

“Hey, I was just thinking about you.”

Elena’s purr sent a shiver along his spine even as his gut kinked. “What were you thinking, or do I not want to know?”

“Well, I was thinking about tonight. But,” a slight hesitation crept into her voice, “I have a bad feeling that tonight is in jeopardy.”

He leaned his head back, his eyes closing as he silently cursed out the irresponsible docs who thought nothing of calling out and left everyone else to pick up their slack for them. Christ, he was tired of it. “I’m sorry, honey, but—”

“You have to cover for someone in the ER again, don't you?”

Her voice was flat, which made his gut kink harder. Toni used to complain about the same thing. It was one of the constant sticking points in their relationship and the one that he couldn't fault her for having. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. But three docs called out and I’m here, so…”

“I understand,” she replied flatly. “Another time, then. It’ll keep.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do, but—”

“No, I get it, Frerin. You don't have to explain it.”

“I know you get it, and that’s what pisses me off,” he replied, drumming his fingertips against his desk. “Reese has me because he knows how important the pedes ER is to me and he uses it as leverage. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. But, I swear to you—”

“I know, and it’s okay. Like I said, it’ll keep for another time.”

“I’m sorry, Lena.”

“Don’t be. It comes with the territory.” She sighed softly. “Just give me a call when you do have a free day, I guess.”

His fingers went still. “Elena, you know I’d rather be seeing you tonight.”

“I know, but I also know that it’s silly to try to make any sort of plans because this seems to happen a lot. And I know it’s because you’re shorthanded and I know you don't have a lot of say in the matter, but it’s still aggravating as hell. So, before this devolves into a fight, just call me when you’re home and can actually get together, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll talk to you soon, then.”

“I hope so. Bye.”

She clicked off and he tossed his phone back onto the desk with a muttered, “Fuck,” and sank back in his chair again, staring up at the ceiling. 

“It’s always the same thing, Frerin! We make plans and you cancel because someone else decides they don't feel like coming in to work and I’m tired of it. Work always comes before me. Before me. Before the kids. Before everything. Always!”

Those words, or some variation of them, were all too familiar, as Toni lobbed them in his direction more than once. And there was definitely truth to them. He’d missed school plays, school field days, sporting events, dance or band recitals—you named it, he’d missed it because he’d gotten stuck at the hospital. 

 Toni begged him for years to go into private practice. He’d make twice the money and work half the hours. No weekends. No overnights. He’d have time for family. He’d have time for her.

Maybe if he had gone into private practice, neither one of them would have fucked around on the other one. Maybe if he made the change now, he could keep his relationship with Elena from falling apart. 

Maybe.

In his top desk drawer, he found the business card a colleague had given him last summer, at a conference on Maui. A private practice not far from Sidleburg had been looking for docs and maybe—just maybe—they still were.

He stretched for his phone again and dialed.

“Good morning, Hunterdon Pediatrics.”

“Good morning. Is Dr. Mendham in?”

“Oh, I’m afraid she’s out of the office today. Can I take a message or put you into her voicemail?”

“Voicemail, please.”

“One moment.”

He waited for the automated greeting to wind down, then said, “Hi, Emilia, it’s Frerin Durin over at Sidleburg Memorial. I was wondering if you were still in the market for another pediatrician. Just give me a call back at your earliest convenience and maybe we can work something out. My number is…”

Elena sighed as she stood in the doorway of her bedroom, scowling at the overnight bag sitting, all ready to go, on her bed. In it, were the makings of a romantic night that would hopefully knock Frerin’s socks off (along with whatever else he happened to be wearing at the time) as per the Book of Heather. Brand new lingerie that would be relegated to the back of her closet because somehow, she had the feeling she was not going to hear from Frerin any time soon.

Work. 

Work was always the excuse. Work was why Dan was always late or had to travel. Then she realized work meant fucking a coworker. 

But Frerin was different.

Wasn’t he?

She sighed, leaning her head against the doorjamb. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. She was just such a poor judge of character when it came to men. She saw what she wanted to see as opposed to who the guy in question actually was.

She wanted to see Frerin as a decent guy, interested in more than just getting off.

She wanted to see him as relationship material—faithful and upfront with her. And interested in more than just getting off.

But at the same time, he had a very convenient reason ready-made and always believable. And he was a guy, so maybe he wasn't interested in more than just getting off.

How depressing.

How infuriating.

Another sigh and she moved to swipe the bag up from her bed and all but threw it into the closet, then slammed the door. It made her feel better, but only for a minute. When the initial sense of satisfaction faded, she realized she felt rather empty. She’d been looking forward to seeing him again, especially to seeing if Heather’s prediction would come true. 

But it wasn't meant to be. 

****

The ER was a madhouse. For the better part of twelve hours, Frerin did nothing but run from one exam room to another. A three car pileup on Route Nine. A Christmas tree fire that brought a family of five in with various degrees of burns and smoke inhalation. Two emergency deliveries—one a C-section to boot—and seven merry makers not quite ready to let go of the season who  drank bad egg nog and were now currently hunched over emesis basins puking their guts out.

By seven o’clock, Frerin wasn’t certain he’d remember his own name if anyone asked. He sank onto the sofa in the doctor’s lounge, head back, a coffee mug in one hand, and as his eyes closed, he muttered, “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“Dr. Durin?”

“He’s not here.”

“You’re needed in Curtain Three.”

He lifted his head and opened his eyes to stare at Carol. “Are you kidding me? I just sat down. First time since four o’clock. Christmas is over, why are they all still coming through here full of egg nog and candy canes?”

“Because some people don’t want the season to end, Dr. Scrooge.” She moved to the counter where the Keurig was and opened the cabinet to take out a Krispy Kreme pod. “But, I promise you, this one isn’t throwing up. At least, not yet.”

He swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Is it at least someone under eighteen?”

She nodded. “Twelve year old. Possibly appendicitis. A real, live pedes case for you.”

“Wonderful.” He pushed up from the sofa with a crinkle of what had to be thirty year old naugahyde, and bowed his back with a low groan before setting his cup on the table. “Curtain Three?”

“Yeah. Holly is waiting for you.”

“Thanks.” He tugged open the lounge door and maneuvered his way through the sea of bodies toward Curtain Three. 

He paused outside the closed drapes that acted as privacy walls. “Jessica Mauro?”

“Come in.”

He stepped around the curtains to find a pale and tired-looking preteen girl in the narrow bed, and an equally tired looking older blonde woman sitting next to it. He looked over at Holly. “This my rule-out appy?”

Holly nodded. “She has lower right quadrant pain and a temp of one-oh-one. No vomiting but she’s tender to the touch.”

“Okay. Let’s take a look.” He took the chart and perused it briefly, then set it on the tray table. “Hi, Jessica. I’m Dr. Durin. You’re not feeling so well?”

She shook her head. “I feel like crap, to be honest.”

“Jessie!” 

“Sorry, Mom.” 

Frerin smiled, reaching for the box of gloves on the shelf near the bed. “It’s all right, Mrs….?”

“Mauro also.”

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve heard today, Mrs. Mauro. Tell me, when did the pain start?”

Jessica pursed her lips. “It’s been bugging me all day, but I thought it was just,” she case a side eye glance at her mother, “really bad cramps.”

A hint of color came to her cheeks as she said it and he moved closer to her bedside. “No worries. Do you mind if I take a look?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Good.” He tugged the hospital gown up and carefully pressed about the general area, freezing when she gasped and cried out at the same time. “Sorry about that, Jessica. There’s no other way to do that.”

“So, it’s her appendix?” Mrs. Mauro asked.

“It could be, but we need to rule out a few more things first.” He looked up at her. “Why don’t you go and get a cup of coffee while I chat with Jessica for a few minutes.”

Mrs. Mauro sat up straighter. “Is there something else it could be? Something I should worry about?”

“I didn't say that.” He glanced over at Holly. “Nurse DeLuca, could you show Mrs. Mauro where the coffee machine is?”

“Sure. Come with me, Mrs. Mauro. Dr. Durin only needs a few minutes.”

She looked over at her daughter, who said, “It’s okay, Mom. I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Five minutes, Mrs. Mauro,” he said, holding up one hand, fingers splayed out. 

He waited for Holly and Mrs. Mauro to leave, and then turned back to Jessica. “How old are you, Jessica?”

“Thirteen… well, I’ll be thirteen in two weeks.”

“My daughter’s thirteen. It can be a tough age.” He drew over the low stool and sank onto it. “So, you’re in sixth grade?”

“Seventh.”

“Seventh grade. I remember seventh grade.” He smiled. “Do you have a boyfriend, Jessica?”

She shrugged. “Kind of.”

“Kind of. Kind of how?”

“I don’t know. Just… kind of…” She twisted the blanket’s binding as she added, “Why?”

“Well, I just need a bit of history, to rule out anything else. And I can get another nurse to come in here if you’re uncomfortable with me. Or we can wait until your mom comes back, if you’d be more comfortable that way.”

“No, this is okay.”

“Good. I’m going to ask you a couple of questions that might be uncomfortable, but it’s really important that you’re honest with me, Jessica. Okay?”

 She nodded. “Okay.”

“When was your last period?”

“I told the nurse it was right around Thanksgiving.”

“Before or after?”

“Uh.. before, I think.”

“Okay, now when you say you have a boyfriend, are you doing anything with him?”

“Why?”

“Because there are certain conditions that present like appendicitis, but aren’t. And I need to rule them all out.” He pulled off his gloves to toss into the trash can. “So, are you doing anything with him?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Kissing or more?”

“More.”

He drew in a deep breath. “Are you and this boy having sex?”

She didn't answer at first, but a deep blush swept up along her cheekbones and she nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Are you using anything?”

“We used a condom.”

“Good. That’s good. Protect yourself. That’s the most important thing.”

“But it slipped off.”

“It slipped off?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. He said he found it, though. You cannot tell my mom any of this. She will absolutely kill me if she finds out.”

“I’m not going to tell your mother, Jessica. Not without your permission.”

“Wait, you mean, you aren’t going tell me that my mom won’t kill me? That I should tell her?”

“Well, in a perfect world, yeah, you should tell her. But it’s your decision, not mine. You know your mother.”

Her dark eyes narrowed slightly. “Do you think I should?”

“Well, let’s wait and see what the problem is first, okay?”

“What do you think it is?”

“I want to run a couple of tests and it won’t take long.” He looked up as Holly and Mrs. Mauro came back. “Ah, perfect timing. Holly,” he rose from the stool and moved over to her, “let’s get a CBC, and urine dip and check the icon.”

Mrs. Mauro looked from Holly to him. “What are those?”

“Routine bloodwork. I’ll need your consent for them, though.” He took the chart from the tray and held it out. 

“Is one of them a pregnancy test?”

“It’s routine, Mrs. Mauro. All female patients of child bearing age are tested.” He held out a pen as well. 

“Why would you test a twelve year old girl?”

“Because twelve year olds who have already gotten their periods can get pregnant.”

“But my daughter is not—”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Jessica broke in quietly, the blush gone from her cheeks. “Just sign it, okay?”

“Jessie…” Mrs. Mauro turned to her, her eyes wide. “Are you telling me…?”

“Just sign. Please?”

“Oh, shit…” Mrs. Mauro muttered even as she scrawled her signature across the sheet. “You’re only twelve, Jess…”

Frerin looked over at Holly, whose eyebrows rose as Jessica said, “We were bored.”

“Jess!”

Jessica must’ve decided her mother wouldn’t kill her after all. Biting back a smile, Frerin turned to Mrs. Mauro. “I’ll be back as soon as those test results come in, okay, Jessica? If you start to feel any worse, just let Nurse DeLuca know and she’ll come find me.”

“Okay.”

Holly followed him to the edge of the curtain. “What are you thinking?”

Peering in at Jessica, he said, “I want to rule out an ectopic, just to be safe. So, put a rush on the bloodwork.”

“I’ll see what I can do. The lab is just as shorthanded as we are.”

“Well, tell them this is a Code Red and needs to be done before anything else. Tell them it’s a kid if you have to.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.” 

They parted ways then and he wove his way back to the desk and the still-overflowing rack of charts. “Who’s next?”

Ashley looked up from the forms she thumbed through. “Take your pick, Dr. D. The waiting room is overflowing.”

“Any kids?”

She gave him a look. “I don’t memorize the charts. I just rack them.”

“Okay, okay. Yeesh…” He moved down to thumb through them. “Aha! Two year old with the croup. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in Exam One. I’m waiting on some lab results for Curtain Three, so can someone let me know the minute they land in my inbox?”

“I’m on it, Dr. D.”

“Thank you!”

“Dr. Durin? Lab results on your ectopic are in.”

Frerin looked up from the chart he was reviewing as Ashley held out the lab slip. “Thanks, Ashley.”

As he looked down, a heavy sigh came to his lips. Carol came around the corner of the desk. “Bad news?”

He looked up. “Twelve year old with an ectopic. Ashley, get OB on the phone for me?”

“Sure thing, Dr. D.” Ashely dialed the number and a moment later, held out the phone. “Dr. Miller’s covering.”

“Good.” He took the phone. “Randi, it’s Frerin Durin in the ER. I’ve got a twelve year old down here with an ectopic pregnancy that we need to take care of ASAP.”

“Damn, twelve…” Randi Miller let out a whistle. “Give me a few minutes to secure an OR and I’ll meet you up on Six once you get consent.”

“Great. I’ll have her there ASAP.”

“Sounds good.”

Frerin handed the receiver back to Ashley. “Do you know where Holly is?”

“I think she’s in Exam One.” Carol gestured toward the exam rooms down the hallway. 

“Okay.” He picked up Jessica Mauro’s chart and tucked the lab slip in with it, then made his way down to the exam rooms and poked his head in. “Excuse me, Holly, do you have a moment?”

She looked away from the elderly woman she was with and nodded. “I’ll be finished here in just a few minutes.”

“Okay. Meet me in Curtain Three?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks. Sorry to interrupt.”

The elderly woman smiled. “It’s no trouble. Feel free to interrupt again, if you like.”

Holly burst out laughing. “Mrs. Zwicker!”

“What? He’s cute.”

Frerin chuckled as he ducked back out of the exam room and wound his way back toward the Curtain areas. At Curtain Three, he said, “Jessica?”

“Yeah?”

He came around the curtain to find both Jessica and her mother looking even more exhausted now. “Your labs came back. Mrs. Mauro, would you mind giving us—”

“It’s okay,” Jessica said slowly, reaching for her mother’s hand. “You can say whatever it is.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “It’s okay. I already told her.”

He looked from mother to daughter. Mrs. Mauro certainly didn't look as if she was about to kill her daughter, so he took that as a good sign. “I’m afraid you have what’s called an ectopic pregnancy.”

She stared at him. “I’m pregnant?”

“Holy crap,” Mrs. Mauro whispered.

“Mom!”

“Okay, hold on,” he broke in softly. “You are, but instead if implanting in the uterus, the fertilized egg is in your fallopian tube.”

“So, do you need to operate to move it?” Jessica asked, her fingers visibly tightening about her mother’s.

“We do need to operate,” he said, “and I’ve already spoken with the OB on call and when we finish here, we’ll take you up to surgery, but I’m afraid we can’t move it, Jessica. It isn’t a viable pregnancy.”

“So, I’m having an abortion?”

“Is that really necessary?” Mrs. Mauro asked. 

“I’m afraid so, Mrs. Mauro. And it has to be taken care of as soon as possible to avoid any complications. So, I have a consent form I’ll need you to sign and—”

Mrs. Mauro stared at him. “And if I refuse to give it?”

“Mom!”

“Mrs. Mauro, under law, pregnancy emancipates Jessica, so she technically doesn’t need parental consent. However, it would make things easier for you both if you would.”

 Mrs. Mauro bit her bottom lip as Jessica broke in with, “But, I don't want an abortion, Mom. I—I want to keep the baby.” 

“It’s all right, baby,” she replied, smoothing Jessica’s sleep-matted dark hair away from her face. “This is different, okay. You’ll be fine.”

“Mommy… no…”

“Jessica, listen to me,” Frerin set the chart down and with his free hand, caught the stool to bring it to her bedside, “I know it’s kind of scary, but it really does need to be done. If we don’t operate quickly, your life could be in danger. Like I said, this isn’t a matter of choice. This has to be done.”

She shook her head. “I don't want to.”

“Jessie…” Mrs. Mauro cleared her throat. “Dr. Durin, could I speak with you outside?”

“Sure.” He rose and followed her from the exam area. “What is it?”

“Her father came into this hospital three months ago. He’d had a heart attack and his doctor told him he needed to have a stent put in, so he agreed and he died from complications of having it done.”

“I understand and I’m sorry for your loss, but this really is not something that can wait. It truly is a matter of time. If we don’t terminate, the fallopian tube can rupture and Jessica could hemorrhage to death if that happens.”

“No, I understand and I’m not fighting you on it. I just wanted you to understand why she is.”

“I do understand. And I don't blame her at all.”

“So, where is the consent form?”

“Inside.” He moved the curtain to allow her to pass by and once they were at Jessica’s bedside, he said, “I’ll go up with you, Jessica. Trust me, you’ll be in the best hands in the hospital. I promise.”

She didn't look entirely convinced. “Will you stay with me?”

Holly came into the room along with someone from Transport. “Dr. Durin, do you need me to go up with Jessica?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “I’ll go up with her. Why don't we and Mrs. Mauro, I can answer any questions you might have on the way.”

“Sure.”

Mrs. Mauro signed the consent and passed it back to him. “Will I be able to see her before she goes in? That’s really the only question I have.”

“You’ll be able to be with her until she does.” He took the form, tucked it in with Jessica’s chart and looked down at her. “Are you ready?”

Jessica didn't look ready at all, even as she nodded. “Okay.”

“You’re going to be just fine,” he told her, moving as the guy from Transport came around to unlock the wheels of Jessica’s bed.

“You ready, Miss Jessica? I’m Tony and I promise you, I won’t hit the bumps too hard.”

“I’m ready.”

He rolled her out and Mrs. Mauro turned to Frerin. “She looks so much younger than twelve.”

“They always do.”

“Do you have any children?”

“I have three. My daughter is just a little older than Jessica.”

“You can’t keep them safe, you know? You try and try and try, but… they are going to do what they’re going to do.”

“The important thing is communication, Mrs. Mauro. You keep those lines open, and you’ll be amazed at what happens.”

“Dr. Durin?” Jessica called over the top of her bed.

He fell into step alongside her. “What is it, Jessica?”

“Are you going to be doing my operation?”

“No. I’m not. Dr. Miller is and she’s really good. You’re in the best hands. I promise.”

“You never answered me about staying with me. Would you?”

“Dr. Durin?” Ashley poked her head around the corner. “You’ve got a drunk slip and fall waiting in Exam Four.”

“Get Zander to take it. I’m going up with my twelve year old.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll be back down when she’s in Recovery.”

“Okay.”

He glanced down at Jessica. “I’ll stay until you go into surgery.”

“Thank you, Dr. Durin.”

He reached down to ruffle her hair as they all got onto the elevator and the doors slid shut. Reese would be pissed, but he’d get over it. And even if he didn’t, Frerin didn't care. 

[darkfinch]

ik you're not here as much now (understandable) but while i wasn't as active in the leverage fandom as you (mostly reblogging stuff, wrote a couple fics a while back) but. i am also struggling with where to put my deep love for the show (it is? was? one of my favorite shows) with what i've read. is it okay to love something that caused active harm to so many people? and the answer i keep coming back to is, i don't know. i wish i didn't know about any of this, but that wouldn't undo any of the behavior or anything, and besides which, i do know, and i don't know what to do with any of this or how to feel about it and i miss what i thought the show was. we're in this together; you are not the only one struggling in light of learning this. sending love and good thoughts for you <333333

<3<3<3<3 hey, thank you, it’s. a rough and complicated time, what DO we do with all of that love. like the love’s still there it’s still THERE but where do i PUT it. where does it Go. sigh

honestly i think the big Wall i keep hitting re: this is…Redemption? like there’s an alternate universe here where this is a show that ended 10 years ago and was allegedly created in a really toxic, harmful environment, but which was created by a Lot of people who all contributed to creating something that ended up being really wonderful. and in this alternate universe, i can see being able to be like…okay, i’ve never watched this show Legally, i can be Aware of this and Talk about this and just continue to not give money to the creators, and not interact with the cast and crew, and maybe that would be enough

Except that now it’s not like…ah yes we collectively wish hutton a very [redacted], now it’s “these people who were fostering this entire Environment and harming people are all still employed and still work together on new projects, one of which is leverage redemption, which arguably came into being in part as a result of people contributing to fandom and sustaining Interest in this show”, which now duct tapes Fandom Interaction to the ongoing relevance of this media property and the continued employment of the specific people named in that article, and like, hhhhhhhhh that’s my brain making blender sounds thinking about all of it

i also wish i didn’t know, i am also glad that i do know, i also miss what i thought this show was (and not immediately seeing This when seeing these characters) (and not having to, like, stare blankly at a series of google docs like “which will drive me insane faster: trying to finish these for the sake of finishing them or Leaving Them Incomplete”) it’s. yeah. i don’t know. there was a rug it has been pulled etc

very glad (comforted? encouraged? sad?) to know other folks are also struggling with this (i.e. that it is Not just me), i know some people have jumped ship completely, some have gone on haitus, some are like “yeah this isn’t an issue for me” and are continuing as normal, i personally am sitting in the half-collapsed pillow fort i built in a cozy corner of this fandom and being very sad about it. what do we do with the love!!!!! i do not know.

very grim times, sending love & kind thoughts to u also thank you VERY much for your message and i hope things get easier for us <3

[pantstomatch]

slightestcomplication said:  If you're inspired, request for more of your teen wolf /stargate atlantis fics? (bleep0bleep's fic prompt generator kicked out Setting: Laboratory; Genre: Romantic Comedy; Trope: Doppelgangers) 

So you know I can’t resist an SGA au!  ENJOY.

"I don't see it," Stiles says, frowning, because he definitely sees it.

He jabs at his tablet maybe a little more forcefully than necessary, scrolling through the latest findings in the P7 caverns that Greenberg had forwarded him. "That guy's a psycho."

"Well, I mean." Scott squints at him. “Yeah.”

Stiles can see him squinting, even though he's definitely not looking up or around, because then he'd have to see Dr. Derek Hale freaking smiling at Captain Rapp. Derek Hale doesn't smile. Derek grumps and glowers all over the lab and yells at Stiles about leaving mugs everywhere and propping his feet up on the delicate ancient equipment. It's lasted thousands of years, Stiles is pretty sure it can handle his rubber soles.

Scott says, "It's basically you with a beard, of course he's evil."

Good old Scott, Stiles thinks, still not looking. "How is that even regulation?" he says.  He knows the troops get a little lax when stationed in another galaxy, but face shaving is at least the norm. Captain Mitch Rapp looks like a hobo. With, like, fantastic arms. Geez.

He's tragic, too, which apparently is Derek's kryptonite.  

Stiles can be tragic. Stiles has depths.

Maybe not the kind of depths that can relate to having his fiancé gunned down in front of him, but look. Stiles isn't trying to take away from Rapp's pain here, but before he beamed down from the Daedalus, Derek was down to only yelling at Stiles sixty percent of the time, and twenty percent of their remaining lab shifts were spent giving Stiles looks that he's almost certain were fond. Any smiles Derek is throwing around should be for Stiles, not a dude who’s probably carrying at least ten hidden knives on his person.

Stiles has the kind of past that involves werewolves, but does anyone sympathize with that? Nope. Never mind the fact that nobody but the government is supposed to know about all that—he’d still maybe like a slice of the good pie every once and a while.

Rapp apparently has these sad eyes that always trick Private Hicks into giving him extra pudding.

And make Derek dip his head and laugh softly, Christ.

Stiles's chest tightens.

This is so unfair.

*

Rapp has kind of a reputation for being a crazy, heartless assassin, and it's both hard and easy to remember that when he's got a dude twice his size pinned up against a wall for checking Stiles so hard in the commissary that Stiles clocked his temple against the doorframe.

Rapp says, "Watch yourself, Graves," with his bulging forearm leaning into Grave’s windpipe, and he doesn't let go until Grave's lips tinge blue and he taps him weakly on the wrist.

Then Rapp helps Stiles upright with serious eyes and says, "You're alright, Stilinski," and is it weird that they're the same exact height? That Stiles sees his mother's eyes looking back at him, sees the little tight half-smile his dad always gives him when he's working off a migraine? That's weird, right?

Stiles shakes it off, though, and says, "Thanks, man," and wishes, with all his might, that Derek hadn't seen all that.

Derek, standing behind Rapp, frowning at Stiles like this is all Stiles's fault.

Derek follows him through the food line, hovering like a weirdo until Stiles flails a hand and says, "What?"

"What was that about?" Derek says.

Stiles looks at him, brow furrowed. "What was what about?"

At Derek's glare, Stiles goes on: "Oh, Graves, he's an ass." Isn't that common knowledge? Graves doesn't like Stiles. Graves hasn't liked Stiles since Scott got him stuck on the cleaning crew for tripping him in the hallway when he was struggling with a box full of rocks.  

Derek looks adorably concerned, and Stiles doesn't even think about it before patting his arm lightly and saying, "Don't worry, big guy. He's too afraid that Rapp will murder him now to retaliate."

"I wasn't… I didn't…" Derek flushes, mouth pinched, and then he turns on his heel and stalks away.

*

Stiles spends eighty percent of his time in the geology labs. Mostly because of Derek—he’s a grump, but he’s a hot, adorable grump—but also because the tiny little paleontology nook where he and Greenberg are stationed doesn't have enough room to do basically anything other than write reports. They have two desks squished face-to-face, for maximum annoyance, and a little bent cart with an ancient coffee machine in the corner that doubles as a filing cabinet.

While the number varies between Daedalus runs, currently there are five geologists. There's a big sign on the far wall reminding scientists not to lick alien rocks. There's a giant red geode in the middle of the room with a nametag that reads FRANK.

Any rocks that have fossils get tossed in a big plastic bin, and every Monday morning shift, Stiles sits on the floor with a tablet and deems which ones are worthy of extraction.

Monday morning shifts are the best, because usually it's only him and Derek and sometimes Marni, who listens to music too loud with her earbuds in, and can't hear Stiles's frankly delightful attempts at flirting.

This Monday morning, however, Derek is back to being a full-fledged sourwolf, and arrives at the lab minus Stiles's usual cup of coffee and glares at Stiles's regular Monday morning piles of Maybe, No, and Awesome all over the floor with a faint snarl.

Stiles graciously doesn't comment on the lack of caffeine sharing—it's not like he promised to bring one, it's just that that's their routine, but Stiles isn't going to be a baby about it—and goes back to his bin.

Marni sings if you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends lightly under her breath, a hunk of something starlight navy pressed up close to her nose.

The light clinking of rocks and Derek’s huffy breaths are the only other sound.

The lab doors slide open moments later, and Stiles glances up to see Rapp and his tragic face—he's leaning into the doorframe, holding up a clear plastic bag.

He says, "Hey, Doc—" Stiles makes a face, Doc, ugh, "—as promised, weird lumpy green rock we picked up during yesterday's mission." Rapp holds the bag up, gives it a little shake with a small, quirky smile. He flicks an unreadable look toward Stiles, smile still holding, and then back to Derek again.

Stiles bites his lip and burns hot with jealousy as Derek beams back at him. God.

"Great," Derek says, breathy, and Stiles wants to die.

He could be just excited about the rock, Stiles has seen how the geologists get about alien sediments, but Derek stands there and gazes at the door once Rapp leaves. Stiles would bet all his money that Rapp isn't even interested, he's got the worst kind of love-lost past, but Derek has his thinking face on, and it only falls into a scowl when he notices Stiles looking.

It's pure stupidity and the fact that Stiles wants to prove he's got one up on Rapp that makes him say, "So does Rapp know about—" He makes a growl face and claw hands, because he's an idiot.

Derek stares at him. "What."

"You know," he leans over his bin, glances at Marni to check and make sure she's still bobbing her head to old pop tunes, and says, "werewolves."

He expected maybe an annoyed, pissed off look, or a hissed, "Shut up," but the one thing Stiles does not expect is for Derek to lunge at him.

Stiles says, "Whoa," and scrambles to his feet, knocks over a chair to his left and manages to make it halfway across the room before Derek is on him.

"How do you know that?" Derek growls, twisting a fist into Stiles's shirt and dragging him up close and personal with rapidly sharpening teeth.

"Uh." Stiles winces at the sound of tearing—he's got limited shirts here, god, it's not like he can pop on down to the nearest clothing store for a new one. "I'm best friends with Scott!"

Derek's eyes narrow even further.  "So?"

"So? So! I've been best friends with Scott since we were five. I grew up in Beacon Hills! Please don't eat my face!" Stiles hasn't been afraid of Derek since he proved himself to be the most mild-mannered alpha Stiles has ever known—maybe his scale is a little skewed, since devil alphas were pretty rampant around Beacon Hills growing up, but Derek wears soft sweaters in his off time and talks to rocks.

Stiles has been on Atlantis for six months, though, and apparently Derek Hale hasn't even thought enough about him to check his records and references. Beacon Hills has a goddamn Nemeton.

Derek's grip finally softens, then slips, and Stiles absently checks his shirt seams with a huff, willfully ignoring the heat in his cheeks.

Derek sounds like he's biting a lemon when he finally says, "So you're in Scott's…" he trails off, and Stiles rolls his shoulders.

"In Scott's pack, yeah." What there is of it, at least. Their families and Lydia—there's a distinct lack of wolves, which is why Stiles thinks this stint in Atlantis had so much appeal.  "I mean, you actively recruited him, didn't you think to…" check me out, he doesn't say, because contrary to popular belief he has some self-control.

Someone loudly clears their throat and Derek stiffens and Stiles turns wide eyes on Marni, who has her earbuds hanging around her neck, now, and one eyebrow arched at them. She stands up, hands clutching her coffee cup, and says, "If you guys are gonna have sex in here, maybe give me a heads up next time."

Derek practically trips over his feet to get away from Stiles. "We're not… I mean…" His eyes are sort of insultingly wild when he looks at Stiles, pleading with him to back him up.

Stiles presses his lips together. Deal with THAT, he thinks.

"Sure," Marni says, walking toward the door. "Remember Paul's shift starts at ten."

Derek groans into his hands when it swishes closed behind her. "Why?" he says.

"Why what?" Stiles says stubbornly.

Derek pinks up so damn easily, Stiles is pretty sure he uses the facial hair to help shelter all his delicate emotions. "Why would you let her think that?"

Stiles crosses his arms over his chest. "Is that the pinnacle of embarrassment for you, Hale? That she thinks you're sleeping with me?"

"No, I…" Derek frowns, hunches his shoulders. "This is a sterile environment!"

Sterile is stretching it. Paul spilled soup all over one of the lab tables just yesterday. "Right," Stiles says. "Whatever." He stares down at his half-finished piles. He needs a break. He takes a deep breath and says, "I'm gonna go get coffee."

"Oh, I…" Derek glances over at his own cup on his desk, almost startled, like he didn't realize he hadn't brought one for Stiles, like usual.

Stiles manfully refrains from digging his palms into his eyes in frustration. Has Derek always had this much trouble finishing sentences? How has he not noticed that before?

"I'm going," Stiles says.

Derek visibly deflates, it's so freaking confusing, and Stiles swallows down a groan and leaves.

*

"Okay," Scott says. "But, like, they're not having sex."

Stiles scowls and stabs at his spaghetti with his fork. "You don't know that."

"They don't smell like they're having sex," Scott says, and Jared at the other end of the table scoots back his chair and says, "C'mon guys," with a whine.

Stiles ignores him and says, "They could shower."

Scott, like a bro, taps his nose with a grimace and says, "The nose always knows."

Stiles stuffs a meatball in his mouth and says, "But they're, like, weirdly close, right?" There's just too much standing together, silently smiling at each other for anything to be normal.

"I don't know, I kind of feel like neither of them know how to be regular people, and when you put them together it just… amplifies, you know?"  Scott's eating ice cream for dinner. He still eats like he's sixteen, because he doesn't have to worry about cholesterol, and sometimes Stiles hates him for it. He says, "Did you know that one of Derek's old girlfriends burned almost his entire family alive?"

This sounds like something Stiles should know about, but in fact does not.  He sits back in his chair, stunned. "How did I not know that?"

"Kira told me," Scott says. "She's dating Derek's cousin."

The only thing Stiles knows about Derek's pack here on Atlantis is that most of them had to cycle out for a tour on earth, and that Kira and Isaac stayed. It was supposed to help Scott acclimate, particularly because Kira isn't a wolf.

"Huh," Stiles says, drumming his fingers on the table. "So a sharing of their crap pasts?" That could be a thing. Doesn’t really explain all the palpable pining, though. And the way Derek looks like the moon shines out of Rapp's ass. Ugh.

Scott is nodding, though, and scooping chocolate and peanut butter into his mouth like a five year old at a birthday party.

Stiles says, "All right, buddy. So what should I do now?"

* Clearly six months of subtle wooing have not worked on Derek at all. According to Scott, Stiles really needs to up his game.

Scott's entire romantic life is comprised of a single girl when they were teenagers whose family had honed the craft of killing werewolves, though, so despite Stiles’s complete faith in Scott as a diehard friend and alpha, he's understandably wary of his advice about love.

Stiles knows Derek's lab schedule by heart.  Usually, he carefully plans to be there at the same time just enough to not be totally accused of stalking. He's got a four-day rotating system that repeats only every three weeks, every other month, but since Rapp arrived Stiles is pretty sure he's figured him out.

He's got a scarily blank face when he thinks no one is looking, and winks cheekily at Stiles whenever he catches him out on it. Like they're sharing secrets. Like Stiles can relate.

If Derek wasn't a werewolf, Stiles might be more worried about his well-being than how much sex he's hypothetically having with this handsome sociopath.

Anyway, Stiles has to scramble to reroute some of his geology lab days, which is why he finds himself scrolling through an ancient bestiary in the lab at eight pm on a Thursday with Paul and Junior for company instead of snuggled up with Scott in his room watching The Burbs.

The door is stuck half open because Derek, who is supposed to be off shift for the night, is hovering there with Rapp, whispering. Neither of them seem like the type to whisper like that. It's making the back of Stiles's neck itch.

They probably didn't expect to see him there. Is he making this awkward? Should he just graciously bow out of the way while Derek fucks his heavily muscled doppelganger?  Stiles hates how normal that sounds, he's been stuck in another galaxy with eerie space tech too long.

The main thing that Stiles is going to take away, right now, hunching his shoulders up around his ears, is that Scott was super wrong.

He's concentrating so hard on his Very Important Business—he's looking at birds—that he misses the hiss of the door finally closing, and startles a little when Derek steps over to the station he's currently commandeering and says, "Here."

Stiles glances up to see a weird green rock being held in front of his face. It's a very familiar rock. A gifted rock. Stiles wants no parts of that rock.  He slouches lower in his seat. "No, thanks."

Derek makes a strangled noise, and Stiles looks beyond the rock to his constipated face. "It's for you," he says, like he didn't just try to give it to him, and Stiles didn't just freaking refuse to take it.

Stiles doesn't want Rapp's fucking rock. This is torture.

Derek isn't moving away, though, and finally Stiles huffily snaps on a new pair of latex gloves and reaches up for it. "Is this—" he stops, mouth dropping open, and brings the rock closer. It's big enough to take two hands to hold it, and he spins it in his fingers, swipes thumbs along the tiny, amazing bones along one side and says, words heavy with awe, "Is this a dinosaur?"

"Isn't that your job to figure out?" Derek says, but he sounds so happy with himself that Stiles maybe wants to kiss him.

Really wants to kiss him. Which would be inappropriate, given Rapp and all, so Stiles definitely doesn't do that. For very long.

When he pulls back, Derek has his palms flat on the lab table from where Stiles had pulled him forward, and looks a little like he's been slapped.

"Crap," Stiles says.  He presses his hands over his mouth. "Oh my god, Rapp is going to murder me."

Derek's eyebrows go from popped to deep v and he says, "Why would Mitch murder you?"

"Oh my god," Stiles says, pushing back his chair to stand. He's going to die. "You call him Mitch. He lets you call him Mitch!"

"Are you…" Derek cocks his head. "Is this some kind of…?"

"Oh my god. Finish a damn sentence, Derek!" Stiles rounds the lab table, debates making a run for it, but FRANK is in the way on one side, and the other has Paul, staring at him like he's an alien, and a tray full of rocks.

Derek is bright red. He says, "Hey, you kissed me!"

"Yeah," Stiles shoves his hands in his hair and then rips them out, he's feeling super crazy right now, "and now your assassin boyfriend is going to slit my throat in my sleep!"

Paul snorts, Junior gasps, "NO," like the giant drama-queen he is, and Derek says, "Wait, my what?"

Stiles is still holding the amazing green alien dinosaur rock and would consider whipping it at Derek's dense head if it wasn't as precious to him as a baby.

"I," Stiles announces grandly, "am going to wrap this rock up in blankets and then find some duct work to hide in."

*

In retrospect, hiding in Kira's room was probably a bad idea. Not because she'd rat him out to Rapp, but because she's Derek's beta, and is apparently on his goodnight rounds, which is honestly adorable and makes Stiles want to scream.

Derek says, "Stiles," and Kira flutters her hands and says, "I'll just, uh, slip across the hall for a sec," and flees like a coward.

Stiles pulls the afghan from Kira's couch over his head.

Derek says, "Stiles," again, coming further into the room. "Why do you think I'm…?" The way he crosses his arms makes his biceps bulge—he's a geologist, for god's sake—and he does some sort of half-shrug that Stiles has trouble interpreting.

He silently pulls the afghan further over his head, so he can only see Derek through the quarter-sized holes.

Derek's mouth twitches. "I can still see you, you know."

Maybe if Stiles flattens out completely Derek would think he melted from total embarrassment. The responsible thing to do here, if Derek had any heart, would be to just leave Stiles alone for his last few hours alive.

Kira suddenly pops up behind Derek, peeks around him, looks from Stiles and his blanket to Derek and back again. "Please don't have sex in here," she says, and then she's gone again.

Stiles groans and Derek squares his shoulders and drops his arms.

"Stiles," Derek says for the third time, "I don't know why you think I'm, uh." He rolls his eyes. "For the record, Mitch isn't my boyfriend."

"Okay, so you're fuckbuddies, it doesn't matter. He's still going to kill me." Rapp has Issues and knife skills and has managed to snag a werewolf, why would he want to ever give that up?

"Are you kidding me right now?" Derek never gets screechy. He gets lower, when he's really angry, and has this roar in his voice when he yells, but right then Derek's voice kind of… breaks… in the middle. "Stiles. Mitch and I are friends."

Stiles waits a beat. He shifts, and the afghan slides off his head to puddle on his shoulders. Static crackles through his hair, he's sure he looks fantastic. "With benefits?" he says.

"No," Derek says, slowly taking a step toward him. "Just friends."

Stiles can't believe this. "You realize he's like… me, only dangerous. With extreme hair. And thighs."

Derek's eyebrows look confused. "You have thighs," he says, dropping that bombshell casually like he didn't just admit to looking at Stiles's thighs, wow.  "He's nothing like you."

"Nothing like me," Stiles says.  He comes up on his knees on the couch, watches as Derek moves warily closer. "But I think our mouths match. And our moles. We're talking clone here, not mirror image. You don't think that's weird?"

Derek's only a little taller than him, from where Stiles is kneeling on the couch. Stiles leans into the back cushions, rests his hands on them, lets the afghan fall all the way off to tangle in his feet.

"I don't see it," Derek says, staring into Stiles's eyes like he's mesmerized. "Will you kiss me again?"

"Is this some sort of see with your nose type of thing," Stiles says, heart beating up into his throat, but he's bravely leaning up into Derek's space, and Derek's leaning down.

Derek's hands hover over his upper arms, like he wants to hold him. "Don't make dog jokes."

"Oh my god, it is."

"I hate you."

"No," Stiles says softly, and Derek is definitely sniffing him now; their noses are touching and it's beautiful. "No, I don't think you do."

Derek finally smooths his palms over Stiles's arms, and Stiles reaches out to grip Derek's afterhours soft shirt, a Henley with two buttons undone, there's chest hair, and if Kira wouldn't kill him he'd totally try to wrestle Derek out of it. He tilts his head up, licks his lips, and Derek makes a sound that Stiles will make fun of forever and kisses him.

*

Graves gives Stiles a wide berth in the commissary now, which is gratifying and also wigs him out. He doesn't get how Derek can't see how batshit crazy Rapp can be.

He's maybe a good guy, Stiles honestly doesn't know, but it's just alarming to see Derek sharing a cupcake with him.

Stiles takes his tray over to their table with only a little sliver of envy that dissipates when Rapp says, "Here," and hands him a piece.

"It's Paul's birthday," Derek says, by way of explanation, and then leans over and kisses Stiles with icing all over his mouth.

Stiles is fine with this, beyond fine, but there's a still that tiny part of him that's waiting for Rapp to shoot him between the eyes. When Derek shifts back, though, a small smile and blush on his face, Rapp just winks at him.

It's bizarre and familiar and makes Stiles's skin crawl a little, but he takes it, because apparently Derek and Mitch are best friends. He's Derek's sociopathic wingman. That Derek still doesn't think looks like him.

Stiles isn't going to push him about it, though, because Stiles gets kisses and eventually—fingers-crossed—sex, and it better be true love. It better be till the end of the line with him, because Stiles has a feeling neither his heart nor his body will survive if he somehow fucks this up.

Rapp nudges the piece of cupcake toward him again. This is somehow a metaphor for his life now, probably, but Stiles isn't going to overanalyze it. Anymore.

A tray suddenly clatters onto the table across from Rapp. "Heyyyyy," Scott says, grinning widely. "Oh, cool, birthday cupcake! Are we sharing?"

Stiles says, "Scott, no—" just as he swipes a finger through the icing on the piece in front of Rapp, and everything slows down.

Scott freezes with his hand in the air, like he just realized who's at the table with them. "Oh, shit," he says.

Rapp's eyes narrow.

Scott says, "Sorry?" hunched up like a small, little puppy.

Stiles knows he shouldn’t be worried, because Scott’s an alpha werewolf with sharp teeth, claws, and an enhanced healing ability, but there’s still that flash of panic. Rapp isn’t the flipping tables, throwing grenades kind of dude. He waits.

The look he gives Scott is calculating.

Scott swallows hard and whisper-shouts to Stiles, “Is it bad that that’s turning me on?” before pressing both hands over his mouth.

Rapp grins, slow and wide, pushes the rest of his cupcake over to Scott and says, “Here. Have some more.”