#especially with all the adrenaline and morphine now in her

[softquietsteadylove]

I have an idea for the family law au, what if Thena has a medical emergency (up to you what kind) and Gil comforts and helps to take care of her?

"Gil!"

"Oh, uh," he looked away from the nurse going through her charts, "that's her, actually."

"You know we can't let just anyone in here, sir."

But Sersi trotted over to them, swinging her arms tightly beside her. She turned her big, sad eyes on the nurse, "I called him. Please, we need help."

The woman sighed and rolled her eyes, but it was three in the morning and she waved them along.

"Thank you," Gil murmured, joining Sersi in her trip back down the hall. "Hey, are you okay?"

She nodded, continuing her anxious little tip-toeing that made it seem like she was looking for the washroom. "Thena isn't happy that we called you. But we didn't know what else to do. Just be warned."

He didn't have any trouble imagining the Thena he knew - the Ice Queen of the office - being too proud to call for help in a situation like this. "Sprite kind of told me what happened over the phone but I don't know if I have all the details."

Sersi sighed, coming to a halt and her shoulders sagging (deeply). She toyed with the ends of her oversized green flannel. "It's our fault."

"Hey," Gil corrected immediately and without hesitation, "that's not true."

"It is," she squeaked, sniffling through the tears she was trying to keep at bay. "We were too scared. We heard a noise and asked her to look downstairs."

"And she slipped?" he guessed, which made Sersi squeeze around herself tighter again. He gave her shoulder a squeeze, leaning down slightly. "Sersi, it's an accident. It's no one's fault, okay?"

She hiccuped quietly.

"I'm gonna say the same thing to Sprite too," he continued as he moved closer to the room again. Sersi positioned herself at the door.

"Thena?" Sersi knocked gently and cracked the door just slightly at first. "Gil's here."

"Come in, Sersi." The words weren't harsh, but the tone certainly was that of the Ice Queen of the office.

Gil didn't envy the girls as he closed the door behind him. Thena was obviously having a terrible time, propped up in her hospital bed, a large, uneven bow at the neck of her hospital gown, Sprite miserably leaning against the railing of the bed like a wounded puppy.

She looked up at him, pale and with a little purple at the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry, Gil."

"Don't be," he excused just as easily as he had with Sersi. He seated himself next to the bed, while Sersi moved to the opposite side to join her other sister. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I broke my arm."

The girls winced, and he watched Thena physically reel in her sharp tone and cutting words. She visibly softened herself, looking at her younger sisters on her other side (her injured side).

"It's okay, the doctor said it's a minor fracture at worst, I'll be fine in a month."

Gil was willing to bet they had been told six weeks, if not longer, and she was doing her best to sugar coat things for the tearful girls. He leaned forward, making an effort to catch Sprite's eye. "You did the right thing, calling me, kid. It was the right call."

Sprite manged to lift her head enough to look at him. Despite the bluer colour than Thena's, they certainly had similar eyes. "Thanks, Gil."

Thena looked back at him, able to do little more than swivel her head and leave her arm cushioned in the temporary sling they had offered. "I'm sorry to bother you, I know it's an unholy time of night."

"Oh, that's okay," he shook his head, "I was up anyway."

"You were-" Thena shook her head faintly. "Why would-!"

Gil blinked, watching as Thena's face shifted through a couple different emotions. Usually he had to try pretty hard to read what she was thinking. But he watched as she outwardly went from confused, to horrified, to maybe even embarrassed. Without any makeup, he could see how pale she really was, and the natural blush in her cheeks.

"I-I'm sorry, we shouldn't have--I'll apologise to, uhm, whomever..." Thena trailed off, shifting herself in the bed needlessly, even risking moving her arm to do it.

Sprite and Sersi adjusted her pillows for her, trying to keep her from the need to move at all.

"You don't have to apologise," Gil frowned, just as confused. "Really, I don't mind. I mean, even if I was asleep, I would have come in a heartbeat."

Thena seemed to know even less how to respond to that. And the kids were just as confused about all of it. She cleared her throat, tilting her head in such a way that seemed like maybe she was just stretching her neck. He leaned closer so she could whisper, "I meant if I should apologise to your...date--I-I will."

"Oh!" Gil squawked, and way too loudly for a hospital at night. He shot back into his chair, ducking his head down as if someone would come into the room and shush him. "N-No, no, really, it's nothing like that!"

"Like what?" Sprite voiced first, although by now Sersi had caught on to at least something along the lines of it.

"Uh," Gil searched for the words, trying not to seem so embarrassed over what was, in actuality, nothing. He cleared his throat, "I-I just mean, you didn't wake me up. I've been working on this special recipe I've been wanting to try. It needs to be basted every three hours for a whole day, and I can't do it while I'm at work, so I try stuff like this overnight and set an alarm for myself."

"Dude, that's psycho," Sprite informed him, and was able to escape the consequences because her oldest sister couldn't reach her to pinch her arm. She corrected her statement, "I mean, uh, cool."

"How often do you cook through the night?" Thena frowned at him.

"Well, not often, and usually I would try it on the weekend, but it was on sale, and I wanted to get it at its freshest , so," he shrugged. Despite the nature of the misunderstanding, he had to chuckle a little. "I'll bring some over for you to try."

"Gil, you really don't-" Thena was in the middle of shaking her head to tell him he didn't have to do anything else.

But he did; he grinned. "I do, though. I mean, you at least need a ride home. That's why I was called, I believe."

Thena practically growled at being reminded of why they were all here together at such a terrible hour in the first place.

"And there's no way you can cook with one arm," he continued, gesturing as he did. "Even if you can type with your non-dominant hand, I wouldn't recommend trying to get in to work while it's still too fresh."

Thena huffed, throwing her head back against her pillow. "Fine, fine, yes, knight in shining armour, do assist us helpless maidens."

The girls snickered at their sister's attitude. But Gil stood and leaned into Thena's upward point of view. "Thena, I know you're more than capable. But maybe, if there's any time for me to help, it would be now?"

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the weird hospital lights, but he could swear her eyes looked a little glassy. "You've done more than enough already."

He did not agree. But he kept that to himself, resisting the urge to sort out her mussed locks of blonde for her. "I don't think of it as enough, or less than or more than. There's just what you can do, y'know? And I can, so I want to."

Maybe that was too reductive. Sprite didn't even look like she had followed what he had said. But Sersi seemed to, and had that excited look on her face as she was gazing at Thena, awaiting her response.

Thena furrowed her brows at him, creating that little knot between her eyebrows he thought was kind of cute. "Okay, counsellor, stop grandstanding."

He chuckled. She thought he made such corny jokes, but she was the one who told lawyer jokes like an old dad at a barbecue. "The defense rests?"

She didn't really laugh, but she kind of puffed out of her nose in a way that seemed amused. And she was smiling. "Fine, but at least sleep a little before you tell the office that they'll be free of me for at least two weeks."

Two weeks off for a six week injury--some would think it unreasonable, but only Thena would look at that ratio and think it was being indulgent.

"Uh, you mean I'll get us some coffee while you're waiting for that cast. Then I'll take us all home and get started on some food for you to keep microwave ready."

"Gil," she scolded him.

"That sound good, girls?" he prompted his two best allies in this argument. He could feel Thena glaring at him extra coldly.

"Yeah Thena, let Gil help," Sprite pleaded first, pinching the blanket thrown over her legs. "He has to drive us home anyway. And you're always telling us delivery fees are too expensive."

"They are," she managed to growl out even amidst her personal conflict. "Fine, but you two are going right to bed when we get home, because tomorrow is school again."

"Bro!" Sprite voiced (loudly).

"Shush," Thena silenced her with one pointed finger. "You're not the one with the broken arm, you don't need any more missed days this semester."

"Why do you get two weeks off?" Sprite grumbled lastly before slumping against the bed railing again. Although, Gil observed, she was still holding onto the blanket as a gesture of comfort. Sprite's huffing and puffing was, in its own funny way, her attempt to seem unfazed by all this.

"Because I can work from home," Thena proclaimed whether that was entirely true or not. "You can't. School tomorrow."

"But," Sersi broached as the true mediator of the three. She leaned on Sprite's shoulders, batting her eyelashes at Thena. "Breakfast sandwiches? Gil can drive us."

Thena gave Sersi a much dryer look. "Don't volunteer people to do things for you, Sersi."

"I don't know what's open right now, but maybe by the time we get all signed out," he offered, glancing at his watch. "But hey, if you guys wanna see what's in the vending machine, I won't stop you."

Thena sighed as the girls accepted his kind cash offering, waving at her on their way in promise to bring her something. She tilted her head on the pillow at him again, "what have you done?"

He leaned closer again, "I sent them away so you can tell me how you're really doing."

"My arm fucking hurts."

He chuckled again, although this time he did pull her blanket up again and at least get some hair out of his way of seeing her properly. "Did they give you enough meds?"

She made a face, and he recognised some true discomfort there. "I didn't want to ask for more while the girls were here."

"Well, that's why I'm here, isn't it?" he smiled, pressing the handy little button hanging right there for a nurse's assistance. "Don't worry about them, Thena. I'll take care of them and I'll get you all home, okay?"

She sighed, really closing her eyes since his arrival, despite her own exhaustion. "I still wish they hadn't have called you like this. But...thank you, Gil."

He would carry her if he really had to. But instead he said, "any time."

"If they get a bunch of sugar from the vending machine, don't tell me I didn't warn you," she mumbled.

"I'll take responsibility for it," he promised as he pulled his jacket off, settling in to be with them until release. "Do you want another blanket or anything too?"

"Ask if the girls can have some? We ran out of the house with whatever we could throw on in a few seconds."

"I will," he promised her, slipping her hand under the blanket and patting her arm.

[valeskakingdom]

Metamorphosis (part 26)

Scalpel" A male familiar voice resonated, but Scarlet saw nothing but any blurred faces and felt someone mad a deep cut right above her eye.

She didn't know who that guy was, she didn't recognize the people next to him, she had no clue where she was. When she saw something bright grey was moved closer to her eye, she noticed adrenaline was rushing through her veins and she started to breathe heavier and faster as if she was almost panicking. When she tried to move her arms and legs, she noticed she was tied up with any belts, which let her panic risen - but there was something she noticed. Her extremities were almost numb, she just felt something like a cribbling in her fingers and toes. In combination with the blurred vision and the dizziness, it felt like she was completely on drugs. What did they do to her? What did they inject her? And especially, who was that doing this all to her?

"Swab" He said again and someone else swabbed something from her face, maybe something like blood "That's enough" and she stopped.

"More morphine" She heard the male voice again "That alleviates the pain. And more chloroform. That might narcotize her a little more"

"Okay, Doctor Strange" She heard a female voice say and Scarlet felt some kind of mist was "Is that enough?"

"Yes, for now" Scarlet heard him say. So it was Strange. It was him all the time. That was a part of the therapy method he was talking about apparently. But how would a surgery help Scarlet getting more powerful? And this was the moment where she got it. Hugo Strange did exactly the same thing as last time - he was implanting a chip or any device in her head to control her, to exercise power over Gotham city. She had to stop it, but how? She couldn't move, she felt like she couldn't even speak - as if she was petrified. She had no chance against them now. She lost this fight.

"Doctor," Anothwr female voice said, it sounded like she was in a hurry "You need to come immediately! It's a code red!"

"Alright, Mrs.Peabody," He nodded, then he looked down to Scaret "Don't worry, Scarlet," She heard him chuckle "Soon you'll be a powerful and-..."

But before he could finish his sentence, she passed out.

***

"How are the vital parameters?" Scarlet heard a male voice asking someone else. She felt dizzy and knocked out. She couldn't move, she could barely breathe, she could barely see anything even, something covered her field of view. Even worse was, she couldn't remember anything. She couldn't remember where she was, who did this to her... nothing.

"She has a low blood pressure of 90/50 and a low pulse of 52." A woman said in a monotonous tone "She needs longer to recover than we've expected. The doctors said we can't fill her up with more medications. The side effects would be a too big risk for her recovery."

"What would be the side effects?" The male voice asked kinda concerned.

"A complete collapse of her circulation and eventual damages on several organs." Scarlet heard the female voice say. What did she mean by that? Would she die? Wouldn't she be the same anymore? Would she become a cripple? Or the opposite, a monster? Scarlet wasn't scared now, but she was confused and felt at a loss. She hated not to know what would happen to her, especially in a situation like now. She hated to be unable to move, to speak or even unable to think clearly. She was not herself anymore. They changed her, they did something to her that changed her.

"Including brain damage?"

"Especially brain damage." The female sighed "Our plan won't work out, Doctor. The healing process efforts too much time - and we don't have that time."

"Hm," You heard the male voice say, thinking for a while "Let her rest, I don't wanna cause any damages on her. We would sustain a too great loss, instead. Her mind is brilliant"

"Alright sir" The female voice said, probably nodding "When should the training start then?"

"Let's give her three weeks to recover. After that, we'll find out more" The male voice said and Scarlet heard him walk away.

***

It's been weeks after the incident. Scarlet hasn't fully recovered, yet, but enough to start with something like a training. This training included: mainly new modern combat techniques, but also it was a training for Hugo Strange how to control her and her strength through the implanted micro chips best. It wasn't just like last time, he modernized everything: more electro shocks, controlling all her nerve system and her strength through the chip, and he could control her emotions and parts of her acting. He could control her aggressiveness level, he could control her speaking - he could control basically everything, as if she was his living marionette.

"Test 2: Aggression Level." A female voice said through a speaker "Focusing on the wall, building up aggression" In this moment, as if someone pressed a button, a lot amount of aggression was rising in Scarlet's body - even more than the moment when Jerome died, even more than when she thought about her father. She didn't know where that come from, she didn't know how to handle it - but she couldn't control it.

"Clench your fists" the female voice resonated through the speaker, and again Scarlet instantly clenched her fists. She knew something was wrong, but she couldn't say what it was. Her body didn't feel the same anymore, it felt like it didn't belong to herself as if someone had the control over her.

"Damage the wall" the woman said, and with all her strength, Scarlet smashed her fist against the wall, that her knuckles cracked and bled and some bricks cracked and fell down from the wall. The pain Scarlet now felt was enormous. She was afraid her hand was broken or sprained. Her hand started to swell, it was pumping fast and heavy that it was even itching. She tried to move her fingers but every move was too much. Immediately after she moved her index finger, she was flinching in pain. It was barely to tolerate.

"I don't know what you're doing with me but I hate it..." Scarlet hissed with gritted teeth, then she looked at her hands. She suddenly saw a long scar on each of her forearms as if she was trying to cut her veins open and tried to kill herself. What did they do to her? For what did they cut her arms open? What this their to control the strength in her arms?

"It was your wish to become more powerful than all the others, remember?" A male familiar voice said with a slight chuckle "I just try to help granting your wish"

"You're trying to modify me in any monster you can control. You try to grant your wishes and not mine" Scarlet gazed at the speaker "Don't you think, things would become easier for you as for me when you show me some new tricks and I help you with whatever? It woul-..."

"You can save yourself all the time and trouble. Your manipulation skills won't work on me." It was Hugo Strange who you heard chuckle through the speaker, he was amused by her being all tough right now although she was at her lowest point right now - she was anemic, she was so alone that no one could help her, she wasn't even able to control herself through the surgery. Trying to manipulate him was just a desperate try to escape from this situation.

"Oh really?" Scarlet almost laughed maniacally, so many crazy thoughts crashed her mind all of a sudden, she had so many weird ideas what to do right now. She stared at her forearms, chuckling darkly for herself. If she can't escape the usual way, she'll try it in a more bloody and maybe a bit violent way. Why should she let him control her and become all weak? That's not her type. She instead would try to break free in any kind of way, even if it means to harm herself - and that's what she was doing.

With all her strength, Scarlet de-stringed her wounds to eventually have access to the chips that control her extremities. The pain she felt was unbearable, even indescribable - but she made it. With her fingernails, she ripped the wounds more open and searched for a little chip or something similar. The blood was literally floating down her arm from the wound - it wouldn't stop bleeding at all, it was almost like as if she had cut open her pulse veins.

But before she could find anything, electroshocks were sent through her head that elicited the worst pain she has felt in years. She was cramping in pain, pressing her hands against her head to suppress the pain while crying out. It was horrible, but what's even worse that she was reliving this horror scenario for the second time. This time though, the electro shocks were more intense, it now felt like her head was smashed against several walls and her skull was cracked open by thousands of elephants that tramped on it. At the same time she felt like being paralyzed, she couldn't move through the electro shocks, her muscles were twitching the whole time through she had no control over them anymore.

"You shouldn't do that, Scarlet" Hugo Strange's voice resonated through the speaker "I've been tweaking the technology a little. The more you try to fight back the more you will suffer."

"You think that will stop me?" Scarlet chuckled darkly "That just encourages me to continue." And again, she tried to pod the chip out of her wrist, even though the electro shocks were almost unbearable. It was hard for her, indeed, but she would never give up. Not even if she was about to die.

"Resisting doesn't help, Scarlet" Hugo Strange tried to warn her "Stop harming yourself and learn to accept it."

"I...will never...accept being your marionette." Scarlet hissed aggressively with gritted teeth and finally grabbed something that seemed to be a little chip or something like a plate. But when she tried to pull it out, the pain as the electro shocks just worsened that she immediately fell on the ground almost Bein unconscious. She was totally out of breathe, she couldn't move anymore since every move hurt so bad.

"But you have to, and you will" Scarlet could practically feel his devilish grin through the speaker, and this made her feel so much hate that she wished she could smash his brain in or hit with a hammer on his head several times. This man had to die, especially now after he showed it was fun to him torturing her. But how would she do that? She literally couldn't control herself and everything she was doing, he would notice.

"You will see I won't" Trembling and clenching her fists in anger, Scarlet hissed these words with a whisper still staring at the speaker "You will see you've made a mistake doing this on me"

***

Some days went by and the day arrived, where Scarlet was allowed to be with people again - but Scarlet didn't know it yet. She instead, sat all alone in her cell, looking at her bandaged arm. Why was Dr. Strange using her like a killer robot? Wasn't he working with the police together? And how would she get this technology away from her? She couldn't touch it without getting electroshocks. She could chop her arm off to destroy the technology - but no, that would seem way too desperate for her standards. She wasn't just any weirdo whose about to panic when things go wrong in their life. She needed to find another solution.

But hee train of thoughts was interrupted by heavy steps that were made on the other side of the thick metal door. It sounded like someone was walking towards her cell. Maybe a guard? Or even Hugo Strange again?

"I wonder how it will turn out today" she heard a guard say "The last times were extremely chaotic. I don't think she'll make it today"

"Me, too" another guard said "She's too verdant, yet. Dr. Strange doesn't really have her under control. In my opinion, she needs more training."

"Definitely" In this moment, the guards knocked at the metal door almost aggressively "Yo, Patel! Time to get up!" And so they opended the door slowly that it squeaked. Scarlet didn't move at all, she just gazed at the two guards instead. She had the urge to fight them two because she knew they would bring her back to Hugo Strange and this training room and there she would suffer from pain again. 

"We said get up!" The other guard yelled.

"What if I don't?" Scarlet gave them a mischievous grin "You wanna press a button to harm me with electro shocks?" She wasn't scared of them at all, like what does Scarlet have to lose besides her life? Nothing, so why not playing a risky game then?

"A bit mouthy today, aren't you?" One of the guards chuckled and walked towards her with the other to grab her under her arms to get her up "Today is your lucky day, we'll bring you to the rec room"

The rec room... does it mean the training was over? Or does it mean the other inmates are now the objects she unwillingly needs to fight?And in the rec room she would see Andy again, the one who told her not to listen to him, the one who was right. She hated to admit, she should have listened to him. She should have stayed quiet and ignored Strange and his stupid babbling. What will he think of her now when he sees her? What will he do? Scarlet knew he was different from Jerome so she knew he wouldn't threat Hugo Strange. He would probably ignore Scarlet because he was so disappointed in her and would think she was no professional - well, in this case he would be right. She was none. She was gullible and naive like a fucking teenager.

They all went along the halls and other cells, downstairs and along more halls until they arrived the cell door of the rec room. Nothing has really changed ever since she decided to go with Hugo Strange. Several groups of inmates were formed that played some silly games - and then there was Andy, who sag all alone on a bench reading one of the books that were offered like the first they met when he was a newbie.

The good old horns were honking and the cell door opened - and there it was. When Scarlet walked her first steps into the rec room, you heard mumbling and gasping. You saw shocked and maybe even feared looks in everybody’s eyes. Apparently no one expected Scarlet would ever come back. When Scarlet looked at Andy, she saw his shock, maybe also relief and a little happiness in his eyes. But then he stood up, walking up to her and his gaze changed instantly. It was full of anger and madness, maybe also a little sadness and compassion. What changed his facial expression so much? Was it the fact that she made a false decision? Or was it the sight of her? With her bandaged arm? The scratches? And the blood? Was it the fact that he knew she wasn’t the same anymore?

“Andy” Scarlet said in almost a whisper, but he just stared at her still, saying completely nothing. It was like he was struggling with how to feel right now. It was like he was thinking way too much, and the way he thought was too chaotic and he didn’t know what was wrong and what was right “I’m-…”

“Don’t,” He suddenly said in a lower quiet voice “Don’t say a word. I’ll take care of you now. You’ll be alright very soon. Just trust me”

[michelle-is-writing]

Accident, Mick Mars

Word Count: 1.9k~

This was a call Mick never expected to get. This was something the guys never expected to hear from me, either. Quite frankly, I never thought I’d have to make the call telling them I got into an accident and now I’m in the hospital, but here I am.

“(Y/n), are you okay?!” Mick asks for the fifth time, fear filling his voice as he stays on the phone with me. “Please, tell me you’re okay,” he repeats, “I don’t give a shit about the car - are you okay?”

Nodding even though he can’t see me, I answer him, “Yes, I’m okay... well, as okay as I can be in an ER of all places,” I tell him, the nurse standing next to my bed injecting what’s likely pain medication through my IV as I get comfortable in my hospital bed. “They had to put stitches where my head hit the window, and I-I got a concussion and my shoulder really hurts from the seatbelt, but I’m okay, I promise.”

“I’m on my way,” he tells me, causing me to shake my head instantly. They just started recording their new album and I know they don’t have any time to waste on it either. If Nikki has to fight to get a few hours to go to a doctors appointments, then Mick probably won’t be able to leave to come here - especially since I’m pretty much fine and nothing is wrong with me.

“No, no, don’t come here. Please, honey,” I plead with him, the nurse giving me a strange look as she listens. “I know that finishing the album is really important to you guys, and I don’t want you guys to have to pause it just for me. So, please,” at this point, the nurse is pushing me to lay back down. In the middle of me trying to change Mick’s mind, I sat up, and now that I’m back against the pillows, I realize just how much my back hurts when I move. I sigh. “Just stay at the studio until you guys are allowed to leave. I’ll be okay, and it’ll take a while for them to discharge me. Okay?”

For a few moments, the other line stays quiet, and I find myself closing my eyes. I can’t decide if it’s the pain medicine kicking in, or if it’s me coming down from the adrenaline rush, but I’m really tired all of a sudden. Just as I feel myself slipping away into the darkness of sleep, Mick sighs and speaks up once more. “I’m on my way.”

As soon as I hear the other line click, I let out another sigh and put the phone down by my side. “Men,” the nurse mutters, taking the rooms phone and putting it back on the hook. “They never listen - no matter what you tell them.”

Still feeling tired, I shake my head. “So I see,” I mutter, the nurse smiling back at me.

“I’ll be honest, they’ll probably want to keep you overnight just in case,” she further informs me. “Usually, when head trauma is involved, they want to keep you for observation. You’re feeling okay now because of the morphine, but it won’t last forever.”

Nodding at her, I sigh once again. “Just what my husband needs,” I mutter, but the nurse only smiles again.

“It’s good that he’s coming - he should,” she tells me as she pulls the hospital blanket over me more. “But don’t worry about him, just get some rest. You need it,” at that, I nod my head, albeit a little hesitantly. I don’t want to be the reason Mick gets in trouble with their manager, nor do I want Mick to get in trouble at all.

Finally comfortable, I close my eyes and feel my body relax further into the bed just as the feeling of exhaustion consumes me. I have never felt this tired in my life, and there’s no fighting it either - it’s already won.

What feels like days pass before my eyes open again, and I’m greeted by the hospital ceiling I fell asleep to. The only difference now is the brightness of the lights and how bad it’s hurting my head. On top of that, my pain meds have worn off and everything I wasn’t feeling before is hitting me at full force.

With a small pained cry, I bring my hand up to cover my eyes as fast as I can to block the light. Following that, I hear the rustle of someone beside me before Mick’s concerned features fills in the gaps of my fingers. “Baby, are you okay?” He asks, worry filling his voice.

Despite the pain in my head, I move my hand away from my face to look at Mick leaning over me before reaching up to touch his face, happy tears filling my eyes. I may have told him that he didn’t have to come, but I’m so glad he’s here right now.

“Babe, are-you-okay?” He asks once again, sounding out every word out as he lifts his hand up to cup my hand currently on his cheek. “You’re crying, what’s wrong? Does something hurt?”

“No- well, yes, but that’s not why I’m crying,” I explain, giving a small laugh. “I’m just really happy to see you here, and I know I said don’t come, but I’m so glad you did,” at that, Mick gives me one of his rare smiles before leaning down and kissing my cheek.

“I’m going to go get the nurse so she can get you more meds, okay?” He tells me, before standing back up and heading out of the room. It is in this moment that I realize this has happened before, although Mick and I were in opposite roles.

He had just gotten out of surgery for his hip and I was the one stressing to make sure he was comfortable and not in pain. At first, he was in a lot of pain, and I tried my best to soothe him while they were getting the pain medication for him. With the anesthesia still in his system, he was trying so hard to get me in his hospital bed so I could hold him, but at that point, I couldn’t and I felt bad about it. I also had to be the one to corral the boys out of his room since they were bringing nothing but havoc into the hospital - it was nothing unusual though.

It isn’t too long before Mick’s back with the nurse and I’m getting more morphine put in my IV. Thankfully, it works quickly, and once again, Mick and I are left to each other.

“How long have you been here for?” I ask him, watching as he takes a seat in front of me on my bed.

“For a few hours,” he answers, making me sigh. I was asleep the whole time and he could’ve been at the studio until I woke up. “But I’m glad I left early. Your doctor told me what all happened from what the E-M-S worker told him,” well that’s good the doctor told him since I don’t remember a whole lot after the accident. Mostly, I remember being brought in through the ER doors and calling Mick as soon as I could.

“He said you were going in and out when you were in the ambulance since you hit your head pretty hard. Plus, you lost a little blood; that’s why you really needed to sleep,” with everything he says, I can hear every ounce of concern he had and still has for me. Although, at the moment, the worried face Mick has right now just kills me inside.

Looking away from Mick, I sink deeper into the bed than before. “I was going to the store to pick up something to make for dinner,” I explain, “I wasn’t too far from the house when it happened. My light turned green and I went, but before I knew it, I felt something hit the car and I felt my head hit the window,” closing my eyes, I feel myself start to tear up again. “I don’t know if they can fix the car since he hit me really hard and I am so sorry, Mick, I am so sorry.”

Mick wastes no time in moving up closer to me in bed, but unlike the time he was the one in the hospital bed, we’re able to lie in it together. “Baby, please do not blame yourself, okay? Because it wasn’t your fault, and I know that, everyone knows that,” he assures me, wrapping his arm around me to hold me close to him. Meanwhile, his other hand reaches up to wipe my tears away, his hand staying there afterward. “It was that guy’s fault, it was all him. He shouldn’t have gone on a red and almost…”

Mick drones off with his words, leaving me to open my eyes and look up at him. Now he’s the one with his eyes closed, his forehead pushing together like he’s in thought. Mick isn’t the easiest person to read, and it’s not always easy for him to show how he feels. Over the years, I’ve learned what each of his little movements mean. Right now, I feel like he’s almost distraught and he can’t make himself say what could’ve happened. The idea of something happening to me during the accident is what’s making Mick upset, and I wish he wouldn’t think that way.

“Mick, honey,” I murmur, running my hand across his hair. “Please look at me,” he doesn’t despite my request, making me lean forward a little lean to my head up toward his. “Please.”

Thankfully, Mick turns his head at me this time, and with red, cloudy eyes, Mick meets my gaze. “I’m okay,” I whisper, giving him a smile. “And I will be okay - okay? You shouldn’t be so upset, baby. I’m here.”

For a second, Mick pauses before speaking, his voice quieter than before. “I could’ve lost you,” he points out with a low and strained voice. “Things could have been different, and I wouldn’t be here holding you, but rather, signing your name on a death cert-” Mick cuts himself off, unable to finish his sentence once again as my hand moves down to his cheek.

Pulling him to me, I press my lips to his, and thankfully, he kisses me back as his hands move to pull me closer. After a few moments, I pull away with a smile. “Thankfully, you’re not signing anything,” I remind him, watching as he gently smiles back with a nod. “I’m still here, and I’m still here with you. I can’t wait to get back home with you though,” I sigh, Mick agreeing with me.

“Me too, babe,” Mick murmurs. “As soon as we get home, I’ll get you dinner for a change since you got hurt last time.”

Quickly catching his joke, I look up at his smirking face and laugh. “Asshole!” I exclaim, smiling as it hits me that Mick’s not taking this so hard anymore, thankfully. “You’re gonna run us through a drive-thru, aren’t you?”

Laughing with me now, Mick nods, kissing my cheek. “You know me too well,” at his words, I chuckle. Of course I know him too well; I did marry the one-of-a-kind guy, after all.

[whump-town]

Shattered Hearts, Fractured Lungs

Chapter Seven; Warnings for: school shooting, violence, language, and heart failure; you can find the whole fic on my pinned post 

Emily Prentiss just wants to do her job but a messy case sends her sprawling into the arms of a dying man with a toddler and his weird, broken family.

“The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.” --Lord Byron

Recovery is, by no means, linear.

His body is healing. It’s a slow progression of drainage tubes, surgical staples, and gauze. Every hour of the night, a nurse comes to check in on him. There is pain management and physical therapy. Some guy in jeans and a dress shirt, dressed more like a teacher than someone from the psych department (he would know), comes to ask some roundabout questions.

It’s not that hard to lie, he knows exactly what needs to be said to get out of here.

So while his body carries on, he’s fighting to keep wanting to heal.

He’s not sleeping enough and off the morphine and sedatives, he’s dealing with the aggravation of a tremble in his left hand. The physical therapist is more worried about his chest, getting back to physical health, and establishing routines that will keep his heart healthy. He’s preoccupied with the fact that he can’t even raise his arm to his mouth or hold a cup of water without spilling it.

It’s going to make a wicked scar though. One of many that’s he’s acquired in such a short amount of time. There’s the scar from the central line which pales considerably to the three bullet wounds on his chest. Now, he’s got a ghastly cut that runs diagonally with his ribs. Not that he can see it, he’s still not currently able to raise his arms much more than to bend his elbows.

The hospital’s “cure-all” is routine.

Everything has a routine. Food. Walks. Visits. Therapy. Nurse rotations. All of which would be nice, if he had any semblance of control. That’s what this surgery was about, no? Getting back to a point where he wouldn’t need constant aide and, yet, he struggles to sit up by himself.

It’s mentally draining.

“Physical therapy,” Dave says with a smirk. He’s pointing to the board the nurses keep updated with what he’s doing every day. It bothered him that they come in every morning to rewrite it. It’s the same routine every day. “Oh, I bet they love you down there.” They do not, in fact, love him down there or here. He’s an impatient bastard who wants to go back to work and is so very tired of being touched constantly by so many strangers.

He’s an impatient bastard… who is just so very tired.

He chooses not to comment, keeping his gaze down to stare at the floor. To be honest, he needs to go home. His mental health is slipping like water in his desperately cupped hands. He’s moody and stiff and… he just wants to go home (and if he dares to say a word about the fact that he keeps thinking about how he should have never let them convince him to take the adrenaline, to accept treatment they’d keep him here even longer. He’d become a whole new kind of threat).

Dave notices the not to casual drop of conversation on Aaron’s part. His eyes just cast aside and shoulder slumped. “Alright,” Dave caves.  “Let’s go.” That’s plenty of torture for one day and he’s not done yet. “How about you I go on a walk?”

Aaron frowns, looking over at Dave with a strange, tense feeling of embarrassment. As if he’s said something he isn’t supposed to. “Why?”

He’s been withdrawn. Everyone’s noticed. It’s not that Dave thinks Aaron should be more grateful. The boy just got a heart transplant and that’s fantastic but that doesn’t erase everything else that’s happened. The hospital visits. Stress. And now, at the top of it all, his visitor’s list has essentially dwindled down to just him-- just Dave.

“You’re just looking a little down,” Dave says, bending down to retrieve one of his three duffel bags.

Watching Dave unfold a flannel Hotch can’t help but groan. “I don’t want to go to the garden, Dave.” It’s not until after the words leave his mouth that he realizes how pathetic and whiny it sounds.

Dave just shoots him a simple glance out of the corner of his eyes but doesn’t comment on his tone. “We’re not going to the garden,” Dave informs him. He brings the flannel to Hotch, offering him it with a nod. He refrains from smiling when Hotch sighs but puts on the flannel. “I’m taking you to see Jack.”

Hotch’s head jerks up, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh,” he says, so happy that he doesn’t even put up a protest when Dave starts to pull the flannel secure around his shoulders. Smoothing out the worn fabric. “Is he--” he swallows thickly around this strange tightness in his throat. It makes no sense to be unnerved at the thought of seeing his son.

“He’s thrilled,” Dave says. “Penelope told him about our little plan yesterday and the poor kid barely slept at all last night he was so excited.” That gets Dave the softest little laugh. “I don’t think he’s gonna last very long,” Dave mumbles. Jack had really been squirming about when he’s left them just a moment ago. Anxious and annoyed with the adults for taking so long, Jack was acting up just a little. “He’ll probably crawl right into your lap and be out like a light.”

Hotch smiles at the thought but he knows what he really wants more than anything-- to just hold his son close to his chest. To feel his tiny little ribcage press into his own. The soft, trusting way Jack presses his face into his neck and links his arms behind Hotch’s head.

“Ready?”

Hotch nods.

Walking is getting easier. The strain that pulls along his ribcage is still there. The muscles are healing very slowly but at least he can hold himself upright now. His shoulders pulled back and there’s some life to his gate. No longer looking like a broken marionette held up by his strings.

“Look, Jack!”

He’s still making his steady but slow progression down the hall when Penelope spots them. Hotch mirrors the excited look on his son’s face. Stopping and leaning against the wall as Jack is placed on his feet.

Reid snags the toddler by his waist, whispering their constant reminder that Jack has to be careful. With a nod that is so very grown-up and serious for someone of his little stature or age, Jack is released back onto the floor. Reid pushes his butt and sends him on.

“Daddy!” Jack comes flying at them as fast as he can. All along the way, his little shoes light up the dark hallway. Sketchers. Something Penelope or Reid bought him, no doubt. They spoil him.

Hotch can’t crouch which really puts a damper on the reunion hug Jack is coming for. 6’2 vs. 3’0 is a big gap. “Hey, buddy.” Hotch chuckles as Jack wraps his little arms around his legs, burying his face in Hotch’s sweatpants. He can reach from here to run his hands through the boy’s hair.

Dave crouches down and Jack turns and happily goes into his arms. “Let’s let Daddy sit down, okay?” Dave offers. “Then you can sit with him.”

Jack nods, eagerly.

They’ve taken three small steps when Jack starts to squirm in Dave’s arms. He sets the boy down on his feet and smiles fondly when Jack goes right to Hotch’s side grabs a fistful of his pants, and “helps”.

Hotch smiles sadly down at his son. He wants to be better. Someone needs to be here for Jack. Needs to do all the things that he just keeps failing at. He’s a bad father.

“Up we go--” Hotch blinks and he’s in the chair, opening his arms to accept a very happy Jack into his arms. Jack curls straight into his chest. Tucking his little head up under Hotch’s chin. Wrapping both his arms around them, Hotch sighs and shakes his head. Things are going to be okay.

They have to be.

*****************

She’s supposed to be on desk duty for the next to foreseeable future. That’s not her fault. There were nor ever have been any mistakes made by her to deserve this banishment. Aside from the fact that her partner is dead… and if management knew she spent 95% of her time thinking about the hot teacher she’d met that day they’d be even more worried.

But Derek Morgan isn’t worried. He thinks she’s doing okay. Great, really, considering. Mostly, though, he’s okay with everything because he knows the teacher is keeping her together in ways that he couldn’t. Does that make him a little jealous? Yeah, they’ve been friends for years. But she’s smiling again.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?”

The fallacy in moving her between the desk and the field is that she has field knowledge. Valuable knowledge that Derek doesn’t have time to teach a rookie. Not when mistakes can be made.

Emily rolls her eyes, “I’m not broken, Derek. I remember what to do.” The gun in her hand fits like a glove but as her fingers curl around the handle… it’s not her glove anymore. It feels like she’s not supposed to have it. Sure, she’s had it. She’s been carrying it around but having it out and needing to use it versus just having it as a second limb attacked to her belt is…

“I don’t want to drag you into something you’re not ready for,” Morgan defends. Rightfully so. He’s sticking his units neck out right now asking for her help. He needs her help, there’s no mistake there, but he doesn’t want her to get hurt. Not if he can help it.

He stops her, hand on her bicep and voice low-- making a point so that no one else will hear. “There’s no pressure,” he whispers. “Just… you don’t have to do this.”

She swallows thickly as she considers what he means. There are things she can loose. Another lesson she’s learned recently… brushes with death are not as fun as everyone fortells them to be. Death is on her mind constantly, espcially after almost loosing Aaron.

“I known,” she decides. She has to do this. She has to prove to herself. Besides, this will all be fun in a few days. A cool story to tell Aaron.

It’ll be fine.

*****************

Jack leaves after lunch.

He’s cranky and cries when Reid picks him up out of Hotch’s lap. There’s nearly nothing Hotch wants more than to keep the little boy here. To hold him through his nap. Especially when Jack cries out for him, rubbing his eyes with his fists and burying his face in Reid’s shirt.

“We’ll come back later,” Reid soothes the boy.

Hotch watches with an intense jealousy.

“See ya’ Hotch,” Reid mumbles ducking away with the crying boy. Rubbing his hand up and down his back.

Hotch just… watches numbly.

Numbly as they leave.

Numbly as he sits alone.

“You tired,” Dave asks after they’ve left. The room has settled. It’s silent. That silence is heavy.

Hotch shakes his head but the answer is yes.

Dave already knows this. “We can--” Dave stops what he’s saying to look down at his phone. He frowns, “ugh, give me a second.” He steps to the side, and accepts the call. “Hello?”

Emily Prentiss is sitting three floors down from them right now. Her mission didn’t go as smoothly as planned but it’s nothing a few weeks of physical therapy and desk work won’t fix. So, what she’s been dealing with for months now. She’s calling to informs Dave that she will, in fact, not be making it up to see Hotch this afternoon.

“We’ll be down in a second.”

Bad idea.

Sitting, three floors down, Derek Morgan is waiting to visit her too. He’s got his hands on his head, elbows on his knees. He looks up when the door opens, expecting a doctor to sept in but instead he finds the Mr. Teacher Man. Aaron.

Hotch’s chest aches at the sight of Derek. He doesn’t know much at all about the man. He’s Emily’s friend, an old friend whom she trusts. “Is that--” his knees feel weak. A familiar feeling of light headedness and tight pain in his chest nearly taking his off his feet. “Is that her blood?”

Morgan looks down at his arms. It is her blood. All of it. It’s covering his arms up to his elbows. “It’s not that bad,” the man stutters. “There was so much blood--” his eyes widen as he realizes that was the wrong thing to say. The look on Aaron’s face says it all. The fear struck the way that Morgan feels. “There was a lot of blood but she’s fine now,” he stammers. “Really. It just looks bad!” He’s shaking, just a little. His cool is gone, his demeanor on the mend. “I promise,” he manages. “I promise, okay? Please just-- she’s okay.”

Fuck, if he kills this guy-- this guy that Emily is in love with-- she’ll kill him. She’ll hate him.

“Have you--” Hotch is marginally aware of Dave’s tight grip on his arm. Of the shake in his knees. “Have you seen her?”

Morgan shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “She’s okay though, really man. Just needs a few stitches.” A graze more than anything. The problem had been when she passed out. He’d had her in his arms, reminding her to stay with him. To keep fighting. There had just been so much blood.  

It takes an hour for anyone to come get them.

There’s no debating, just a silent step back as they enter the room. All three of them want to see her. To really make sure she’s okay. Dave steps closer, wrapping his body around Hotch’s thinner one. Keeping him upright until he can be eased into the visitor’s chair. Morgan watches froma a few feet behind. Eyes trained on Emily.

“I’m okay,” Hotch grunts. “I’m okay.”

Morgan clears his throat, “I’m going to get some coffee.” He throws a thumb in the direction of the door, “you guys want anything?”

Dave runs his hand across Hotch’s back, shaking his head his stubborn ass kid. “Yeah,” Dave sighs. “I’ll come with you. I need a cup of something but I could use something stronger than this hospitals shitty coffee.”

Morgan agrees.

Hotch waits for them to leave before taking her hand. Emily never stops talking and she’s always moving. It’s scary to see her like this. So still. He takes her hand. Rough calluses circle her much smaller hand. He squeezes her fingers, rubbing his thumb along her thin knuckles.

She makes a soft, inhaling sound as she wakes up. Immediately groaning when the lights and the pain hit her.

“Hey,” he greets.

She clears her throat, feeling the heavy affects of the drugs in her system. “Hey, yourself.” It makes her stomach do a strange little flip with the way he’s holding her hand. “Were you worried about me, Hotchner,” she asks. She smiles at him, toothy and happy despite the blood on Morgan’s clothes and the IV’s in snaking into her body.

“Just a little,” he admits, shaking his head. He looks down, away from her. Embarrassed at just how terrified he really was at the thought of losing her. Even when Derek swore she was, by most standards, okay. “I just…” he realizes there’s an almost confession trying to worm it’s way off his lips. He clears it away with a rough cough. Pulling in a shaky breath he amends, “I just got this heart, Emily.”

She looks over at him and feels deep shame in the affect her actions have caused.

“I’m just… it’s a new heart, you know? I can’t have you going around trying to stop it.”

She’s not sure if that makes her want to cry or to hug him. Voice thick and eyes swelling with emotion she nods, “I’ll try not to go doing that anymore. We wouldn’t want to ruin your new heart.”

He smirks and nods his head. The day is cathing up with him, though, and he catches himself yawning.

Emily squeezes his hand, “you’re tired.” She narrows her gaze, tone turned serious. “You shoul go get some sleep.”

He shakes his head, “I’m not. Really, I’m fine.” Besides it’s the middle of the afternoon. No time for a nap.

“You are,” she says. “Go,” she nods. “Get some rests. You’re still healing. You can’t heal sitting here next to me.”

Hotch nods his head but stays, ultimately. His face is a light blush as he admits, “I just… It can be scary, staying here by yourself. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Fuck. If he isn’t the sweetest man. God, why can’t he be a dick? Why does he have to be so easy going and caring? “Aaron,” she chokes on his name. Her chest tight as she bites her lip to keep from crying.

He squeezes her hand, “until you fall asleep? Okay? And then I’ll go. I promise.”

She wants to say no. She wants to remind him that sitting here isn’t good for his body and that he rally, really needs to think about his recovery but… He’s pleading and worried and having him here is relaxing. She likes the way he’s holding her hand. And she doesn’t want to be alone. So if he wants to stay then she can’t ask him to leave. Not when she wants him here too. “Okay,” she caves. “Until I fall asleep and no later.”

It makes him smile and that makes it 100% it all alone. “Okay,” he agrees. “Yes, ma’am.”

(this is for you @clockedstar)

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #12

Mass Effect - #12 - Broken Bones

*

“Just like the old days in the Mako, huh?” Kaidan said as they sped along. 

Shepard scoffed. “This handles way easier than the Mako. I can’t even remember how many times I flipped that damn thing.”

“I can,” Garrus said. “I still have the scars.”

Shepard clapped him on the shoulder. “One more scar won’t make a difference.”

“You’re hilarious,” Garrus said dryly. 

“Are we staying with these contacts, or heading back to the Normandy after?” Kaidan asked, deciding to break up their little fight before it could grow into a true argument about driving. 

“It depends on how long this meeting takes. We need to negotiate for that supplies, and it sounds like it could take a while,” Shepard said. “We should reach their outpost in an hour at this rate. It’ll start to get dark around then. We might be better off staying for the night, depending on how the negotiations go.”

“And if they go poorly?” Garrus said.

“Then it’s a good thing Kaidan seems to like this vehicle so much, because we might be sleeping in it,” Shepard said.

“Whoa, hey, I never said I liked it. I was just being nostalgic. I don’t want to sleep in this thing,” Kaidan said.

“Then we all better be on our best behavior at these negotiations,” Shepard said.

“I’m always on my best behavior, Shepard,” Garrus said.

Shepard sighed heavily. “Should’ve brought Tali.” 

He drove down a particularly sharp incline and onto flatter land. Kaidan saw the way Shepard tensed up the slightest, like he always did in this terrain. 

But other than that slight tensing, he didn’t slow down or hesitate. Despite the horror he’d faced on Akuze, he kept going, not letting any fear show on his face.

Kaidan and Garrus shared a quick, silent look. Shepard had a lot of nightmares to battle, and the thresher maw attack he’d survived on Akuze was no different. He shouldered on against the horror, but he didn’t have to do it alone.

“Shep, what’s our tactic for this negotiation?” Kaidan asked, to keep Shepard’s mind occupied on something else.

Shepard shot him a knowing look, but played along. “Neutral, at first. We’ll hear what they want in exchange for the supplies, and adjust our attitude from there. If it’s something simple, we can do this the nice way. If they want to be stubborn, so can we.”

“I like being stubborn,” Garrus said, perking up a bit. 

“No drawing weapons on them,” Shepard said sternly. “We need to-”

He cut off with a loud curse, spinning the wheel. The vehicle kicked up debris as it swung to the side, narrowly avoiding the eruption of ground as a thresher maw tore through.

So much for keeping Shepard’s mind off of thresher maws.

Kaidan and Garrus had their guns out already, aiming and firing as Shepard tried to regain control of the vehicle. He swung it around to face the thresher maw, firing from the vehicle’s cannons. 

His expression was that hardened one he always got during battle, no sign of the sudden fear spiking through him on instinct. He’d faced thresher maws before, and he could handle this if he could just keep a level head.

The thresher maw spat acid at them, and Shepard maneuvered the vehicle around it. Kaidan and Garrus were shooting, bracing themselves against the side of the vehicle as Shepard weaved around to make them a harder target to strike.

The thresher maw dove back underground, and Shepard continued weaving the vehicle, eyes darting around for any sign of it. The whole ground was shaking now, and he couldn’t pinpoint where the damn thing would come up.

“Should we retreat?” Kaidan asked.

“No, we’ll just have to fight it on our way back. If we have to stay out after dark because of bad negotiations, we don’t want that thing out there with us,” Shepard said. “Best to take it down now. Stay on your guard.”

The ground shook harder. Shepard saw the ground before them starting to give, and tried to twist the vehicle away.

But he was just a fraction too slow, and the thresher maw burst forward, striking the side of the vehicle. It went airborne, spinning in the air, and Shepard tried to cling to the wheel.

But then the vehicle crashed to the ground, and Shepard was flung from the force of impact. He soared through the air, limbs flailing.

Shepard crashed to the ground, and howled out in agony as his legs hit first. The sound of breaking bones echoed through his ears as the rest of him hit the ground.

He laid there, panting desperately as pain tore through him, his vision blurring with it. He dug his fingers into the ground, desperate to stay conscious. His friends. He had to know what had happened to his friends.

He fought past the pain to gently move his neck. Not broken. His back hurt, but he could move it, so that was good. Both arms were banged up, but seemed alright to move.

His legs were the problem.

He’d landed wrong, and both were broken. He tried to drag himself forward, but the pain was too great, and dark spots swarmed his vision. He pressed his forehead to the ground, sucking it air until his vision steadied. 

Not good, not good.

“Kaidan! Garrus!” he cried hoarsely. 

“Shepard!”

That was Kaidan’s voice, not too far off. But where was Garrus?

“Garrus!” he called.

“He’s okay,” Kaidan called back. “Trapped in the vehicle. I’m trying to get him out.”

Shepard tried to drag himself forward again, but abandoned the attempt when his vision wavered. He couldn’t risk passing out now. His friends needed him.

Instead, he grabbed his gun and twisted the best he could to aim at the thresher maw. It’s focus was on Kaidan, and it reared back to spit acid.

“Kaidan! Move!” Shepard yelled, firing on the thresher maw.

Kaidan dove to the side as the acid struck where he’d just been standing. Some of it caught the vehicle, disintegrating part of it. Kaidan ran back, slamming the butt of his gun against the weakened vehicle until the side caved in.

Kaidan helped haul Garrus out. Both men were bloodied but standing. Garrus had a mild limp, but both back up and aimed their guns, which was good. They could still fight.

They were backing towards where Shepard laid. Kaidan gestured to Garrus, who pushed past his limp to move around and draw the thresher maw’s attention.

Kaidan ran to Shepard, eyes going wide as he took in his condition. He dropped to his knees beside Shepard.

“Shep,” he said, sounding a little helpless. He took a deep breath, replacing his concern with determination. “Can you move?”

Shepard shook his head. “Legs are both broken. I’ll pass out if you try to move me.”

“Joker, we need an immediate evac,” Kaidan said. “Shepard needs medical attention, and Garrus and I need backup.”

“ETA two minutes,” Joker replied.

“Dammit,” Kaidan hissed. He reached out, then hesitated.

“Just my legs,” Shepard said, grip tightening on his gun. “I can still fight.”

“Don’t.” Kaidan’s voice was sharp. “If you shoot at it, you’ll draw its attention. You can’t move out of the way of an attack. It’ll kill you, Shepard. Garrus and I will keep it distracted.”

“You need me,” Shepard argued. “You can’t take that thing down on your own.”

“And you can’t move,” Kaidan shot back. “You’re down for this one, Commander. You stopped it from taking out the vehicle and killing us back there. You did your part. Let us have your back now.” He placed a firm hand on Shepard’s shoulder. “None of us are dying here. That includes you.”

Kaidan moved to get up, but Shepard gripped his ankle. “I lost my whole team on Akuze. That’s not happening again. I can still fight.”

“You can’t move!” Kaidan said, gesturing to Shepard’s broken legs. “Shepard, please. Let us protect you. You’re not good to us dead. You need to trust that we can handle this. Do you trust us?”

Shepard reluctantly pulled his hand away from Kaidan’s ankle. “I trust you, Kaidan.” 

“Don’t move, and don’t shoot at it. It shouldn’t pay any attention to you if you just stay still,” Kaidan said, and took off running away from him.

Following those orders was a tough ordeal, especially after Garrus’s injury caused him to have a close call with the thresher maw’s acid spit. But he managed to evade it in the end, even as Shepard aimed his gun with a pounding heart.

Bursts came from above, striking the thresher maw. Shepard craned his neck to look up, and relief flooded him as the Normandy sailed past, firing relentlessly at the thresher maw. It evaded the thresher maw’s retaliation easily, and managed to take the damn thing down without much of a struggle. 

The ship landed as Kaidan and Garrus hurried back to his side. Kaidan reached out and gripped his shoulder.

“Thank you, Commander,” he said seriously. 

“You guys have my back. I know that,” Shepard said with a nod. “There’s no one in the galaxy I trust more than my crew. My friends.”

“Shepard, what the hell have you done this time?” Chakwas demanded as she hurried over, Tali helping her push a stretcher. “How are you even still conscious?”

“Sheer determination,” Shepard said, and laid his head down as a wave of dizziness came over him. “But the adrenaline is wearing off. Think I might pass out soon.”

Chakwas sighed heavily. “That’s probably for the best. Let’s get you on board so I can check the extent of the damage. Is your spine alright?”

“Everything is sore, but only my legs are broken,” Shepard assured. 

“This is going to hurt,” she warned as she knelt beside him. “Kaidan, Garrus, help me move him onto the stretcher. Carefully.”

“Ready, Shep?” Garrus said, getting his hands under Shepard.

He really wasn’t ready. But he meant it when he said he trusted them.

“Go ahead. And I’m begging you to shoot me up with all the morphine on the Normandy,” Shepard said. 

“One look at your legs has me planning on it,” Chakwas assured him.

The three counted down and carefully lifted him. Despite how cautious they were, Shepard cried out in pain, burying his head against the nearest shoulder as his vision finally went dark.

As he lost consciousness, his last thought wasn’t even concern for whether or not his legs could heal properly from this. Instead, he thought to himself how glad he was that his friends had survived the attack to carry him to safety. 

[eugenesmorphine]

If it doesn’t bother you too much, could I possibly get a fluffy renée imagine where the reader gets hurt and renée helps her out? (Lets just pretend women were allowed to be paratroopers-)

AN: I hope you like this, I have seen any Renée imagines before, and I loved writing this one. So I hope you love it as much as I do. And Renée is so underrated and I love her.

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @hihosilvers @floydtab

Words: 2,606

   It had been the third time today that  German Artillery had been blowing up Bastogne Forest. Though, this time it only lasted about ten minutes. Trees had fallen, my ears were ringing, everything seemed quiet besides the loud ring from the percussion of the Artillery blasts. I wasn’t in a foxhole, I didn’t get a chance to. “L/N! L/N where the hell are you?!” Called Luz from god knows where. George Luz was my best friend and battle buddy. I was supposed to be in my foxhole, but mother nature called and I needed to relieve myself. And as a woman, it wasn’t as easy as the rest of the men. Clearly. I should’ve just stayed in my foxhole.

  After the first blast I had jumped on the ground next to a fallen tree from past attacks. Landing on my stomach, my face placed into the snow while my hands went on top of my head to hold my helmet in place. The ground shook like there was a damn earthquake with each Artillery round that hit it. And when one landed about ten to fifteen feet away from me, I felt my bones rattle and my organs shift. Now I was rolling over, Luz’s voice seemed like static in the back of my head compared to the ringing that still has ceased to stop. 

  I rolled myself over on my back, that rattling in my bones caused me to feel like jelly. But, it was nothing I haven’t felt before. I took a deep breath, watching as I exhaled it, my breath being seen swirl throughout the air. I propped myself up using my arms, trying to push myself up. That was until a sharp pain shot throughout my left leg and up throughout the rest of my body. My eyes widened with the realization of the situation. I had been hit.

  It took me a couple seconds to gather the courage to even glance down at my now throbbing leg. And once I did, that’s when everything hit me. The ringing stopped, Luz’s shouts were loud, another man shouting for a medic, the sound of a few trees falling and colliding with the forest ground. And the pain in my leg was now excruciating. My breathing quickened, as a slight confused whine/sob escaped my chapped and practically blue lips. 

  Pieces of metal extruded from the lower piece of my left leg. Tearing the fabric of my pant leg to bits. That Artillery shell that hit just ten or fifteen feet away from me must’ve shot out pieces of metal, and with all the adrenaline that shot through me like a million bullets, I didn’t seem to feel it until now. I tried to stand myself up, which ended in me just falling right back onto my ass. I tried and tried again. But I couldn’t support myself.

  I heard the sound of running boots crunching with the snow that layered the ground coming towards me. “Holy shit. Y/N!” It was Luz. He dropped down next to me, my eyes still glued to my torn and bleeding leg. Maybe it wasn’t all that bad. Maybe it was just a surface wound. 

  Luz pulled me out of my thoughts as he grabbed my face with his and turned my face to look at him. “You’re okay Y/N, it isn’t even that bad! MEDIC!” he tried to reassure. I just nodded, kind of dazed at how fast all of this was unfolding. I swallowed hard and just kept nodding, trying to not panic or pass out. 

  As always, Doc Roe came speeding my way. Dropping onto his knees and already digging his hands in my medic pack. Taking out gauze, dressing, clotting powder, and whatever the hell the Cajun needed. “Luz, go get a jeep. She needs to go into town,” He spoke hurriedly but firm. His eye just glancing at Luz was enough for him to nod and jump up, sprinting to whoever and wherever in order to get me a jeep. “You’re going to be alright doll, I promise,” Roe’s words were smooth like butter with his Cajun accent. It never failed to relax me. I gulped and nodded, my mouth going dry.

  “It ain’t that bad, Right Doc?” my words were breathy, exasperated clearly. He looked at me as he placed the gauze down on the bleeding wounds and around the larger pieces of shrapnel. Not bothering to take them out without the proper equipment, god knows what it could have sliced if it was on its way into my calf. I cried out as he tied the dressings tightly on the gauze. I squinted my eyes and clenched my teeth. I thought my molars would shatter in the moment. 

  “It’s not that bad, you’re right,” Eugene nodded, reaching in his bag for a shot of Morphine. I shook my head, pressing my lips into a thin line. He looked at me for a second, keeping the shot in his hand.

  “Save the Morphine Doc. It ain’t that bad,” I seethed through my clenched teeth. Roe nodded and stuffed the Morphine back into his Medic pack. And just as on cue, the sound of Jeep tires coming to a halt and Luz and someone else’s boots hit the snow covered ground. Roe stood and quickly walked over around me to hoist me up by my right shoulder, while Luz hoisted me up by my left shoulder. My arms went to wrap around their necks so I could help them support my weight while they placed me on the back of the Jeep. I groaned as my leg throbbed. 

  “Look Y/N, you’re all good. Doc is going to get you into town and you are going to be fixed up no time. And then you can come back onto the line,” Luz told me. A smile on his lips. But the fear and nervousness etched deep into his brown eyes showed his true emotions clearly. Especially with the fact that he wasn’t cracking on jokes or doing any impressions. I just continued to nod, not really having the energy to form any words. Luz nodded once more and patted my shoulders. I heard the Jeep start up and Doc jumped into the passenger side of the small Jeep. And it was off, speeding off towards the town.

///

   The Jeep pulled up to the old church that was being used as some sort of hospital for soldiers. Doc and a nurse hoisted me up to carry me into the large church. Wounded soldiers lay in almost every square inch of the indoors. Some crying out in pain with missing limbs, gunshot wounds littering their bodies, and some dying right there. I tried not to focus on the pain that was admitting from my leg and the sorrowful heaviness that was carried within this once place of worship. I just sucked in on my bottom lip and kept trucking. Trying my best to keep the pain within and not cause any distraction. Just get in and out. That’s all.

  Doc placed me down on a cot and looked at a blonde nurse that hurried in with tweezers and more bandages. “Y/N, I have to go back to the line. This is Renée, she’ll take good care of you I promise,” Roe motioned to the nurse that was already down at my leg. I looked at her, my eyes locking on what she was doing to fix up my leg. I nodded, glancing at the Medic as he hurried out of the church and to the Jeep back outside.

  My eyes went back to the blonde nurse down in front of me. ‘Renée’ I repeated within my mind. It was a pretty name. Clearly French. She looked up at me and I felt my heart stop for a moment. The blue wrap that pulled her hair back gave a clear view of her face. A small smile grew on her lips as she stared up at me as she replaced the bandages. She was pretty. Like really pretty. Nobody except Luz knew about my attraction to women. I don’t know when it really started, but it did.

  I pressed my lips together as I seethed in pain. “I’m sorry Mademoiselle, I need to pull out the shrapnel before I can stitch and apply bandages,” her accent rolled off of her tongue and out of her lips perfectly. I nodded as I watched her work. Her hands worked so diligently, so perfectly. Her hands soft, red from the being stained with blood. The baby hairs on top of her forehead sticking to her head with sweat. That is how I knew she was a hard worker around this place. There was snow on the ground, the temperature was probably below freezing, yet she was still sweating. Her eyes were so focused on my wound. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts with this woman, I didn’t even feel her pull out the three pieces of shrapnel out of my leg. I just chewed on the inner lining of my bottom lip as I watched her work.

  Quickly, she stitched up my leg and rebandaged it. She stood up straight and wiped my blood off of her dainty hands. She was remarkable. Like a woman I had never seen before. And that was all I was caught up in. “Renée, was it? How long till I can get back on the line?” I asked, already itching to get back with my boys. She pressed her lips into a line and I could tell she was searching for the correct English words to use. 

  “Well, if you are okay with it being sore for a while, I’d say give it a day or two. Maybe three. The shrapnel didn’t go deep enough to puncture anything major. The stitches just need to sit for a bit. And if you do go back in that time span, you must be careful Mademoiselle Y/N or the stitches could tear,” she answers, clearly struggling on some words. I smiled slightly as she spoke and grabbed up old bandages to probably wash and or throw away. I nodded, sitting up on the cot and using my arms to hold myself up. My leg stilled throbbed, but not nearly as bad when the metal was sticking out of it. Like I said before, it was practically just a surface wound. 

  When Renée stood back up, tucking a few stray strands of her golden blonde hair had fallen out of her bun behind her in. I bit my bottom lip slightly, fighting the urge to say something. Scared a might say something stupid. As most would know, being known as a woman who likes the same gender during this time wasn’t a very popular thing. But, the urge was too strong.

  “Can I just say, you are really, really pretty,” I gushed. Immediately regretting every word that slipped out of my lips. I sounded like an idiot. My tone was that of a nervous teenage girl, complimenting her crush. My cheek flushed with red as she looked at me, a rush of pink coming to her pale skin, along with a small smile as she looked away. Alright, that isn’t a bad sign. That might be a good sign!

  “Tu es vraiment jolie aussi,” (You are really pretty too) Her French just made her seem even more perfect! My first real girl crush and I was acting like a child! I didn’t understand a lick French she spoke, but I guessed by the smile on her face and the look that she had on me when she exited the room. I chuckled to myself, sort of shocked at what had just happened.

///

  It had been two days since I came to the church/hospital. My leg had been healing quite alright. No signs of infections or anything other problems within the healing process. And each day Renée came and hung out with me a little bit on each day. Even gave me a little bit of chocolate. We talked and talked each time. She even taught me a little bit of French. And now here I was, waiting for the Jeep to come and bring me back to the front line. And there Renée was, sitting besides me. I wished I didn’t have to leave her behind. She made me feel something so knew. So different in the three days we knew each other. I sat there, my left leg extended while I looked at the road that led into the outside of the chapel. Not wanting to face the fact that I had to leave, and I didn’t know if I was going to be coming back to ever see the French woman again. 

  I felt a small hand wrap around my, intertwining our fingers. I glanced down and saw that Renée was holding onto my hand. I smiled softly at her as she looked up at me, her cheeks still that pretty pink color. Her head leaned against my shoulder, being careful not to bump my helmet off of my head. We stayed silent for the lasting moments before the Jeep arrived. Just enjoying the moment together. I yearned for this feeling, and I didn;t know if I was going to ever come back to her. Hell, even if I was ever going to feel the feeling again. So I was taking it in for as much as I could. 

  The Jeep pulled up and I sighed sadly. Releasing Renée’s hand and standing, careful not to put too much pressure on my healing leg. She stood and looked at me, I took her in a hug quickly and held her for a brief second. When we pulled away I gave her a nod which she reciprocated, and I turned to limp my way over to the Jeep. Slinging my M1’s strap over my shoulder.

  Before I got into the Jeep, I heard the French female call out to me. “Make sure you come back to me Y/N!” she called. I turned and saw the wind smile on her face. I waved and nodded.

  “I promise I will. And hey, what did that thing you said to me when I first got here mean? Remember, the sentence you said in French?” I called out, climbing carefully into the Jeep, keeping an eye on the woman. She smirked slightly and cupped her hands over her mouth in order to make herself louder.

  “I said that ‘You are really pretty too!’” I laughed softly as I nodded. Giving her one big wave as the driver of the Jeep began to turn around.

  “Till next time, Renée!” I shouted, as the image of the woman began to get smaller as the Jeep drove farther away from the chapel. She waved back at me, jumping slightly with the biggest and toothiest smile I had ever seen on a person.

  “Au Revior, Y/N!” she shouted in return. And soon, the french woman I had grown close with, had gone out of sight. I looked forward and pressed my lips together, missing the woman. Looking at my lap.

  “New friend?” asked the driver. Who was just some Replacement from god knows where. My eyes went up to meet him as I nodded. Licking my bottom lip as the smile on my lips grew. My answer was quiet, just above audible. The same warmth came to my cheeks as it did two days ago when I first met the women. 

  “Yeah, a new friend.”

[mustangshelby04]

Boston Boy - Chapter 17

Lisa held her son tightly as he sobbed.  He was in hysterics.  Helena was back out at the nurse’s station again demanding to speak with anyone that could give her information on what was happening with her daughter.  Scott was pacing furiously around the room.  Lisa had demanded that he be allowed back since he was family.  

“Why won’t they tell us anything?” Scott growled.

“Those nurses are useless!” Helena snapped as she marched back into the room. “She’s my daughter for crying out loud!”

“I refuse to believe she’s anything but ok.” Lisa said.  This caused Chris to let out another sob. “Would they tell you anything about the baby?”

“Nothing.” Helena said. “The doctor hasn’t cleared them to divulge any information.”

Finally, forty-five minutes after Chris had been dragged out of the OR, Dr. Beauchamp came into the room.  Chris jumped to his feet. “What’s going on?  Where’s my fiancée?  Where’s my baby?”

“Kate’s in recovery.” Dr. Beauchamp said. “Her blood pressure bottomed out. We think it was a reaction to the booster and the anti-anxiety meds after a hard labor.  We had to give her a shot of adrenaline to bring her back.”

“Is she ok?” Helena asked. “Is my daughter ok?”

“She’s on her way to ok.”

“What about the baby?” Lisa asked.

“Your granddaughter is doing good.  She’s in the NICU right now just as a precaution since she’s pre-term. Chris, you can go see her.”

“What about Kate?” Chris asked.

“I’m headed back there now.  Once I feel she’s stable enough, we’ll move her back in here.  This is Nurse Rose,” Dr. Beauchamp gestured to the middle-aged woman with brown hair in pink scrubs standing in the doorway. “She’ll take you to your daughter.”

Chris looked at his mother and Helena. “Go!” Lisa prodded, pushing him towards the door. “We’ll be right here.”

 *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Kate’s eyes fluttered open again and she realized she was back in the birthing suite.  Her nose itched like crazy, but when she went to scratch it she noticed her hand was shaking fiercely.  She remembered waking up once before covered in warm blankets and heating pads and shaking even harder than she was now.  That room hadn’t been as nice as this one.  She giggled at that random thought.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Helena said.  Kate turned her head to find her mother sitting on the bed with her. “Welcome back.”

“Mom?” Kate croaked.

“Hang on.” Helena turned and grabbed the cup of ice water off the nightstand. “Drink this.” She helped Kate sip on the straw and the cold liquid felt amazing.

“Why am I shaking so bad?”

“We almost lost you, baby.  The doctor had to give you adrenaline.  She said you would probably be shaky.”

Kate looked around the room. “Where’s Chris?”

“He’s with your daughter down in NICU.” Lisa said, coming to sit on Kate’s other side.  Kate realized that Scott, Carly, and Shanna were also in the room. “They’ll be on their way here soon.”

“Daughter?  We have a daughter?”

“Chris says she’s perfect.” Scott said, standing behind his mother.

Kate started to cry and Helena pulled her close and held her. She stroked her hair soothingly, whispering comforting words to her. “Why does my nose itch so bad?” Kate complained.

“That’s the morphine.” Carly said. “It may do wonders for the pain, but it made me itch like crazy.”

The door opened and a nurse wheeled in an empty bassinet. Chris walked in behind her holding a tiny bundle in his arms.  He smiled brightly when he saw Kate was awake.  Lisa stood up to give him her spot and Chris timidly sat down.  Lisa and Helena ushered Scott, Carly, and Shanna out into the hallway to give the new parents some time to themselves.

“Hey.” Chris said to Kate. “You wanna meet our daughter?” Kate smiled, a sob hitching in her chest.  She reached out to touch the perfect little cherub cheek, but her hand still shook.  She jerked it back, scared to even touch her daughter while she was like this. “Hey, it’s ok.  Shh, it’s ok. Dr. Beauchamp warned us that you would be pretty shaky and that it would take a little time to wear off.”

“I can’t even touch her.”

“You will.  The shaking will stop and I’m not going anywhere.” Chris gently slipped his shoes off, trying not to jostle the baby or Kate, and slid all the way onto the bed, still cradling their daughter.  He settled back on the raised bed, his eyes never leaving their daughter’s face.

Kate laid her head on his shoulder and stared at their little Jelly Bean. “So, you’re the one that’s been throwing dance parties in my belly.”

Chris chuckled. “She looks like you.”

“No.  She looks like you.  Look at her nose and her lips….”

“Look at the shape of her eyes.  That’s all you, baby.”

“What did you name her?”

“I haven’t.”

“Oh.  How long was I out?”

“About four hours.”

“Wow.”

He finally tore his eyes away from their baby. “How do you feel?”

“I itch.” Kate rubbed her nose again. “Especially my nose. Carly said that’s a side effect of the morphine.”

Chris chuckled and kissed the tip of her nose. “Other than the itching?”

“Tired, mostly.  I’m starting to feel sore.”

“We should call the nurse, then.”

“No.  I’m ok for right now.  I just want it to be the three of us for now.”

“Do you want to hold her?”

Kate held her hands up, but they were still trembling slightly. “I do, but I’m still shaking.  I don’t trust myself yet.”

“It’s ok.”

There was a knock on the door and then Doctor Beauchamp walked in to find Kate and Chris smiling at their tiny baby. “Glad to see you’re awake, Kate.” She said, starting to do an examination. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.  Sore. Itchy.”

“I can imagine.”

“What happened to me?” Doctor Beauchamp gave her a rundown of everything that had happened. “I died?”

“No.  Your heart didn’t stop, but it came very, very close to it.  You’re going to be hanging out here for a couple more days so we can monitor you.”

“What about our daughter?”

“She’s perfect.  We only had her in the NICU for a short time as a precaution since she was, technically, premature.  She was six pounds, four ounces and twenty inches long.  Her APGAR was nine.”

Kate nodded. “When can I hold her?”

“You could hold her now, but I understand if you’re worried about the shaking.  That should go away in the next couple of hours.  I’ll get the nurses to bring you in some antihistamines to combat the reaction to the morphine.”

“That would be great.”

“Whenever you need more, just hit this button here.  I’ll be back in a little while to check on you again.” Doctor Beauchamp walked to the door. “Should I tell your families to come back in?”

 *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Kate woke up and realized it had been the baby that had woken her.  Chris was asleep in the bed next to her and she decided not to wake him.  Getting slowly out of bed, she walked around to the bassinette on his side and lifted their daughter into her arms.  She walked into the nursery and sat down in the glider.

It had been five weeks since she’d been released to come home. Chris had been amazing taking care of her and the baby.  She had pretty much lived upstairs for the first two and a half weeks while she recuperated.  She had finally ventured out into the world for her first check up around three weeks. The doctor wanted her back again next week.  Lisa and Helena had also gone home.  It was just Chris and Kate there now.

Kate looked down at her beautiful little girl.  Madison Amanda Evans had been a dream.  She was the complete center of her parents’ world. Her grandparents were enamored with her. Her aunts and uncles had fallen in love with her instantly.  She looked like a perfect mix of Chris and Kate.  

Danielle had come over and she and Kate had done a newborn shoot. Chris had taken one of the photos of him and Kate sitting on the floor of the nursery in front of the crib, her holding Madison and the two of them staring adoringly at her, with Gally and Dodger on either side of them, and posted it as an announcement on Twitter that their little Jelly Bean had arrived.  The photo had blown up.  Kate, who didn’t post on Twitter but once in a blue moon, had gained almost a million followers overnight thanks to Chris tagging her in it.  The media outlets had been showing it almost non-stop.  Chris and Kate were even discussing selling some of the photos to a magazine for his charity, Christopher’s Haven.  

Madison began to get fussy, so Kate helped her to latch on and the two of them just stared at each other. “How are you so perfect?” She ran a finger down her daughter’s little cheek.  After a few minutes, Madison began to drift of, but she was fighting it. “You’re going to make me do it, aren’t you?” Kate smiled and began to softly sing “A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes” to her.  She watched as Madison closed her eyes and finally fell asleep, still suckling.  Feeling eyes on her, she looked up to see Chris standing in the doorway watching her. “Creeper.”

“Sorry.” Chris smiled. “You weren’t in bed and Maddie was missing. I heard you singing and couldn’t resist.”

Kate noticed the cell phone in his hand. “Did you take a picture?”

“I may have.” He looked guilty as hell.

“Did you take a video?”

“I may have done that as well.”

“Just don’t post it.”

“They’re strictly for me.” He walked over and knelt down watching Madison as Kate detached her gently and moved her to lay on her chest.  She let out a little burp in her sleep and her parents chuckled.  Chris took another picture, a close up of Madison’s face against her mother’s porcelain skin.

“Coulda sworn I’m the photographer in this house.”

“You’re a little busy.  Besides, your phone and camera are filled with pictures of me and Maddie.”

“True.” Kate chuckled as she stood up.  They walked back into their room and laid Madison back down in her bassinette.

As they laid in bed, facing each other, Chris reached out and brushed her hair behind her ear. “I love you, Kat.”

She smiled and placed her hand on his bearded cheek. “I love you, too, Chris.”

“Let’s get married in October.”

“That’s two months away!”

“We can do it!”

“We have a newborn.  I have a job to get back to next month.”

“It doesn’t need to be anything big.  We can do it in the backyard of Ma’s house over the weekend. Just us and our families.”

“Chris….”

“Kate, I want to marry you.”

“I want to marry you, too.”

“So, marry me in two months!”

“Why two months?”

“Because October 24th is our one-year anniversary and I want to marry you before then.”

“You’ve already started planning this in your head, haven’t you?”

“October 22nd.  It’s a Saturday.”

“There’s so much to do!  Even for a little wedding.”

“We can do it.”

“I think you’re sleep deprived.”

“That’s beside the point.” She laughed. “Marry me, Kat?”

“I’ve already said yes to that question.”

“Marry me on October 22nd, Kat?”

She stared at him in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the city below. “Fine.  Ok. I’ll marry you on October 22nd.”

Chris pulled her to him tightly, kissing her fiercely.

 *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Kate looked at herself in the mirror as Danielle took pictures. She was standing there in an ivory lace, tea-length wedding dress that had quarter-length lace sleeves and a boat-neckline.  Her dark blonde hair was loose around her shoulders in her natural waves.  She was wearing pink ballet flats and her grandmother’s string of pearls that her mother had brought up to Boston for the wedding.  Madison was being held by Lisa and she was wearing a light pink dress with a poofy skirt littered with little silver polka dots.  There was a delicate flower at the high waistband and a matching flower on her hairband.  At three months old she looked so much like her father, it was ridiculous.  She was waving her arms and making noises at her mother.

Kate laughed and lifted her up. “Hey my gorgeous little Jelly Bean. Are you ready to go see daddy?”

“Daddy is ready to see you guys.” Lisa said.

Helena and Bill walked into the room. “You couldn’t have picked a more perfect day to get married.” Bill said. “It’s beautiful outside.”

“Is Killian here?” Kate asked.

“They just got here.” Helena said, playing with her granddaughter.

“Then it’s time to get this show on the road.”

“I’ll see you out there.” Helena patted her daughter’s cheek and headed out to the backyard.

Lisa kissed Kate’s cheek. “Welcome to the family, Katie.  I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Lisa.”

Lisa walked out and Bill turned to Kate. “You ready, Katie?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Kate kissed Madison’s cheek and then looped her free arm through Bill’s arm.

The backyard had been strung with fairy lights everywhere and they were beginning to glow in the early twilight.  There were three tables set up in the yard.  One round one had a little two-tiered simple white cake on it with plates and champagne glasses.  Then there were two long tables.  One with a buffet of Chris and Kate’s favorite foods and the other for the guests to sit at and eat.  Scott had rented a sound system and music was playing from his iPhone.

Chris’ father, Bob, and Scott were standing with Chris and the Massachusetts justice of the peace in the middle of the yard.  Chris was wearing a dark blue suit with a black button up shirt and a silver tie.  April and Amy were standing opposite them in dark blue, long-sleeved, empire waist, lace dresses.  Lisa, Carly, and Shanna were standing with Helena, Killian, and Maura.  Hailey was walking around in front of Chris dropping flower petals everywhere.  Ethan, Miles, and tiny Stella were all playing a little way away.  They had no interest in the romantic goings-on happening with the adults.

Kate walked up to Chris and he grinned at her and Madison. “Hi.”

“You look beautiful.” Chris said. “You both do.” He kissed Madison’s cheek and she gurgled happily at him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, today we have gathered together to celebrate the marriage of Christopher Robert Evans and Kathleen Amelia Allen.” The justice of the peace started the ceremony, but Chris and Kate weren’t paying attention.  They were too enamored in each other and their little girl.  It wasn’t until Chris heard his name again that they started paying attention. “Chris, will you take Kate, to be your lawful wedded wife?  Will you love, comfort, honor and protect her; forsaking all others to be faithful to her until death do you apart?”

“I forever and always do.” Chris said with a huge smile on his face.

“Kate, will you take Chris, to be your lawful wedded husband?  Will you love, comfort, honor and protect him; forsaking all others to be faithful to him until death do you apart?”

Kate smiled back. “I forever and always do.”

“The bride and groom have chosen to recite their own vows. Chris?”

Chris took a deep breath. “Kate, a year ago I was walking down a path with my head down, not paying any attention to the world around me and you stopped me dead in my tracks.”

“By knocking me down into dog shit.” Kate giggled.

“That dog shit was the best thing that ever happened to us.  It set me on a new path that I will never have my head down on again.  I know this hasn’t been the most conventional relationship, but it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever experienced.  I promise you that I will always take care of and cherish our relationship.  I will love you today, tomorrow, and forever.  I promise that I will always be open, honest, and faithful to you.  I love you so much, Kat.”

“I love you, too.” Kate said, wiping his tears away before dabbing at her own.

“Kate?” The Justice said.  

“I have to follow that?  Jeez!” Everyone around them laughed. “Ok…. Wow.  Chris, I first saw you in 2005 when you were in this little movie called Cellular.  I was a sophomore in college and I was having a rough time and this guy on the screen just drew me in.  I didn’t know what it was about him, but I just…. Well, I loved him.  Then a year ago, he walked into my life and he loved me back and he gave me the absolute greatest gift in the world.” Kate kissed their daughter’s head. “Thank you for not taking any of the outs I kept giving you. I would’ve missed out on the greatest love story since my grandparents.  I promise that today, tomorrow, and forever I will love you for better or worse, in sickness and in health.  I will love you and cherish you well beyond my last breath.  I love you, Chris.”

“I love you, too, Kat.”

The justice of the peace had them exchange rings.  Chris had chosen a simple white gold band with a small sapphire on top and he had two bands specially made for Kate.  Her bands were each wrapped with little diamonds and sapphires and they squared around her engagement ring to make them more comfortable to wear together.  His hands shook as he took off her engagement ring and placed her new bands around it.

“Until now Kate and Chris have spent each moment of their lives as separate individuals.  But from this day on, and every day after this day shall be shared and spent as one.  By the power enthroned in me, by the state of Massachusetts, I now pronounce you husband and wife.  You may now kiss your bride.” Helena came and took Madison from Kate and Chris pulled his new wife to him.  Their lips locked in a fiery kiss as everyone applauded them. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Evans.” The applause got louder as the couple shared another kiss.

The reception went by in a blur.  They danced their first dance to “Can’t Help Falling In Love With You” by Elvis. Kate smushed cake into Chris’ face and he kissed her as he rubbed the cake on her face.  The party went late into the night.  When the newlyweds left in a town car, they went to the Boston Harbor Hotel where Chris had rented an insanely fancy suite that looked out over the water.  Lisa was babysitting Madison for the night so they could have their wedding night to themselves.

Kate leaned back against Chris’ chest in the giant soaker tub. The bathroom light was off and the place was lit by six candles around the room.  There were two champagne glasses sitting on the edge of the tub. They had just spent the last hour and a half consummating their marriage all over the suite before retiring to the large tub to soak their tired muscles.  He rubbed her shoulders gently, trailing kisses up and down her neck. “That feels amazing, Mr. Evans.”

“Not as amazing as you look, Mrs. Evans.” Chris kissed her shoulder. “Are you happy?”

“Insanely.”

“Me too.”

Kate was quiet for a long moment. “I miss Maddie.”

“I do too!”

“Should we call your mom?”

“Maddie will be asleep right now.  We’ll pick her up first thing in the morning.”

“Ok.”

They were quiet for a long time. “If you had told me a year ago that I would be married with a kid now, I would’ve laughed in your face.”

Kate chuckled. “If you had told me a year ago I would be married to YOU with YOUR kid, I would’ve slapped you for talking crazy.” She shifted slightly to look up at him. “I meant it, Chris.  Thank you for never taking any of the outs I kept throwing at you.”

“I wasn’t ever going to let the greatest thing in my life get away. I love you so much, Kat.”

Kate’s lips met his again in a slow passionate kiss. “I love you, too, my Boston boy.”

Tag List

@joannaliceevans-fanficblog

@jamielea81

@southerngracela

@kelbabyblue 

@tfandtws

@lovinevans

@ajosieface

@introvertedmouse

@sullyosully

@deidrashouseofpain

@thevelvetseries

[megalony]

Pay the price

A Ben Hardy imagine I thought of from the theme of my series ‘Baby of mine’ which I hope you all will like.

Taglist: @marshmallowmae  @langdonzvoid  @butlegendsneverdie  @jennyggggrrr  @luvborhap

Ben Hardy masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The devilish smile on Ben's features made (Y/n)'s stomach do summersaults before his lips were suddenly smothering her own. His hands gently holding her waist opposing to how much energy seemed to be radiating off of him. His frame towered over her own, his body pressing as close to hers as he could.

"What's up with you?" (Y/n) questioned, humour and curiosity to her voice as she wondered what Ben had done today that had suddenly made him this energetic. He was practically bouncing off the walls as his arms moved to wind around her waist, his hands locking behind her back as his lips attached to her neck.

Pressing her hand to his chest (Y/n) gently pushed him away so she could look up at him, wondering what had gotten into him so suddenly. But when her eyes met his own, (Y/n) didn't need to ask what was suddenly making him this bright and adrenaline rushed. She could see it in his sparkling eyes that seemed to have widened like he was a predator looking at his prey. His emerald orbs darkening as he grinned like the Cheshire cat. His head moving down to try and capture her lips with his own, a frown replacing the predator-like smile when (Y/n) pulled from his hold.

Taking his chin in her hand she tilted his head down so she could look at him properly. Seeing that Ben seemed to think that this was some sort of game, the grin back to his features so wide the corners of his lips were meeting his eyes.

"You're high, aren't you?" (Y/n)'s insides churned in the worst possible way when Ben simply smiled in response, leaning in aiming for a kiss. His body stumbling when (Y/n) pulled away from him, not bothering to help him when he had to lean on the sofa so he didn't face plant the floor. His eyes watching her with confusion when she simply walked away from him.

Ben wasn't in much of a state to try and follow after her but he tried. Clambering up the stairs on all fours, using the bannister for support to propel himself up to the top of the stairs after (Y/n).

"W-what are you doing?" Ben breathed through the words, his eyes coming in and out of focus as he decided to sit on the bedroom floor for a moment or two trying to recover his energy. His heart hammering even harder against his ribs when he noticed (Y/n) was beginning to pack a bag.

"I won't raise a child with an addict Ben. It's two in the afternoon and you're higher than a kite."

(Y/n) was through.

She couldn't continue to have the good days and the bad with Ben because he didn't care about what he was doing to himself. He didn't care what he did or who he lied to as long as he could get that high that he was never off anymore. The actor had promised that he would stop. He promised (Y/n) that their daughter meant everything to him and he would stop himself from continuing with this habit that was digging an early grave for himself. Ben wasn't going to stop. He loved the highs too much to come back down to Earth and (Y/n) couldn't raise a child with someone like this because it wasn't fair to any of them.

"N-no! (Y/n) no d...don’t leave me!" Ben whined the words through a sob, his arms suddenly wrapping around (Y/n)'s legs when he couldn't find the ability to stand. His hands tightening around her to the point she had to kneel down in front of him before he pulled her over and caused some damage.

His head moved down so he could press his face to her chest, his arms encircling around her to try and keep her to him. He knew he had messed up just like every other time, but every other time (Y/n) had never threatened to leave him. Every other time she didn't threaten to leave with his child. Ben could never stop himself from taking the pills and booze that gave his brain a break that he didn't need anymore. A break that he constantly took so much he forgot what it felt like to be sober.

"Me and Lily aren't enough to keep you clean Ben, maybe knowing what you're gonna lose will do something." It hurt to know that she wasn't going to be enough for Ben to get back on the straight and narrow. His career wasn't enough because he simply found ways to hide his addictions from his management. His friends were never enough because no matter how hard they tried Ben pushed it back in their face when the opportunity for a fix came about. (Y/n) thought she would be enough, she thought their daughter would do something to help and up to this point Ben had been doing okay.

If Ben had decided that they weren't enough and he would keep his addiction then he needed to be prepared to pay the price his addiction came with. His addiction was painkillers. He'd suffered problems from rugby when he was just starting to date (Y/n) that led him to rely too much on the tablets that took everything away. Ben decided to abuse those pills and downing too many was the way to go because of the euphoric feeling he got especially when they were combined with alcohol.

Ben knew ways to get his addiction when his friends and family tried to stop him. He used to get prescriptions from his doctor until his brother told them he was an addict and being taken to hospital had only proved this point further. Hospital wasn't helping when they didn't know and they put him on morphine which only made him worse. Ben looked to stealing painkillers from friends and family's homes when (Y/n) cleared their shared home out to try and stop him.

No one could stop the actor from simply going to the shop and buying painkillers. He wasn't underage and two packets (which was the limit to buy at once in a shop) was more than enough for him to take at once to get him high. Taking his face in her hands (Y/n) pressed a kiss to his temple before she prized his hands from around her frame. Using the bed to push herself to her feet, grabbing the bag she had packed before leaving Ben on the bedroom floor. Going to get their one-year-old, hoping that them both leaving would make Ben buck his ideas up because (Y/n) didn't want to leave Ben, she loved him too much to leave for good. But there was nothing else that she could do to show Ben this was not the way forward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "I didn't know where else to take him." There was an apologetic yet worrying look in Joe's eyes as he had Ben's arm slung over his shoulder, holding the blond to his side who was close to collapsing on the doorstep.

Ben had managed to splutter (Y/n)'s sister's address to his friend who he had called when he knew he couldn't get himself home. Joe had tried to be angry with his friend, he had tried to help him and then to ignore him when he realised Ben had gone home high which led to his wife leaving him. But when he heard the sound of Ben's broken tone he couldn't leave him as he clearly had no one else right now.

Turning up at the bar Joe had nearly screamed when he saw Ben sat at the bar, glasses piled up around him. Working out Ben had had a concoction of beer, whiskey, gin and a few shots and on top of that Ben had admitted he had taken quite a few pills that he wasn't sure about.

Nodding her head (Y/n) indicated for Joe to drag Ben inside which came as a struggle when Ben's eyes set on the one-year-old in (Y/n)'s arms who he hadn't seen for over three weeks now. His arm reaching out for his little girl, trying to get out of Joe's hold so he could hold his daughter. Ben's face fell when (Y/n) moved out the way, her teeth biting down on her lip at the look he gave her before Joe managed to pull him inside. Dumping the blond down on the sofa in the living room.

"Let me hold her."

"You're high." (Y/n) responded, lightly bouncing the little girl on her hip who Ben was reaching out for. His knee bouncing up and down from adrenaline as he pushed himself to his feet, reaching out for Lily who held her arm out to him. Having not seen Ben for a few weeks now, a small babble leaving her lips at finally seeing him here. "Ben, she's tired and you're pissed."

"D-don't do that. She's my girl too give her to me." Ben practically heaved the words as he tried to get rid of the feeling of cotton wool stuffing his head. Lily was his daughter too and he wanted to hold her, he wasn't asking for much and he certainly wasn't going to hurt her. Reaching out he let Lily hold onto his hand as she was trying to grab hold of him, a sudden wail leaving her rosy lips when (Y/n) pulled back and Joe tried to sit Ben back down. "You're upsetting her she wants me."

Sighing through her nose (Y/n) rested Lily in Ben's hold when she began to cry, reaching out for her dad when (Y/n) tried to turn her away from him. If Ben was sober she would have no problem with him holding Lily but right now he could hardly stand up let alone hold their daughter but distressing them all was not a good option.

A shudder ran down Ben's spine when Lily was finally placed into his trembling arms. His hand gently cradled the back of her head which was resting on his shoulder. Tears left his eyes as he pressed his lips to the top of her head, letting Joe gently guide him back to sit down as he was in no state to stand. His eyes fell closed but the tears still fell from his lashes as his head started to pound like someone was attacking his skull with a hammer. Ben had tried, he had tried so hard to clean himself up when (Y/n) left him. His heart had torn into pieces when she left and hadn't let him see Lily either, he missed his little girl.

"What have you taken?" (Y/n) questioned, sitting down on the sofa with him as Joe perched on the table in front of them. "Ben, what have you taken?" She repeated, an edge to her rather calm tone as she tried to see if this was serious or not.

"C-come home. I need you and Lily." He whispered the words as his eyes were trained on Lily. Watching the one-year-old curl up against his chest, her cries nothing but small whimpers now that she had gotten to be in Ben's arms again. Ben was so engrossed in watching his little girl that he didn't realise Joe had leaned over and was checking his pockets, pulling out an empty packet of codeine and a crumpled packet of tramadol.

"Ben... oh what have you done?" Tears welled in (Y/n)'s eyes as she took the packets from Joe's hands, examining them with fear. "You can't mix these together... you've taken a fucking overdose!"

Joe's eyes darted over to look at (Y/n) when she looked at the amount Ben had taken compared to the amount that was meant to be taken. Tramadol on its own was a very high painkiller and taking one too many wasn't good but it was certainly not meant to be mixed and taking codeine with it was dangerous. With the amount he had taken and the alcohol on his breath it showed he had clearly overdosed, now it was just a matter of time before the drugs washed through his veins and took their effect.

"Give me Lily please, so we can take you to hospital." (Y/n) pleaded, tears falling from her eyes at the look on Ben's face showing he clearly didn't want to let go of his girl. Scared that if he let Lily go now he wouldn't have the chance to hold her again anytime soon after this. A flurry of tears escaped his eyes as he handed Lily over, knowing (Y/n) was going to ask her sister to look after her.

"(Y/n)!" Joe shouted, terror in his voice not long after she had left the room when Ben suddenly doubled over. His arms wrapped tightly around his middle as he threw up a substantial amount of blood onto the carpeted floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Opening his eyes felt like he was lifting weights from his eyelids as if stones were set on them. With that being such a struggle, moving any other part of his body was too hard for Ben to do as if his body was made from gold. It took a few moments for his vision to come into focus, unsure of how long he had been unconscious for. But Ben knew the last time he had been awake he hadn't been in a bed like he was now. His mind quick to work out that he was in a hospital room.

A swell of relief surged through Ben when he felt (Y/n)'s hand brushing across his cheek, her other hand entwined with his hand that laid limp on the bed. Her relieved look on her face as tears welled in her eyes seeing that he was finally awake now.

"What happened?" Ben croaked, feeling like his throat was made of sandpaper that his voice was grating against.

"The pills you took damaged the lining of your stomach and you started haemorrhaging. They had to pump your stomach and then take you into theatre to fix the bleed." (Y/n) was rather relieved that Ben didn't remember what had happened before they got here, it was distressing enough for them all and remembering that wasn't something she would choose for herself if she had the option.

All the pills that had dissolved in his stomach and gone to his blood had damaged the lining of his stomach which had started to cause bleeding. Ben hadn't stopped throwing up blood even when they got him to the hospital and in his pained yet high state of mind all he could do was beg for (Y/n) not to leave him and cry out for Lily. At one point all three of them had thought that Ben might not make it through this. Joe had waited with (Y/n) for four hours whilst Ben got his stomach cleared of any trace of pills and then had to go for an operation when the bleeding had slowed but hadn't stopped.

"They've put you on a morphine drip which goes straight into your vein so it won't damage your stomach. Ben... if you take any more pills your stomach will give out I mean it, one more cocktail and we could lose you. I want you to come home but we have to get you help."

This was the last chance that Ben could take to get himself clean for good or he wouldn't live another year. His stomach was damaged now and (Y/n) didn't have the nerve to tell him just yet that the damage meant he was going to have to have a specialised diet to make sure his stomach didn't give out. If he took one too many pills or overdosed like this again he wouldn't be here he would be in a very early grave that he had dug for himself. (Y/n) didn't want that for him because she loved him, she and Lily needed him but for that to happen Ben needed to accept help.

It took all the effort Ben had for him to move his free hand, reaching over to his left where there was a drip leading straight into the vein in his hand. His fingers ghosting over the drip tube until he reached the small push button that he pushed upwards. Effectively cutting off the supply of morphine to his system.

"Ben- you've got stitches from the op, you'll be in immense pain stay on the morphine. Sweetheart, they know that you're an addict, they will control the amount and slowly take you off it when you're ready." It was good that Ben was prepared not to have the medication and that he seemed to want to be off it. Especially since last time the morphine had given him such a high that he didn't want to be off it anymore. But he was going to be in immense pain and that meant he needed the drugs to take the edge off and let him recover before he started to get clean.

They were in a hospital, the doctors and nurses would know what dosage to give him so he didn't get too addicted to the feeling and they would be able to help him come off the morphine when he was ready.

"Can't h-have morphine." Ben shook his head just the tiniest bit that he could manage. Morphine was what had made him want to be high all the time before, it was something that gave him the high no other pills had been able to do. Ben wasn't making that mistake again and taking it even if he was going to be in pain. He had gone through withdrawal symptoms before and made it through that, he was going to get through this.

"So we'll get you something else-" (Y/n) pleaded, not wanting Ben to go through the pain he was clearly going to have to deal with by deciding this when he could start getting clean when he was better.

"No. I'm going straight, I need you and Lily. No more drugs."

Leaning down, (Y/n) cupped his face in both her hands before gently pressing her lips to his own. Ben was going on the straight and narrow starting from now because he had seen what he could lose by taking pills. He was not coming within an inch of losing his family or his life and being clean started now.

[thegoodthebadthesickly]

Stitches- Winn Schott

A filled request from my Wattpad for @badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: DCU/Super Girl

Request: Stitches

Requested by @ MANGO_CHEESE_ on Wattpad

(Stars are complete, Swirls are requested)

I'm sorry if this is incredibly out of character; I've only seen a few episodes of Super Girl and am mostly going off of what I know from Tumblr! Please don't hate me if this is awful!

"You couldn't have let the bullet proof alien take the, you know, bullet?" Alex asked, dabbing alcohol onto a sterile pad.

"It was instinctual; plus, it's just a flesh wound." Winn defended. He tried not to look at his arm, he already felt woozy and he definitely didn't need to add passing out to his rap sheet.

"This time," Alex admonished. "a few inches over and you could have been looking at permanent nerve damage." Alex brushed the sterile pad across the gash on Winn's arm, blotting away as much of the blood as possible.

"Agh!" Winn hissed. "Warn a guy!"

"Would it have hurt any less if I'd warned you?" Alex asked, her voice echoing off of the walls. They were the only two in the med bay right now, everyone else was still somewhere in the city and fighting yet another crazy guy in a suit of armor. When Winn had gotten shot she'd basically dragged him back to the DEO.

"That's not the point." Winn blushed and rolled his eyes.

"If you thought that was painful, you're really gonna hate me for this next part. You need stitches." Alex sucked at her bottom lip.

"No-no. I don't think so. It's not even that deep. Just slap a band-aid on me and send me home." Winn laughed nervously, trying to push himself off of the hospital bed. This turned out to be a bad idea when Winn was reminded, by a blinding pain in his right arm, that he had indeed been shot recently.

"Agh!" He yelled, grabbing his arm and falling back against the pillow. "Dammit!" He cried, tears clouding his vision.

"You know, for a genius, you can be pretty dumb sometimes." Alex cringed.

"Hey! You can't be mean to me, I just got shot!" Winn groaned.

"And who's fault is that?" Alex asked, spinning around on her stool and getting up to go find a suture kit.

Winn grumbled something that Alex didn't quite catch.

Honestly, Alex was glad to have Winn back here where he couldn't be hurt anymore. Everyone that fought beside her and Kara was either bullet-proof or highly trained in combat. Winn was neither of those things. He was just so soft and human. Alex would be lying if she said that the thought of him getting hurt hadn't kept her up at night, especially after night's like this, when he was too brave for his own good. Of course, she would never admit any of this to anybody, especially Winn.

Alex walked into the medical supply closet and, after searching through a mountain of labeled blue boxes, found a suture kit and went back to make sure Winn wasn't trying to jump out of the window or otherwise escape.

To her surprise, Winn was exactly where she'd left him. On closer inspection, Alex thought he must have been asleep. For the first time all night, Alex really looked at Winn. His face was twisted in a grimace of pain, even in his sleep and he was scary pale. Alex swallowed back the ball of fear that was bubbling in her stomach and shook Winn's leg lightly.

"Winn?" She whispered.

"Hmm?" Winn opened his eyes.

"Just wanted to make sure you hadn't died on me. That would be so much paperwork." Alex smirked.

"Nope. Just trying not to think about the hole in my arm. Finding my happy place." Winn laughed, his breath hitching when the movement aggravated his injury.

"Where exactly is Winn Schott's happy place?" Alex asked, opening the suture kit and finding the needle and suture thread.

"It-it's stupid."

Alex figured it was decidedly not stupid, but felt like she shouldn't push.

Both were quiet for a moment as Alex worked to thread the needle.

"All right, on the count of-"

"Woah, woah, woah! Don't I get morphine or something?" Winn jerked away from the needle.

"I thought it was "just a flesh wound"." Alex mocked.

"Flesh wounds still hurt!" Winn exclaimed, his voice rising an octave.

"Alright, fine." Alex put the needle down onto a sterile pad and went to look for the local anesthetic. "Baby" She muttered under her breath as she walked away.

"I heard that!" Winn called.

Alex smirked. She found the stacker where the various syringes and bottles of medication were kept and, picking out the local anesthetic and something for the pain that Winn would surely be in after the adrenaline wore off, she went back to Winn.

"Happy?" Alex asked, shaking the two little bottles of liquid at Winn.

"Don't I get the pill option?" Winn asked, eyeing the syringes in Alex's other hand.

"Oh, so getting shot is no big deal, but a little needle is too much?"

"There is nothing little about those needles." Winn gulped.

"Pony up, Schott." Alex sat back down on the stool and uncapped one of the syringes, putting the needle into the bottle of  codeine and drawing up the liquid.

"Easy for you to say!"

"Shh! I need to focus." Alex hushed Winn. "Don't tense up, it'll only make it worse."

"You're not the one having a needle waved at them. I don't think you get to say anything about being tense."

"Would you rather go without?"

Winn took a deep breath. "Lesser of two evils." He closed his eyes.

"Now, this is codeine, so you're probably gonna feel weird for a while, but it's better than being in pain."

"Let's get it over with." Winn closed his eyes.

"Alright." Alex took a breath and held Winn's arm steady with one hand and carefully aimed the syringe needle into his arm above the wound.

Winn hissed, his breath hitching, but he didn't open his eyes.

"Good. Now I'm going to do the local anesthetic." Alex said, keeping her voice as even as possible.

Winn didn't open his eyes or move.

Alex capped the used syringe and reached over to put it into the biohazard bucket over the bed Winn was sitting in. Once she was settled back on the stool, she uncapped the other syringe and pushed the needle into the rubbery cap of the anesthetic bottle. She carefully drew up the liquid and pulled the syringe out, taking a steadying breath.

"This'll sting." Alex said, aiming the needle closer to the edges of the wound this time. She slowly moved the syringe around the wound, making sure to numb the entire area. When she was done, Alex realized that Winn hadn't moved or spoken for the past few minutes.

"Winn, breathe." Alex commanded, seeing that his jaw was clenched and his breathing was coming in short, shallow gasps.

Winn, seeming to notice that he'd quit breathing for the first time, inhaled deeply through his nose and coughed.

"Go back to your happy place?" Alex asked.

"Ha, yeah." Winn blushed, which was made even more evident by how pale he was at the moment.

"The meds should kick in in a few minutes and we'll get you patched up."

Winn sat back and closed his eyes and Alex grabbed her phone and started scrolling through her messages.

Alex thought Winn Schott must have been a lightweight, which was honestly so predictable, when he started giggling uncontrollably a few minutes later.

"How're ya feeling, Winn?" Alex smirked.

"I have no idea why I'm laughing." Winn giggled.

"I'd say the meds are working."

"Oh yeah. They're working big time!" He smiled.

"Okay, I'm going to start suturing the wound. I need you to stay very still, Winn. Do you understand."

"Yeah." Winn tried to look serious, but sputtered and started laughing again.

Alex couldn't help but laugh with him for a moment before regaining her composure and picking up the needle again. Steadying her hand, Alex started suturing.

After that, Winn was quiet except for the odd giggle. Eventually, he closed his eyes and Alex thought he might be drifting.

"Just go to you're happy place." Alex muttered.

"I's not real."

"What's not real?" Alex asked, pausing her stitching and looking up at Winn.

Winn's eyes were half lidded and he was oddly droopy when he spoke, definitely a lightweight. Alex made a mental note to have someone add that to his medical file.

"M'happy place." Winn said, his head lolling to the side as he tried to look at Alex.

"Okay?" Alex said, confused. "What exactly is your happy place?"

"Breakfast."

"Winn, breakfast is very much-"

"With m'parents." Winn slurred, cutting Alex off.

"That could be a memory."

"Nope." Winn was quiet for a moment. "Not this one." He giggled again. "You wanna know m'happy place?"

"Sure, Winn."

"It's, a-it's breakfast with m'parents. Before my dad-" Winn's eyes got darker for just a moment. "It was a Friday night. Saturdays were always pancake days. That's my happy place." Winn slurred. "My dad never put the bombs in the bears and my mom never left. We just had a normal Pancake Saturday."

"That's, um, wow. That's a good happy place, Winn." Alex stuttered.

Not really sure what to say after that, Alex went back to silently suturing Winn's arm and Winn was quiet too, not even giggling anymore.

"All done." Alex said, putting a strip of sterile gauze over the sutures and taping it in place.

"'M tired." Winn mumbled.

"I'd say the adrenaline finally kicked it. Get some sleep, Winn." Alex patted Winn's arm.

Winn obediently closed his eyes and within a few minutes his breathing had evened out enough for Alex to see that he was asleep. Dimming the lights, Alex left the medbay to go wait for Kara and the others in central command.

Somewhere around an hour later, Alex heard the elevator and stood as Kara and James stepped out.

"Hey. How'd it go?" Alex greeted.

"After you and Winn ducked out, it was just a matter of getting someone in to dismantle the server that was accessing the robot." James explained.

"Basically, I just had to keep the robot busy while someone found the server." Kara chimed in. "Barely even broke a sweat." she smiled.

"How's Winn?"

"Resting. It wasn't as bad as it looked in the field, flesh wound." Alex led them back to the medbay where they could all see Winn sleeping. "Major lightweight when it comes to meds, though." Alex laughed.

"Figures." Kara and James said in unison.

"I'm sure you're both exhausted. Go get some sleep. I'll stay here tonight and make sure Winn doesn't manage to get himself into anymore trouble." Alex said.

"Are you sure?" Kara asked.

Alex nodded.

"Alright. See you in the morning." Kara hugged Alex and went back to the elevator. James waved goodbye and followed closely behind.

Alex stretched and realized how tired she was as well and, after changing into a set of sweats she kept at the DEO for late nights and the odd coffee disaster and curled up in the bed opposite Winn's.

The next morning, Alex was walking Winn to the elevator. One of the DEO doctor's had seen him and given him the all clear to go home.

"So, exactly how much of last night do you remember?" Alex asked.

"Everything's mostly clear after I got shot, until you gave me the shot of whatever that was-"

"Codine."

"Yeah. After that, things get fuzzy. I didn't do anything stupid, did I?"

"Besides take a bullet for a bullet proof alien? No." Alex rolled her eyes and smirked. She'd decided not to mention what Winn had told her last night, he hadn't meant to tell her. It wasn't as if she hadn't read his file when Winn'd been brought on at the DEO, but reducing someone down to a few words never quite told the full story. He could tell her if and when he was ready to talk about it.

Winn huffed a laugh and adjusted the sling cradling his arm.

"I did find out that you're a major lightweight when it comes to meds, though. You're a giggler." Alex laughed.

"Oh, God." Winn smiled ruefully.

"Oh yeah. You're never living this one down." Alex smiled as they stepped into the elevator.

"Aren't you staying?" Winn asked.

"I refuse to work in sweat pants." Alex gestured to her attire. "Also, I'm dying for a hot meal. Care to join me for breakfast? My treat."

"Sure." Winn smiled and nodded and then grabbed at his shoulder, hissing sharply. "Also maybe more meds?"

"Sure thing." Alex said as the doors closed and the elevator started it's ascent.

[frangipanidownunder]

Returning the Past: part 4

Mulder and Scully are honeymooning in Far North Queensland. Much to Scully’s chagrin, Mulder has delved headlong into a mysterious case of strange lights, Tasmanian tiger sightings and abductions. It’s not long, before they run into trouble…

Read part 1, part 2 and part 3 

Of all the bizarre things they had seen over the years – or that she had just missed seeing, she rated this one right up there. And it wasn’t even a mutant or an alien. At least she didn’t think so. The Tasmanian Tiger had been hunted out of existence in the mid 1930s. The last remaining animal, Benjamin, was left to die in the Beaumaris Zoo in Hobart, Tasmania after authorities decided that a female, albeit the zookeeper’s daughter, had no business looking after the beast. Blind sexism and outrageous shortsightedness had led to its demise. Yet now, they were face to face with a very living and very breathing specimen. It shouldn’t be here. Especially not north of Cairns, 2000 miles away from its island habitat. The creature held its ground, exhibiting both feline grace and canine ferocity.

              “It’s frightened,” Mulder whispered.

              “So am I,” she said. “We don’t have weapons. We don’t have a plan. We don’t have any fucking clue what we’re doing here.”

              He tensed and the pressure of his hand increased on her fingers. “Maintain eye contact. It might slink away.”

              She went to laugh but the noise caught in her throat as the thylacine raked its tongue over its teeth, uttered a high-pitched keening sound and turned around. It padded out of the room into the darkness of the passageway between leaving just the smell of fear behind.

 The road to the forest was windier than Scully remembered and she was already tight in the shoulders from the encounter. The constant twisting and turning made the ride doubly uncomfortable. Mulder hadn’t said a word. The radio dropped in an out and she expected him to quip about interference and lost time but he pulled into the parking area silently. Steph’s car was still there. Mulder managed to open the boot and climbed through, opening the passenger door. A search revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

              “We know she keeps too much loose change, goes through breath mints and has an unhealthy obsession with The Veronicas,” she said, leaning against the door and puffing her fringe out of her face.

              Mulder walked round to her and shoved a paper in her hand. “And we know she exists. Look at that, Scully. It’s a car registration form with her name and address on it.”

              “It’s three years old and there’s no photo ID. And the only resident at Karinya Drive, Diamond Hills was a thylacine.”

              “But it means Officer Galea was lying,” Mulder said, heading into the forest.

              Her back groaned as she struggled to keep up. “Where are you going?”

              “Steph’s out here somewhere, Scully. We’ve got to find her.”

              “She could be anywhere. This park is 460 square miles. It’s insane to go back in so unprepared. Those men meant business.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. “Please, Mulder. Let’s just think about this.”

              He shrugged her off. “Did you think about it when you went looking for me? I know I didn’t when you were taken. I couldn’t think it through. I just had to go with it.”

              Thunder ripped through the sky, causing her to gasp with the sheer sound of it. “If that isn’t a warning, Mulder, I don’t know what is. Let’s come back tomorrow. Prepared.”

The villa offered white coolness. Even in the dusk it seemed bright inside. She made a plate of crackers and cheese and found the relish Mulder seemed to like so much. She poured them each a glass of white wine and slipped off her shoes, sinking into the couch. Mulder sat too, chewing on his lip.

              “I did search for you, Mulder. I followed every lead, I walked into the desert and yelled at the sky. I used my fear to drive me at first, but then I used my head and the resources available. But this isn’t about you or me. This is a woman you don’t know anything about. She might even be a part of whatever this Tasmanian tiger thing is. Mulder, this isn’t an X-File, it’s our honeymoon. Please don’t forget that.”

              He turned to her and leant his forehead against hers. The sharp tang of pinot grigio on his breath. He echoed a kiss against her lips and sighed away, head against the back of the chair. “I heard you.”

              “What do you mean?” She sipped her wine and watched pain cross his face.

              “When you yelled into the desert sky. I heard you.”

              “You never told me,” she said, reaching out to stroke his arm. “You never told me much of anything back then.”

              He chuffed out a bitter laugh. “I thought I could forget. I wanted to forget. But…”

              “You remember it every day. Oh, Mulder. I wish you would have talked more.”

              He did laugh then. “Do you have any idea what that sounds like coming from you?”

              The sun was low on the horizon, spreading fire over the ocean. It rippled and waved, hypnotising her. She swallowed the rest of her wine, letting Mulder gently knead her gristly neck. He lowered himself to pepper kisses around the sides of her neck, lifting back her hair and nuzzling until her nipples peaked.

              “That feels so good, Mulder.”

              “Mmm, tastes good too,” he said, moving closer so he was pressed against her. One hand snaked around her waist and pushed up through her top, seeking her breast. He continued to kiss her neck, holding her hair away. He stopped. “Scully?”

              “Mmm?”

              “Your neck.”

              “What?” she pulled away, turning, running a hand to where he was looking.

              “It’s bright red, raised. Your scar. Where the chip is.”

 The itch was incessant. Like a seed had started to sprout under her skin. Mulder paced, he was worried she was going to be summoned.

              “It doesn’t feel like that, Mulder. I don’t feel any compelling call. It’s not resonating within me like it did before. It’s just really itchy. I think it might just be heat rash. My hair was stuck to my head, it’s so humid. And seeing that animal in the house heightened my adrenaline levels which in turn caused my body to break out in a cold sweat. My skin has been working overtime.” She kissed his pouty lips and he sank back into the couch, pulling her with him. “I’m fine, Mulder. I’m not going anywhere.”

              A slow smile spread across his face. “Maybe a cold shower would help?”

              She eyed his lap and chuckled. “Help me or you?”

 The sound of tapping computer keys woke her and she watched Mulder hunched over his laptop for a while. The grey dawn outside made him even richer in depth and colour, even more angled. She pushed herself up and he turned to her.

              “Morning, Scully.”

              “Did you sleep at all, Mulder?”

              “Not after you did that thing with your tongue,” he grinned.

              She threw a bundle of clothes at him and padded to the kitchen. “I presume you’re feeling better, Mulder?”

              “A bit of a lingering head ache, I think the swelling of my bruise has gone down, and you sure know how to heal a man, Scully.” He typed a little more then closed the cover. “Did you know that a woman in Townsville, here in Far North Queensland, was being treated for chronic low back pain, was told that she would end up in a wheelchair, on morphine for the rest of her life. She had a levitating experience and the pain disappeared. She could walk again. When she underwent hypnosis she described pale blue lights and flashing bright white lights, a flash. She was on a craft. She gave detailed descriptions of what it looked like, of the beings that helped her. She used words in a language that nobody could translate. There are cases like this all over Australia. Tasmania, Victoria, the Northern Territory. The same thing. There seems to be some kind of hotspot here, Scully.”

              “Mulder, none of that helps explain what happened to Steph Callow or how that thylacine ended up in her house. Steph didn’t suddenly recover from an incurable condition. She didn’t describe a craft or beings.” She sipped her coffee. “I still think we should have alerted the authorities about the tiger.”

              “The authorities deny the existence of a woman we both met. A woman whose car is still parked in the forest where she disappeared. A woman who claims to have been abducted multiple times. Does any of this sound at all familiar to you?”

              “So, what’s the plan now? Back into the rain forest? Searching for a woman whose existence can’t be verified. Trying to film a secretive enclave of extinct creatures?”

              “Sounds like an X-File, Scully. Which means you should be searching for the science, the evidence to prove the possibles in this forest of impossibles.”

              She walked out to the balcony, rubbed the back of her neck. The heat at the chip site was palpable. She too had woken with a lingering pain in her temples but this had hardly been the honeymoon of her dreams and science would suggest that stress could cause all manner of physical ailments. Besides, she had a lingering feeling that there was something more sinister to this case than a missing person and the re-emergence of a long-dead creature. And in her experience, sinister usually meant human involvement.

              He joined her and they took a moment to enjoy the view. “I did do some research, while you were recovering from that thing I did with my tongue,” she said, leaning into his welcoming shoulder. “I found a research project to resurrect the thylacine using captured DNA from Benjamin, the last specimen in captivity. It was a legitimate project, funded by the Australian federal government, that closed down due to lack of progress. And the lead scientist is now based in a small settlement just south of here. That could be a place to start.”

              “Coincidence much, Scully?”

              “Or a fortunate turn of events, Mulder?”

[whentommymetalfie]

Deep end -part two

A/N: second and final part! And a huge thanks to everyone who’s left feedback on the first part, I’ll get to responding soon, I’ve just been completely wrapped up in this. But know that it’s very much appreciated <3 <3 

Part one

Wordcount: 6200

Warnings: mental breakdown, disordered eating, mentions of drug use

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300168/chapters/35496216

As he drives back to the office, Alfie tries to gain some sort of control of himself and the onset of conflicting emotions. He’s pissed, alright. That cold detachment is Tommy’s absolutely worst side; it’s hard to love him when it comes out. Though isn’t that the thing with love? You don’t just love people when it’s easy. Not just some fucking reward after they’ve been especially good in bed, or when they’re giving you tender looks across the breakfast table. No, you love them all the same when they’re being stubborn little bastards. And he shouldn’t have let Tommy storm off. Because that boy has the capacity to do an astonishing amount of damage to himself in a very short amount of time. And if Alfie let’s something happen to him… Fuck, he’ll never forgive himself.

The office is empty. And the discovery leaves him standing helplessly in the middle of the small, dark room, at loss with what to do for a moment as he feels that all too familiar unease crawl in his guts. If Tommy isn’t burying himself in work to cope, he’s doing something far worse.

Despite doubting that Tommy would seek out other people, the Garrison with its promise of whiskey is the next place he checks. Grace states that she hasn’t seen him in days, but solemnly promises to call the house if he shows up, and additionally offers to knock him over the head with something and keep him there if need be. Alfie honestly considers picking her up on that offer.

Leaving the pub, Alfie makes his way to the house instead. A tiny, naïve part of him hopes that maybe Tommy just gave up and collapsed in bed. But the bedroom is as empty as the office and he resists the urge to pick up the nearest object and hurl it into a wall. His eyes lands on the nightstand, and a very unwelcomed thought enters his mind.

Tommy wouldn’t… he’s not that fucking daft.

Right now, he is.

The drawer is empty, the bottle of morphine nowhere to be found.

A spike of fear rushes up his spine, making the adrenaline flow through his veins.

Fuck. Fuck-fuckfuck- He sets off down the stairs again, trying desperately to block out the pictures flashing by in his head.

When he parks the car outside the stables, the evening dusk has turned into an inky darkness. The air is cold enough to sting in his lungs as he walks over the empty yard, a pale moon serving to light his path slightly.

“Tommy?” he calls out as he enters the large building, despite knowing he’s not supposed to be loud around the horses. The jittery fucking creatures… There’s no answer of course. Walking up to the white horse, the one Tommy usually rides, Alfie heaves a sigh.

“Maybe you could be a bit useful for once and tell me where Tommy’s at, how about it?”

The horse only gives a loud huff in response, breath turning into white puffs of smoke in the cold air.

“Figure this should be a mutual thing,” Alfie mutters. “Always looking out for you isn’t he? Think it’s only fair you do the same.” He looks into the large, dark eyes. The horse blinks at him, before throwing its head back in what could be interpreted as a nod. But it’s not of much help.

He takes a walk around the stables, feeling utterly aimless in his search now. In spite of this, he looks through every corner of all the buildings, the stalls, storage rooms, even the hayloft. And as he’s climbing that fucking ladder, muttering curses under his breath, he fights to keep the panic at bay. If he doesn’t find Tommy here, the only remaining place to search is every single fucking alley in all of Birmingham.

How long does it take for someone to freeze to death?

Grunting in pain as he heaves himself up onto the floor, Alfie finds himself in a surprisingly spacious room. The ceiling sits high up over his head, and the moonlight shines in through a large window, tinting the stacks of hay blue and grey. It ignites a tiny flicker of hope for some reason. It seems like the sort of place Tommy would like –high up, airy. Quiet. Close to the horses.

“Tommy?” his voice doesn’t echo here, muffled by all the hay. It’s comforting, somehow. But he receives no answer. He navigates carefully between the large piles of hay, scanning the little corridors they form. But there’s no sign of Tommy.

There’s no point. If Tommy doesn’t want to be found, Alfie won’t find him. Least of all here, with the myriad of possible hiding places. He takes a moment to just stand there and breathe, head cradled in his hands. Fuck, he can’t think… His breathing is too loud, drowning out all the thoughts…

Out of options, and with a heavy weariness having replaced the adrenaline, Alfie returns to the house. He needs help.

He finds Arthur in the kitchen, seated by the table with a glass of whiskey. Taking a quick glance around the room, Alfie realises he’s the only available option right now.

“Where the fuck is everyone?”

“Pol and Ada are upstairs with Finn, think John and Esme-“

Alife has already stopped listening. “Tommy hasn’t come home, has he?”

“Thought you were supposed to handle him?” Arthur mutters, looking down on the paper in front of him.

“Well, that was the fucking plan, wasn’t it, but I can’t find him. And-“ he cuts himself off, suddenly doubting whether he should tell Arthur about the morphine or not.

“Did you check the stables?” Arthur wonders, eyes still fastened at the paper.

“Of course I fucking did.”

“Maybe he just needs to sulk for a while,” Arthur offers then, but a wrinkle has appeared between his eyebrows and he closes the paper to look up at Alfie

Alfie hesitates for another second, before realising he’s got no other options. He closes the door and lowers his voice. “Doctor prescribed me a bottle of morphine,” he says. “I don’t use shit like that. Prefer the pain. So it’s full. And it’s gone now.

Arthur gets out of his chair, jaw set tightly and eyes sharp.

“We’ve got to find him,” he states. “I’ll call some of the blokes. Get them out looking.” He snags the glass up from the table and empties it. “Fucking knew something like this would happen.” The words are followed by a headshake. “First that thing at the hospital and now this… Wound so tight his fucking spine is about to snap.”

Thank fuck Arthur can pull himself together when it counts. Alfie gives him a crooked grin, allowing himself to feel relieved, just for a moment.

“Just look at the two of us…who would’ve thought, eh? Finally agreeing about something.”

Arthur lets out a humourless chuckle.

“I’m sure that tomorrow you’ll say something inappropriate and shit will be back to-“

The sound of the front door opening cuts their conversation short, and Alfie immediately sets for the hallway. He almost walks straight into Tommy who’s unsteadily making his way towards the stairs. Tommy recoils at the sight of him, hand shooting towards the handle of the front door.

Without a word, Alfie takes a firm grip around his arm and pulls him into the kitchen with its warm light, to get a better look at him. A dizzying mixture between relief, worry and anger makes his heart beat a staccato in his chest.

“Did you use any of it?” he asks brusquely, cradling Tommy’s face between his hands as he searches his eyes for any signs of the drug. Reeks of whiskey, he does, but the pupils aren’t dilated at least.

“No,” Tommy hisses as he rips himself loose and takes a step backwards, staring defiantly at him. He pulls out the small bottle from his inner pocket and slams it down onto the kitchen table. It’s still full.

Arthur takes one look at them and leaves the kitchen, giving Alfie’s shoulder a light slap in passing. “Just wake me up if you need to, yeah?”

Then it’s just the two of them.

Struggling to control the now towering rage, Alfie turns to face Tommy. He looks absolutely feral, eyes bloodshot and wide –too large in the gaunt face.

“Right, now, we’re going to talk. Whether you fucking like it or not,” he states and closes the door. Tommy’s eyes snap to the lock. His right hand clenches into a fist where it hangs by his side.

“Nothing to talk about,” he mutters and makes a move to walk past him. Alfie grabs him, fingers closing tightly around the bony shoulders.

“You’re not leaving this fucking kitchen until you tell me what’s going on with your head,” he spits. “Is this how it’s going to be now, eh? You running away to sulk somewhere while I just fucking… drive around all of Birmingham looking for you? Half convinced I’ll find you dead in some alleyway?”

“Let go of me.” Tommy grabs his wrists, but Alfie refuses to budge. He’s not backing down this time.

“You fucked up today, you realise that, don’t you?” he says, unable to keep the rage from his voice. “And you’re going to keep doing that until you start putting yourself back together.” Hands still on Tommy’s shoulders, he stares him down. “Not even going in to see your little brother, who fucking worships the ground you walk on, that’s a shit thing to do.”

“I know!” Tommy snaps, eyes just as cold as the hands gripping Alfie’s wrists. But there’s a frenzied glint to them, building under the icy surface. “Unless you haven’t noticed, that’s what I fucking do. I fuck shit up.” He takes a shaky breath. “I nearly got you killed- and now Finn…“

Alfie’s hands drop uselessly to his sides, and Tommy backs away from him, arms wrapping themselves tightly around his ribs.

“What are you on about, eh? Think that car accidents are beyond even your control.”

Tommy’s gaze has turned to the floor, and his voice is low as he speaks. “I didn’t come with him,” he says, swallowing thickly. “I promised, but I- I was so tired, I just needed to- to sit down for a while, so I said I couldn’t…”

“What?” Alfie struggles to make sense of the incoherent muttering.

“I promised we’d go to the stables.” Tommy’s eyes shift to the door. Back to the floor. Anywhere but Alfie’s face. “And he went alone and if I’d gone with him, this never would’ve happened.”

Leave it to Tommy to believe himself responsible for every single misfortune in the world...

“That boy runs around half of Birmingham alone on a daily basis,” Alfie reasons. “Climbing fucking trees and fences and God knows what. No one could’ve known this was the day when people just lost their fucking ability to drive a car.”

Tommy shakes his head, nails digging into his arms as he begins to pace the kitchen floor.

“I should’ve known… But I fucked up. Just like I fucked everything up with Changretta,” he mutters, seemingly more to himself than Alfie. “Should’ve… should’ve kept more weapons in the house. Should’ve known something like that would happen…

“Where the fuck are you getting all this from?” Alfie can’t come up with something else to say right then. But Tommy doesn’t even seem to hear him, continuing to mutter quietly to himself as his nails dig into his arms, bloodied knuckles whitening.

“I can’t do anything right… God I’m so fucking stupid…”

Fuck, Alfie can’t take any more of this. “Tommy, sweetheart, what are you talking about?”

Tommy’s head snaps up, and he stares at Alfie with wide eyes, as if he only now realises he’s not alone in the room.

His eyes shift to the door and he tries to get past Alfie again, moving quickly this time. Alfie just barely manages to grab his arm.

“Let go of me.” Tommy tries to wrench himself out of the grip, but Alfie refuses.

“I can’t let you go anywhere in this fucking state.”

“You can’t keep me here,” Tommy gasps. “You can’t just- just lock me up.

“I can’t watch you do this to yourself,” Alfie says, struggling to keep his voice steady as Tommy fights to get loose. But he can hear it crack. “Over and over again.” He snatches Tommy’s other wrist, trying to gain eye contact. “Why is this so fucking hard for you? Why won’t you just fucking talk?”

Stop pushing, a voice screams in his head. You’re going to break him. And despite Tommy’s frighteningly weak limbs and how easy it is to hold him still, it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

He doesn’t want to do this anymore. He wants to tell Tommy that it’ll all be alright, wrap him up in a hug. Tell him he doesn’t have to talk…  Just stay there with Alfie. Promise to not hurt himself…

“Let go.” Tommy is pleading now, desperation clear in his eyes. If you let him go now, you’ll never get him back. “You’re hurting me.”

The words make Alfie release the bony wrists, as if he’s burnt himself on the pale skin. But he’s still blocking the doorway.  

Tommy stumbles until he’s backed himself into a corner, and there’s nowhere to escape. He stands there, lips pressed together and his whole body shaking as he cowers against the wall.

“Did something happen that you haven’t told me about?” Alfie feels like he’s pleading too, now. “Did Changretta-“ Fuck, he can’t even bring himself to say it out loud. “Did he hurt you? Is that why you won’t talk about it?” You’re a fucking coward, Alfie Solomons…

Tommy shakes his head, his nails leaving red marks as they rake down the back of his hand.  

“What is it then?” Alfie takes a step towards him, halting when Tommy flinches and presses himself against the wall. “I can’t help you if you don’t fucking let me in.” Still shaking his head, Tommy hides his face behind his hands, every muscle wound tight.

Alfie is out of soothing words right then. He’s watching someone drown, but is unable to even get into the water himself. And Tommy just stands there, breaths coming in frantic gasps and arms trembling.

“Fucking say something, Tommy!” he finally shouts. Desperate. Helpless. “Why are you doing this to yourself? Just- fuck, what’s going on with your head?”

“I don’t know!” the words tear from Tommy’s throat as he screams them at Alfie from behind his hands. “I don’t- I don’t know-“ It dissolve into a wordless cry and he sinks down onto the floor, curling inwards on himself as he clasps his arms around his head.

Happy now? You broke him.

The scream turns into sobs. “I can’t do this, please, I can’t…”

Finally regaining his bearings enough to move, Alfie sits down next to Tommy, wrapping both arms around his shaking frame and pulling him close. Still cowering under his arms, Tommy curls up tighter into the protective ball. Wanting to shut the world out. Or maybe just desperately trying to hold himself together. Alfie resorts to simply lifting the tightly wound ball of limbs into his lap.

“It’s alright, love. I’m here,” he whispers shakily, trying to swallow down the lump that has formed in his throat.  “I’ll always be right here. We’ll get through this, yeah?”  

Tommy winds his arms around Alfie’s chest, burying his face in his shirt as he cries. The sobs turn into something akin to howls, and the fingers that grasp at his shirt are convulsively tight as his entire body shakes. Alfie begins to rock him slowly back and forth, his hand rubbing circles on his back.

“It’s okay, love. Get it out.”

Tommy probably couldn’t stop even if he tried at that point.

It’s just pouring out of him now, all those things he’s kept bottled up so tightly. Alfie’s never seen him cry like this. Barely seen him cry at all, in fact. And then it’s always been somewhat calm, just like most things where Tommy’s concerned. Mostly silent tears that seem to well his eyes by their own volition. Like water seeping through a tiny crack in a wall. This is different. Like a force of nature, detached completely from Tommy’s own will.

It feels like he sits there for hours, hushing and soothing, with Tommy crying desperately in his arms. He whispers soft reassurances, without knowing if they’re even true anymore. It’ll be okay, you’ll be okay…  But mostly, he just holds him. At some point, he’s got tears in his own eyes. There’s so much raw pain emanating from Tommy that it’s honestly overwhelming.

It all comes out in a jumbled mess. Tommy sobbingly rambles about voices in the dark, about moving walls and about being scared, so so scared… it mixes together with memories from the hospital. You can’t die, you can’t leave me, please, please promise that you won’t leave me…

Alfie promises, over and over again.

He doesn’t understand even half of it. Must be a lot of old pain finally bubbling to the surface in that incoherent, fragmented chaos that only makes sense to Tommy himself. I’m sorry, I’ll do better, just give me one more chance I’ll fix everything…But Alfie doesn’t question it. Just grants forgiveness when he asks for it. And stays with him. Maybe sometimes, that’s all you can do.

Then finally, the storm passes.

The sobs die out to whimpers and hic-ups, and Tommy calms down enough to breathe again, falling limply against Alfie’s chest. Alfie can breathe a little easier too. Before he can figure out what to say now, Tommy’s voice comes from somewhere in his shirt.

“Are you going to have me committed?” he whispers.

The question catches Alfie off guard.

“What?”

“To an asylum or something,” the quiet voice continues. “Would be better for everyone. I think… I think something broke inside my head. When I was locked up.”

Alfie rests his chin on the top of Tommy’s head.

“Do you think you belong in an asylum?” he asks softly.

“Sometimes,” Tommy admits, still without retreating from his shirt. It’s wet with tears now “At night. Or… when I’m alone.”

Alfie strokes his hair, continuing to rock him gently back and forth.

“Nah, see, you belong here, don’t you? With me. And your head isn’t broken.”

Tommy tighten his grip on his shirtfront and draws a shuddering breath.

“I don’t know why you put up with me,” he mutters out the familiar words, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand as the last few tears spill from them. And fuck how Alfie wishes he could just pluck that thought right out of his head…

“I put up with you, right, because I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in the entire bloody world,” he answers. He’ll answer this question no matter how many times he gets it. “And that thing I said, back in the warehouse, I meant it. Might have been a desperate move, right, but fuck if I didn’t mean it. I would give everything up for you. In the blink of a fucking eye.”

“Why?” Tommy asks from the confines of his shirt.

One day he won’t have to ask these questions. One day, Alfie will make him understand… But for now, he just holds him a bit tighter.

“Oh, let’s see. Where to start… Because you’re the only person who can keep up with both my brilliant sense of humour and my razor-sharp wit,” he muses, smiling as Tommy finally looks up at him. “And despite your at times questionable plans and decisions, you’re the brightest person I know.” He cups Tommy’s face and runs a thumb gently over the cheekbone. “You have a talent for overlooking all my faults, love. But I assure you there’s plenty of them,” he says softly. “But when I’m with you, there’s no part of me that feels wrong.”

Tommy smiles up at him, a tired and bleak smile, but still a smile. Then he lays his head back against his shoulder and finally exhales, his whole body growing a bit heavier in Alfie’s arms.

They stay in the kitchen for a while longer. Alfie is unwilling to break the fragile peace that has finally settled in the room, or pull Tommy out of the calm state he seems to be in. But eventually, Tommy’s eyes begin to droop, eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to keep them open. And Alfie isn’t sure his still rather sore side can handle carrying him upstairs just yet.

“How about we go to bed, hm?” he suggests. “Just to lie down for a bit.”

He receives no answer, but Tommy slips down from his lap and lets himself be pulled up to his feet.

The way upstairs has never felt this long before, but once they finally reach the bedroom Alfie tucks Tommy in under several layers of blankets, pulling him into a close embrace that Tommy instantly nestles into. And he can finally exhale completely, not realising until now how fucking tired he is. Tommy’s wiry body feels pleasantly relaxed too, the nervous twitches and tense muscles having disappeared with the tears. At least for now.

His eyes fall on the nightstand, and he sighs, knowing he has to ask.

“So,” he begins as he gently scratches Tommy’s back. “About the morphine, yeah? Let’s just get that conversation over and done with.”

Tommy’s eyes fasten on the bedside lamp and the soft light it spreads in the room.

“I just… wanted to not feel anything.”

“But you didn’t take any,” Alfie states, and a long stretch of silence follows.

“I was afraid that I… That I wouldn’t be able to stop,” Tommy finally whispers, and the honest answer causes his heart to twist. “But then I- I don’t know. I just wanted to come home.” The arm wrapped around Alfie’s waist tightens its hold slightly. “To you.”

“See, it’s better then, innit? Pretty sure that could’ve gone in a whole other direction a year ago. Know it’s bloody hard, but… I recon getting better isn’t just something you do once, and then it’s over and done with,” Alfie muses. “More of a… long term thing, I’d say.”

“How you got to be this wise, I’ll never know,” Tommy says, and the little huff of air against Alfie’s chest could almost have been a laugh.

“It’s the beard, love, told you that multiple times. Recon all my reading’s got something to do with it. See, I’m just fucking steeping myself in all sorts of knowledge. Especially lately, what with being stuck in this bed and all.” Tommy hums and huddles a little closer, settling deeper into the embrace. “Austen, eh? Is this the type of thing she writes about?”

“Nah, if anything she’s given me an edge romance wise. Luckily. Got to weigh up for my many flaws, don’t I?”

Tommy raises his head and gives him a tiny, crocked smile as he runs a finger down his temple with a feather light touch.

“What flaws?”

Despite the obvious ignorance in this statement, Alfie still feels his heart grow a few sizes at the words. Taking the hand, carefully avoiding the injured knuckles and raw scratches, he places a soft kiss on the palm.

“How is it that you can see nothing but the good in me, eh? And nothing but the bad in yourself?”

Instead of offering an answer, Tommy buries his face in the crook of his neck, and just breathes. Alfie strokes his back, letting the fingers run up into his hair and softly rake through the tangled locks.

“Can we leave the light on?” Tommy whispers when Alfie reaches out for the lamp on the bedside table.

“Of course.” Alfie lays the arm back around Tommy’s shoulders. With a soft exhale, Tommy closes his eyes, his breathing growing deeper. Alfie looks down at him. The long eyelashes are even darker than usual, a few tears still caught in them. God, his stupid, beautiful boy…It shouldn’t be possible to love someone this much.  

“I know that you’ve felt alone, love,” he mumbles, continuing to gently run his fingers through his hair. “That you’ve got this idea, right, that the whole world rests on your shoulders. But if you just took a step back every once in a while, I think you’d see that you’ve got people around you who want nothing more than to help you. You just got to let them.”

Tommy doesn’t respond, but Alfie thinks he can see a faint smile cross his lips. And that’s enough for now.

…

Tommy sleeps until late in the afternoon the following day. After watching him doze peacefully for the better part of the morning, Alfie eventually goes downstairs to make sure there’s something for him to eat when he wakes up. Preferably something he won’t reject.

As he stands there with flour up to his elbows, kneading a bread dough, Arthur comes into the kitchen.

“How’s he doing? Tommy?”

“Know what, I’m not going to stand here and say it’s fine, because he does that often enough himself. And it’s honestly not fucking fine,” Alfie states, forming the dough into two loaves. “Think you and John have to take on a heavier load with the business for a while. He needs a proper rest.”

Arthur nods, running a hand over his mouth.  

“Yeah, yeah sure,” he says. “I’ll have a word with John.”  He scratches the back of his head. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s always sort of idolized Tommy. Figure it’s hard for him, dealing with any sort of disappointments. But I’ll talk to him. He’ll understand.”

Alfie hums and goes to wash his hands. “Yeah, he usually catches on to things a lot fucking quicker than you, doesn’t he? Bet this is a new experience for both of you.”

“Glad to hear you’re just as fucking infuriating as ever,” Arthur grunts, but it’s followed by a huff of laughter. “Next time you get shot, why don’t you ask them to aim for your head, eh? Bet that would do a lot less damage. Considering it’s completely fucking empty.”

“Nah, nah, next time, I’ll just make sure to be next to you. Use your face to distract them,“ Alfie retorts, grinning down at the washbasin. “How you and my Tommy -widely known to be the most beautiful man ever having set foot on Birmingham’s filthy streets, mind you- how you two can be related I’ll never understand.”

“And still he’s with you,” Arthur says, and is rewarded by a generous splash of water in the face. He jumps backwards far too late and exclaims towards the ceiling, “When will I know peace?”

Chuckling, Alfie goes to heat up the oven while Arthur grumbles insults under his breath.

Everything is comfortingly normal.

An hour later, the house is filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, and as if on que, the rest of the family shows up in the kitchen one by one. Alfie leaves Arthur to deal with them. John in particular.

“I’m directing any and all questions to my dear friend Arthur,” he states, placing two cups of tea and some bread on a tray. “See, I’ve got someone upstairs who’ll be needing my full attention for the remainder of this day.”

Alfie goes back upstairs with the tea, seating himself on the edge of the bed and reaching out to stroke Tommy’s hair. Slowly, Tommy begins to stir under the hand, and his eyes open a sliver.

“Morning,” he mutters and looks sleepily up at Alfie.

“Afternoon,” Alfie says with a nod towards the window. Tommy’s eyes widen briefly, and he makes a move to sit, sinking back against the mattress only when Alfie’s hand comes to rest on his chest.

“No, you’re staying in bed today. Arthur and John are running shit.”

Tommy gives it another feeble attempt. “But I-“

“It’s not a discussion. See, you’re going to rest your pretty little head on that pillow while I feed you bread. That’s the only thing happening today, alright?”

By some fucking miracle, Tommy resigns to this fate without as much as a displeased huff, sitting up in the bed and leaning back against the pillows. Getting in next to him, Alfie places the plate with bread in his lap.

“Go ahead. Eat.”

“Did you bake it?”

“Of course. Won’t do with anything else when it comes to you, love.”

Tommy begins tearing the bread it into smaller pieces, taking one at a time and chewing each piece for a long time before finally swallowing. While he’s eating, Alfie makes sure to provide some distraction, talking about this and that. He’s had a lot of time to think, hasn’t he, being stuck in bed with his own head for so long, so there’s no lack of conversational topics.

“I need to go and talk to Finn,” Tommy says when he’s finally managed to eat the whole thing. “Apologize.”

“Thomas Shelby apologizing?” Alfie smirks. “Hell really has frozen over, hasn’t it? Must be the weather.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy grumbles and bumps his shoulder against Alfie’s, which he responds to by cradling his head in his hand and kissing his temple.

“Nah, I’m just teasing, sweetie. You’ve had great progress in that area lately.”

The door opens.

“Tommy, look at my cast!” Finn is suddenly standing on the threshold, smiling brightly as he holds his left arm up for Tommy to see.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Tommy points out as he climbs onto the bed, sitting down by the wall and stretching his legs out over Tommy’s.

“I’m not! Look, I’m in a bed now!”

“How’re you feeling?” Tommy asks, giving Finn one of the pillows to lean against.

“I’m good. Well, my head hurts a bit. And the arm. But I actually think it would’ve been well cool if I’d lost the arm instead of just breaking it, ‘cause then I could’ve had a hook hand!“ Finn talks a little about all the possibilities such an item could open up. Patiently waiting for him to finish, Tommy just sits there and listens for a while. Eventually, Finn runs out of thoughts on the topic.

“I’m really sorry, Finn,” Tommy says then. “For not coming to see you at the hospital.” Finn blinks in surprise and then gives a small shrug. “It’s okay, you weren’t feeling good.”

“It doesn’t change anything.” Tommy pauses, searching for the right words. “I got really scared. And sometimes when you’re scared, you do stupid things. And I’m sorry I didn’t go with you to the stables like I promised.” Another stretch of silence follows as Tommy lowers his gaze, looking down at his damaged hands. Alfie gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not… well, right now.”

“I know,” Finn says. “You need to rest your head. And I need to rest my arm. So we can both rest for a while.”  A pleased grin flashes across his face. “John told me you punched that bloke in the face. The one with the car. He was really nice though, but it was still pretty cool that you did.”

“I’d punch a thousand blokes in the face for you.” Tommy smiles wearily and gives Finn’s hair an affectionate tug. Finn is grinning from ear to ear.

Then he sees the plate with the breadcrumbs, and his eyes snap to Alfie.

“Did you bake?”

“I did- ” Alfie can barely finish the last word before Finn is out of the bed.  

Tommy sits up a little straighter.

“Finn, you shouldn’t-“ his shoulders slump in defeat as Finn disappears out the door, he and sinks back against Alfie’s arm. Alfie presses a kiss onto the top of his head.

“Don’t worry, love, someone will catch him and bring him back to bed.”

“Not sure I could get up even if I tried,” Tommy mumbles and shifts in the embrace, head slipping down to rest on Alfie’s chest. “Fuck, I don’t know why I’m so exhausted.” Resting his cheek against the top of his head, Alfie gazes out the window at the dreary scenery outside, the grey rooftops and grimy bricks.

“How about we go away for a little while?” he suggests, choosing to not point out to Tommy that it’s not such a mystery he’s finally hit a wall. “Think a change in scenery would do you good.”

“Where would we go?” Tommy asks, much to Alfie’s surprise.

“Oh, I’ve got a place in mind. I do distinctly remember promising to take you to the sea. Got a house there, don’t I? We could… go for walks on the beach. Sleep in…” Alfie slides a hand up Tommy’s thigh, giving the inside a squeeze and adding with a grin, “Make love.”

Tommy gives a huff of laughter at the last suggestion –he often does when Alfie uses that phrase. But Alfie likes saying it. Make love. Has a nice ring to it. And it’s his prerogative to say it as much as he bloody well likes. Tommy takes his hand.

“I’d like that.”

…

Alfie wakes up from a spontaneous afternoon nap to find Tommy missing from his spot on the sofa, having previously been curled up right next to him. Someone has removed the book from where he’d let it slip onto his face, and it’s now placed on the table.

Sitting up, he immediately catches eye of him, standing out on the balcony overlooking the beach. Alfie goes to join him, grabbing the blanket hanging over the back of the sofa. He doesn’t say anything, but he knows Tommy can hear him as the wood creaks under his feet.

Alfie wraps the blanket tightly around Tommy’s shoulders, resting his chin on his right one as he tugs him closer against his chest. For a little while, they just stand there. Alfie breathes in the salty air and decides this kind of air should be canned and brought back to Birmingham to give some respite from the appalling smell there.

“We should go inside,” he eventually says and places a soft kiss right under his ear. “You’ll get cold.”

Tommy gives a hum and leans into the embrace, gaze fastened on the waves crashing against the beach.

“Just a little while longer.”

His shoulders feel relaxed under Alfie’s chin, and his eyes are calm.  

“You know, there’s something I haven’t asked you about,” Alfie furrows his brow, watching the dark clouds sail by overhead. “Where were you hiding out at, eh? That night when you disappeared.”

“The stables,” Tommy answers. “There’s… this spot up on the hayloft.”

“Ah, I knew I wasn’t completely off.”

“I used to hide there when I was a kid,” Tommy says and leans his head back against his shoulder, looking up at the sky. “Don’t’ think you can find it if you don’t know about it. It’s right under the window. Used to sit there and… look at the horses.”

Alfie hums. “Did you do that a lot when you were little, eh? Hide?” Tommy shrugs, face getting that distant look to it which conversations about his childhood always bring about.

“I liked it because no one could find me there. Felt safe, I guess.”

“It’s good that you told me,” Alfie says encouragingly. “Then I know where to find you next time.”

“There won’t be one,” Tommy promises, immediately pulling himself out of whatever memory he was lost in.

Alfie turns him around so they’re facing each other, gently taking Tommy’s face between both hands and tilting it upwards. Tommy meets his gaze, eyes unwavering and soft in the light of the slowly setting sun.

“If there is, I’ll come looking for you, love,” Alfie says firmly. “I always will.”

Tommy captures his lips in a gentle kiss.

“I know.”

[neraawritesxx]

My dear anon, I don’t know whether I was to kiss you or to curse at you. The first thing that popped into my head at this prompt was 'Naruto on morphine,' and I figured I could write a cute little drabble about it.

Three headaches, four days, and eight pages later, I have this half-assed one-shot set in an alternate universe that I now want to spend all my time writing about and expanding lol. I think in the future I’m going to go back and re-write this idea and make a multi-chapter story about it. Until then, here’s a little preview. I hope you enjoy!

title: morphine dreams prompt: telling a stranger your life story pairing: naruto x sakura word count: 4,843

The elevator doors closed with a miniature 'ding.'

Sakura absentmindedly watched the numbers above the metal entryway light up, signaling her descent.

Chewing on the inside of her right cheek, the petite woman tried to wrap her mind around one single thought, her temples throbbing as she strived to formulate some type of order to her unmethodological mind.

Typically, the end of her workday was filled with excitement, especially if the end of said shift would be followed by the next two days off of work. Instead of basking in the delight of having some time to herself, Sakura felt thoroughly anxious. There were too many things on her mental 'to-do' checklist, and the pinkette found herself distractedly preoccupied; her attention drawn inward, unintentionally ignoring colleagues and coworkers who filtered in and out of the lift during her downward journey.

There were a few stops she had to make on her way home, the grocery store being the first on her agenda. The food pantry in her apartment had seen better days. If Sakura had another bowl of cereal for dinner this week, she was sure she was going to turn into a Cheerio.

There was also the issue of Ino's birthday present. Her best friend's party was coming up this weekend, and Sakura had yet to find a gift that would be considered perfect for the occasion. Though the blonde insisted on nothing over the top, Sakura still wanted to spoil Ino on her special day.

Maybe she could take a detour on her way home and stop at that day spa? Ino would appreciate a voucher for an all-inclusive day of pampering. With her best friend getting further along in her pregnancy, Sakura was sure that the days Ino was spending out of her home were numbered. It would be a welcomed reprieve before the blonde was placed on bed rest.

The rosette was brought out of her musings when the door to the elevator slid open, revealing the absolute pandemonium that happened to be the emergency room.

Sakura scrambled into the fray of bodies, expertly maneuvering through mayhem towards the large, automatic glass doors on the opposite side of the room.

The scent of blood and anesthetics filled her nose, and for a moment, the cherry-haired woman found herself smiling despite the frantic setting. There was never a dull day at Konoha University Hospital. She had started out as a medical student, thrown into the intern rotation of the emergency ward during the first semester of her junior year.

The ever-changing scene, filled day to day with different doctors, unique patients, and arduous tasks gave Sakura a such a rush; it made her feel alive. There was nothing better than assisting a patient in the fight for their life; to see that person mend and heal under the tips of her fingers.

It was a euphoric high; the elation and adrenaline she felt during those shifts was beyond compare. Though Sakura loved her mentor for taking her under her wing – and thus jumpstarting her career in the neurology ward – she still found herself sometimes wishing for a position that had a little less paperwork and a bit more action.

Halfway to her destination, someone called out to Sakura, breaking her from her reflections.

"Dr. Haruno!"

Begrudgingly, she bit back the groan that threatened to escape her lips, smothering her face with her hands. 

Fleetingly, Sakura wondered if she remained like that if the person seeking to get her attention would completely overlook her. Maybe they would just take the hint and find the aid they needed with another physician?

She was so close; so, so, so close to the end of her shift, and there were far too many tasks for her to complete unrelated to the hospital. Now was not the time to be drawn into something that would most likely sidetrack her for the next hour.

Her salvation was beyond those doors, and after a fifteen-hour day, Sakura wanted to do nothing more than to make a run for it. She may not be particularly fast, but she figured she had a good enough head start to make it to the exit before whoever was looking for her caught up with her.

At the constant hail of her name, Sakura knew that she had hesitated too long, and the emerald-eyed woman bitterly concluded that she would not be going anywhere anytime soon. Lifting her face from her palms, Sakura turned to regard the short, brown-haired girl as she drew near.

Straightening upon the nurse's arrival, a small, strained smile playing on Sakura's lips. "Yes?" The pink-haired doctor inquired. "Can I help you with something?"

Sakura didn't recognize the younger girl before her, so she could only assume that she was either a new employee or a student in one of her first rotations.

"I'm really sorry to bother you," The blue-eyed girl apologized, panting as she caught her breath. "Tsunade-sama sent me to come find you. She warned me that you might be on your way out, but I'm glad I caught you in time."

At the mention of her mentor's name, Sakura's lips pursed, drawing down into a tiny frown. There were very few reasons why her boss would send someone to hunt her down, especially when Shizune was working the same shift. Whatever it was, it must have been urgent, because the brunette before her was fidgeting impatiently, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"What is it? Is there something wrong?" Sakura asked.

"If you could follow me, please?" The girl questioned, half-turning away. She gestured for the pinkette to follow, making a beckoning motion with her hand before she began to weave into the crowd around them.

After only a moment's hesitation did Sakura begin to follow, instantly falling into step beside the shorter female.

"My name is Yuma, by the way," The shorter girl quickly clarified. "An old friend of Dr. Senju's came in a little while ago and brought in a couple of his…friends…for treatment. They're beat up pretty badly. Tsunade-sama said that she would like you to take a look at them."

There was something about Yuma's tone, it was edgy, and it made a wave of unease was over Sakura. Whenever Tsunade had a 'colleague' – and she was using that term loosely – come to visit, her supervisor tended to get herself into some type of trouble. Hospital protocol went out the window when a companion from her mentor's past was around. Sakura, along with most of the other staff, tended to overlook the older blonde's antics. The thought of herself currently being dragged into one of Tsunade's side projects made Sakura slightly cautious.

The duo slipped out of the crisis ward, and Yuma lead Sakura down a separate corridor which housed the wing of private examination rooms.

At the end of the hall they turned down, Sakura observed three figures huddled together. The closer they drew, the more details she could make out. The trio was made up of all men, two of which, were standing with their backs towards her.

One was tall and somewhat lanky, with an unruly mop of silver hair. The other was closer to Sakura's height, though she couldn't get an accurate read on his build because of the loose fitting, navy-blue tunic he wore. The second man's onyx hair stuck out at an odd angle, but what caught her immediate attention was the dark smear of crimson that stained the back of his neck, tinting the collar of his shirt a vibrant purple.

The third and final man easily towered over both of his companions, and he was the only one facing in her direction. Sakura couldn't make out his face; his body was slumped, leaning towards his friends as they continued their discussion. 

What caused Sakura to relax slightly, was the third male's mane of white hair, which was quite hard to miss due to its bushiness and length.

She repressed the urge to smile, her nose scrunching up as she fought against the impulse. Sakura would recognize that head of hair anywhere, and though it had been years since she had last seen him, Sakura was confident in her hypothesis of just who Tsunade's guest happened to be.

"Jiraiya…?" The pinkette tentatively called out.

At the sound of her voice, all three men stiffened, the two with their backs facing her pivoted in her direction, movements tense, as three pairs of infinitely dark eyes regarding her suspiciously.

Jiraiya glanced at her from over the heads of his associates, holding the same expression of wary apprehension at the sight of her. After his analytical gaze slid to her bubblegum pink hair, however, a broad, feral grin curled on his lips and recognition dawned.

"Sakura-chan!" He bellowed in welcome, pushing past his two comrades to rush to her side.

Immediately, he enveloped her right hand in both of his own, bringing it up towards his face so that he could brush his lips across the back of her knuckles.

"You're as lovely as I remember," The older gentleman practically purred.

Sakura snatched her hand back as if scalded. 

"And you're just as much of a flirt as I remember," The green-eyed woman countered, though there was no real displeasure in her barb.

A tiny smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. "It's good to see you," Sakura said, her voice filling with warmth. "It's been far too long."

"Indeed, it has," Jiraiya agreed with a sagely nod. "It's been, what? Four years now?"

"Sounds about right," She coincided. "I was actually beginning to miss you," She commented dryly, her sarcasm earning her a soft chuckle.

Sakura had known the older male from her earlier years at the hospital. To this day, she wasn't exactly sure what the relationship between Jiraiya and Tsunade was, nor did she have any idea as to what white-haired male actually did for a living that brought him around to the hospital so frequently. 

Jiraiya had a habit of showing up out of nowhere, either prowling around the nurse's stations or spontaneously showing up in her mentor's office uninvited. Having been working with Tsunade closely then, Sakura was prone to dealing with him and his…amorous tendencies.

Despite his odd behaviors, she felt a sort of kinship with the older gentleman. Jiraiya was a breath of fresh air that the hospital needed, especially on some of the darker days.

"So, it's safe to assume you're the old friend of Tsunade's that came to visit, but who…," Sakura cocked her head to the left, peering around Jiraiya so that she could catch a glimpse of the other two men. "Are they?"

Now that she held an unobstructed view, the cherry-haired woman could fully discern both males and their state of unruliness.

Despite the color of his hair, the taller of the two was younger than she originally anticipated. Though a surgical mask covered a majority of his face – odd, but not unheard of when visiting a hospital – the lack of crows feet around his eyes, paired with a lack of age lines wrinkling his brow, made Sakura believe he had to be in his late thirties, possibly early forties.

Dressed in a simple outfit of baggy, acid wash jeans and a short-sleeved black t-shirt, nothing else seemed out of place save for the excessive number of bandages that covered his right forearm. Whoever wrapped him up did so in haste, and apparently, had no medical training whatsoever for the dressings hung loosely and haphazardly.

Viridian eyes slid to the dark-haired male, who seemed to be more worse for wear than his companion. His face was covered in blotches of purplish-blue, and there was a small gash above his right eyebrow that was still bleeding. He seemed closer to Sakura in age, but she really couldn't tell with all the discoloration caused by the bruising.

The stain she had noticed earlier wrapped around from the nape of his neck, settling into a large mauve pool on the front of his shirt. He had been – and still was – bleeding profusely, and instinctively, Sakura took a step in their direction.

She didn't make it very far. Jiraiya, who quickly caught on to her intentions, sidestepped in front of her, successfully cutting off her path.

Emerald eyes flicked back in the older male's direction, a brow raised in question. In response, the white-haired gentleman rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, releasing a short, nervous chuckle.

"Ah, those two are fine," He stated hurriedly.

Jiraiya reached out then, wrapping an arm around her waist, propelling her - none too gently - towards the examination room that was closest to their group. "Introductions could be made later. Right now, I need you to take a look at my apprentice."

"Apprentice?" Sakura parroted in a disbelieving tone.

"Yes, you see, a…." He toiled with the right word for a moment. "Scuffle broke out, and my dear apprentice found himself smack dab in the middle of it. A wrong place, wrong time scenario, if you would. Usually, Tsunade handles these types of situations should they arise, but she's tied up at the moment. She sent me the next best thing, though: her number one student."

Sakura narrowed her eyes at Jiraiya's sweet words, and her skepticism grew tenfold. Not only was she not fond of his vagueness on whatever it was that was going on, but he was also stopping her from treating a wounded man that was standing right in front of her. And what on earth did Jiraiya do that allowed him to have a pupil?

Shaking out of his hold, Sakura turned to confront Yuma, who had been watching the entire scene with wide-eyes, apprehensive eyes.

"What did Tsunade-sama say to you exactly?" The pink-haired doctor asked, gesturing towards the injured men. "Did she specify who should be treated first? Or if I should be treating any of them, for that matter?"

"Well...not exactly," The young intern replied timidly. "You see, Dr. Senju simply said, 'Whatever Jiraiya says, goes.'"

Slightly confused, Sakura's lips parted and a frown formed between her brows. She merely starting at Yuma, trying to discern why her boss was getting her involved in something like this.

She blinked once, then twice, before her expression morphed into a scowl, her frustration cutting through her surprised stupor.

Sakura growled out her inquiry. "And where exactly is Dr. Senju at the moment?"

Yuma flinched back at her tone. "S-She had a surgery scheduled for this evening. She said that you would take care of everything."

The rosette shifted her hardened gaze towards Jiraiya, who, much to her chagrin, didn't seem to be phased by the glare. After years of being friends with Tsunade, he was probably invincible to anyone's leer.

Slowly, Sakura shifted to peer towards the two other men, both of whom seemed just as unperturbed as Jiraiya. Realizing that she was not going to get any answers out of anyone at this point, Sakura settled her glower on the white-haired male once more.

"Anything else I need to know before I go treat him?" The question was directed towards Yuma, though she kept her eyes level with Jiraiya, who was now grinning at her cheekily.

"Well…" The brunette trailed off, her voice soft. "It seems that the first nurse to see him gave him a dose of morphine to help with his pain. Only after did she notice Tsunade-sama's handwritten note in his chart to not give him painkillers of any kind."

Sakura's head snapped in the intern's direction, her inquiry holding a hint of panic. "Is he allergic?"

Before Yuma could answer her question, Jiraiya placed both hands on her shoulders and resumed pushing the pinkette towards the door.

"The effects are adverse, but not deadly," The older male assured. "He just tends to get a little out of hand. I really just need you to sew him up and give him a clean bill of health. Then, we'll all be out of that pretty pink hair of yours."

Somewhat fed up with being manhandled, Sakura broke free of Jiraiya's grasp once again, rounding on him. This entire scenario screamed 'unnatural,' and if Tsunade wanted to get involved with whatever game Jiraiya was playing, that was her prerogative.

Personally, Sakura would have liked to remain blissfully unaware of her mentor's secret dealings. She should be on her way home right now damn it. 

"I may not know the full story of what is going on here," She ground out, forcefully poking the white-haired male in the chest. "But I will have my questions answered when I'm finished with him."

Without waiting for a response, petite woman spun around in a flurry of pink hair, stomping the rest of the way towards the examination room. Yanking the door open, Sakura composed herself somewhat, straighten her spine before she slipped inside, the door snapping shut behind her.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the brighter lighting of the hospital room, but when her vision cleared, Sakura finally caught a glimpse of her would-be patient.

Sitting propped up on the large chair in the middle of the examination room was a man, who, much like his onyx-haired friend on the other side of the door, was riddled with bruises. Without a shirt on, Sakura could see that there was not a patch of his sun-kissed skin that wasn't unmarred and she couldn't help but give a cringe in sympathy.

He was tall; taller than her at least, tousled blonde hair damp and clinging to his forehead in certain spots. Most of his weight was shifted to the right side, his awkward lean barely keeping him upright. His left hand pressed a sheet of gauze into his right bicep; red bloomed on the alabaster cloth, the stain visible between his splayed fingers.

He looked up at her entrance, vibrant emerald locking with hazy cerulean.

Momentarily, the rosette thought that she had seen him before, somewhere in passing, but she couldn't quite put her finger on where she should know him from.

Brushing the thought aside, she took a step further into the room.

"Hello," Sakura greeted. "My name is Dr. Haruno. Tsunade-sama sent me to take a look at you."

He didn't reply, and the lack of continued communication caused an unpleasant silence to descend on the room.

After a short stretch of strained noiselessness, he finally spoke. "Oh…" He stated, airily. "You're absolutely gorgeous."

Thrown off canter by the spontaneous compliment, Sakura's eyes widened a fraction, and she almost – almost – found herself blushing like a schoolgirl.

"Um…Thank you?" She hesitantly responded, trying to relax her rigid stance as she cautiously crossed the room towards the cot.

His stance swayed slightly, and a Cheshire grin curled on his lips. "You're quite welcome," He rasped in a tone that sounded suspiciously similar to the one Jiraiya used when he was trying to pick up one of the nurses.

Ignoring the way that his eyes followed her every movement, Sakura focused all of her attention on his wound. Plopping down in the stool next to the examination chair, she reached over and seized his hand in one of her own, gently trying to pry it away from the injury.

Her first two attempts were met with resistance, and after another minute of failing at loosening his grip, Sakura sat back with a huff, green eyes narrowing.

"Can you please move your hand?" She asked with feigned civility.

He ignored her plea and instead, reached up with his with the hand not clasped against his bicep and seized the lapel of her lab coat, yanking her forward so abruptly that Sakura almost fell out of her chair.

"The name's Naruto," He cooed, breath ghosting against her cheek. "What's yours?"

Their sudden closeness, paired with his brazenness, disrespect, and the downright bizarreness of the entire situation, caused Sakura to flush in anger and mortification.

"Not interested!" She snapped, smacking his hand away. He jerked back and wobbled, unable to get a proper bearing on his balance. For safe measure, Sakura scooted her stool back a smidge.

She was suddenly all too aware of what Jiraiya meant when he said that his pupil became problematic under the influence of anesthetics. 

The kid acted like a drunk lecher.

Just how, how, did she end up in these situations?

"I need to take a look at your injury to assess the damage," She explained through clenched teeth, unable to hide her mounting ire. "To do that, I need you to move your hand away. Can you do that, please?"

The blonde's foggy gaze slowly slid from Sakura's face, to where his left hand was gripping the opposite arm. With an excruciatingly robotic stiffness, his slender fingers lifted off the bandage one by one, allowing the sheet of gauze to fall to the floor with a wet 'plop.'

The slash was a thick, jagged laceration, blood now trickling from the wound without the bandage blocking its path. Luckily, whatever caused the injury hadn't torn through too much muscle tissue. Crouching down so she could further inspect the damage caused, Sakura pivoted her head from side to side, appraisingly examining the cut from different angles.

She stood from her chair with a click of her tongue. "That is definitely going to need stitches. Luckily for both of us, you're already sedated."

Sakura ventured towards the cabinets that hung on the opposite wall, rummaging through their contents to gather the supplies necessary to sutra the abrasion closed.

When she turned back around, objects procured, Sakura found the blonde – Naruto – staring down at her legs with appreciation, the skirt she had worn that day hiding nothing from her knees, down.

"Hey, buddy! Eyes up here!" The pinkette barked, shaking one of the metal clamps in his direction.

Naruto's head snapped up so quickly that it threw him even further off his already unstable equilibrium. The momentum propelled his upper body further backward, and he ungraciously slumped back into the pads of the examination chair.

"Woah…" He murmured, befuddled. "The room is spinning."

Emerald eyes rolled skyward, and Sakura released a dejected sigh, shoulders slumping.

"Just do me a favor," She muttered defeatedly. "Please stay there. Don't move. Don't sit up. Just stay."

Naruto released a small snort, awkwardly raising his left hand to give her thumbs-up.

The next few minutes passed with little interruption from the fair-haired menace. Sakura was able to reclaim her perch next to the table and start cleansing the wound. When she began to sew the laceration, shut, she had expected some sort of outburst on his part, but to her surprise, he didn't even flinch.

For an instant, Sakura thought he had fallen asleep, his breathing deep and even. She was proven wrong, however, when she glanced up from underneath her lashes and found sky-blue eyes trained directly on her face. There was something about the way he looked at her that made Sakura skittish, a queasy feeling fluttering in her stomach.

With a grumble, Sakura turned back to her task and only after another lull of silence passed between them did she finally gamble in asking, "Want to tell me how it happened?"

Naruto huffed dramatically before responding, "This is what happens when your caretaker is a pervert, you coach is a lazy piece of shit, and your best friend is a bastard."

Sakura paused in her stitching, looking up from his arm with a raised brow.

"Care...taker?" She repeated, slowly. "Coach?"

The blonde grunted in confirmation, theatrically waving his free hand in the air as he continued to explain. "I live with the old pervert. You know, the one with the crazy white hair and the insatiable need to hit on every woman that breathes?"

At Sakura's dumb nod, Naruto continued. "Jiraiya took me in after my parents died. He's a retired kendo fighter, and after a few years of training me, he noticed that I had a knack for different styles of martial arts. He reached out to the scarecrow with legs, the one outside with the prematurely gray hair and bam I now have a trainer and a coach."

Naruto tried to clap his hands together for emphasis, but Sakura's hold on his right arm kept him in place, preventing any further injury to his person and damage to her work.

Her mind was working a mile a minute, trying to make sense of all the knowledge that he had just graced her with, while also attempting to comprehend why he had told her such personal information.

Well, the morphine was most likely the cause for his loose lips, but then again, none of what he was telling her made any sense.

The one thing that did stick out, over everything else that he had rambled, was that he was a fighter. Emerald hues perused her client, giving a slow once over, honing in specifically on the scar-like whiskers that were hidden under the blotchy, bruised skin on his face.

Realization hit her swiftly, the force of it practically stealing the breath away.

"You're that guy that they're always talking about on the news!" She accused, shock written on her features. "The mix-martial artist!"

The pitch of her exclamation was too high for Naruto's liking, and he cringed, using his free hand to cover his left ear.

"…Pretty and loud…," He murmured under his breath before his hand fell back down to his side, resting limply on the cushion. "But, yeah, that would be me."

"But…but what are you doing here?!" She asked, still flabbergasted.

"Granny's my personal doctor," He explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It took Sakura a second to realize that he was talking about her mentor, Tsunade. And suddenly, Sakura understood exactly what her boss was involved in.

Azure eyes regarded favorably, a smile – one which Sakura could only describe as predatory – pulling on his lips as he said, "Though, I wouldn't complain if you were going to take over that position."

At the waggle of his eyebrows, Sakura shot him a deadpan look. "Still not interested."

Turning back to her work, the pink-haired doctor found herself fighting down the childish urge to poke him unnecessarily with the needle.

"None of this explains why you're here," She spoke offhandedly. 

She paused for a moment, shifting the forceps further down along the wound. When she was satisfied with the new grip, she continued with her assignment.

"It's all their fault really," Naruto affirmed. "The old man opened his mouth and hit on the wrong girl. The next thing I knew, the entire bar was after us." After a slight pause, he sulkily added, "Didn't help that neither Kakashi-sensei or Jiraiya just stood on the sidelines. Sasuke and I took most of the beating."

Sakura accepted his explanation, concluding that the two names she didn't recognize must have been the other men who had come to the hospital with Jiraiya. The room lapsed back into silence then, and it didn't take much longer for Sakura to finish sewing his injury closed. 

After applying an antibacterial ointment around the sutras, the rosette placed a fresh gauze patch over the area, wrapping it securely in place with cotton bandages.

Relaxing now that her job was finished, Sakura pushed back from the examination chair, standing from her stool. Seeing that she had accomplished her task, Naruto sat up abruptly, wavering slightly with his sudden movement.

"Easy there, tiger," Sakura reprimanded, somewhat amused. "Don't go messing up my handiwork."

Naruto bobbed his head in acknowledgment, though he said nothing. Instead, his focus was directed toward the patchwork on his right arm, curling and uncurling his fist so that he could gauge the soreness in his muscles.

"Leave the current wrapping on for the next forty-eight hours. After that, you can change them daily. Make sure you put ointment on it every time you change the bandages. In about two weeks or so, you can come back, and Tsunade will take them out."

It seemed the blonde's lucidity still had yet to come back because all he did was stare at her absentmindedly, nodding his head every so often.

Blowing out a breath, Sakura brought her right hand up to rub her temple. "I'll have the nurse relay all this information to Jiraiya, and we'll make sure you get the supplies you need on your way out."

Straightening, she turned towards the door, offering a small wave "I would say that it was nice meeting you, but this has been the strangest encounter I have ever had with a patient. Next time, let's hope that they read your chart before administering any painkillers."

"Hey!" Naruto called out to her, causing the petite woman to stall her exit. "Go on a date with me!"

Sakura graced Naruto with a smile, one that was all pearl whites, before she turned back to the door, chuckling under her breath.

"Still not interested!"

Send me a pairing and a prompt from any of these lists! [x] [x] [x]

[thefanficnewbie]

The Oxy Girl | Tricia Miller x reader - Chapter 1

Summary: You are one of the teenagers at-risk taken to Litchfield in the “a day in the jail” program. Straying from your group in search of adventure, you end up finding something way darker.

Warning: Drug overdose

Honestly, the whole thing was just ridiculous. All that time you spent preparing yourself and watching “Beyond Scared Straight” episodes on Youtube had completely gone to waste. You didn’t know about other prisons nearby, but Litchfield was a joke.

Your parent’s decision to put you in the intervention program had, at the very least, shocked you. Those two were actually forcing you to spend a day in jail? Way too desperate measures, in your opinion. C’mon, you were a functional teenager with a social circle, hobbies and great stories to tell. Which also translated to the gang you were part of; your good taste for parties, smoking, and drinking; and the several times you had fun doing illegal shit. Well, at least you were making memories, right?

After the comedy with the inmates (you almost felt sorry for their cringy attempts to spook you), you didn’t fail to notice the baby-faced guard leaving the room. With only one officer and two inmates leading the line, it was stupidly easy to stay at the back and turn at a random corner when the opportunity came up. So much for a well-secured correctional institution. 

Free from the tour, you now strolled through the hallways, careful to stay only in the empty ones, keeping your guard up and making mental notes of possible hiding spots in case anyone saw you. Piece of cake. Until you walked by a random door with a glass square and, out of the corner of your eye, spotted what looked like a girl fallen to the ground. Frowning, you stepped back, certain it was probably just a broom and your mind playing tricks on you.

Your eyebrows shot upwards as you acknowledged that that was indeed a female - not much older than you, now that you took in the details -, and you would’ve ducked to stay out of her sight if it weren’t for her obvious ill state. That girl (inmate, judging from her clothes) looked very sick, and still hadn’t noticed you standing there. There was something wrong.

Knocking on the glass, you managed to catch her attention as she slowly turned her head towards you. A gasp left your lips as you noticed the bag of pills in her hands. No. This couldn’t be what you thought it was. But you were in a prison, which meant it also pretty much fucking could.

“Oh my God, oh my God...” You mumbled in alarm, your hands suddenly shaky at the realization. You’d never seen someone overdose in person, but you’d lost acquaintances because of that, and you’d heard the stories. Plus, you knew the symptoms. You had to take that damn bag away from her.

“Shit!” The door was locked. Pumped by adrenaline, you quickly considered your options. The girl was too high to pay attention and understand what you were saying (or rather, signaling), and you didn’t even know if that wasn’t actually attempted suicide. Talking to her was impossible. 

Next idea was to call an officer and get professional help, but you knew that would take too long, especially with all the questions and lectures resulting of your little “exploring” adventure. By the time someone with a key got there, that inmate would be dead. Picking the lock it is, then. 

Your heartbeats echoed in your ears as you crouched and took off two pins from your hair. It wasn’t as easy as Hollywood sold it, but you had done it enough times to find it not too challenging. It was a routine process - bend one of the pins, pressure the lock, use the other one to elevate the inside pins. It was just a matter of finding the heavier ones and pushing them upwards until the lock moved.

Forty-three anxiety-filled seconds later, you finally heard the click. In a jump, you thrashed the door open, stumbling over your feet as you saw the girl up close. Her head was bent to the side, her eyes half-closed and her chest moving in very irregular patterns. Your gaze went straight to the pill bag in her hands, almost empty.

You cursed and promptly grabbed it, throwing it to the across the room. That got a reaction from the girl.

“Hey!” Her voice was hoarse and her pupils were two little dots in the middle of her irises as she turned to look at you. “Give ‘em back-” She grimaced, clearly in distress, before shaking her head and shifting her attention back to you, a confused expression on her face.

“You had too much of that already.” You muttered and knelt down next to her. “I need you to help me help you, what did you take?” She opened her mouth to answer but got distracted by something on the wall, a dumb smile spreading across her face. Her eyes fluttered again.

“No, no, no!” You clutched her arm and slapped her considerably hard on the cheek “You stay with me! I need your name and the name of the drug!” But she wouldn’t reply, letting out a silent weak chuckle instead. Ok, asking her wasn’t going to work. You threw your hand into your pocket in search of your phone, ready to call 911, before remembering all electronics had been taken from you upon arrival.

So you did the obvious. You screamed for help as loud as you could, and hoped someone was close enough to hear it.

“Listen to me!” You shook the inmate, focusing back on the task at hand - keeping this girl alive. Her breathing was painfully slow and you her skin got colder by the minute, her lips starting to turn blue. Definitely a narcotic. “What was it? Just nod, please! I need to know this!” 

You could see her effort in trying to stay awake, and part of you wanted to believe that deep down she understood what was happening to her. That she was actually fighting to survive.

“Was it Norco? Vicodin?” You forced your brain to come up with more opiate names “Morphine? Huh? Was it Aunt Em?” This girl was so young. She was the person your parents feared you’d become. You didn’t care that she was an imprisoned criminal, you would not let her die. “Oxy? Did you take OX?”

You felt a premature wave of relief wash over you as she roughly moved her chin up and down. You knew what it was. When the paramedics came, knowing the overdosed drug would make their jobs much, much easier and they’d be able to treat her right away. Good. It would be OK.

Suddenly, she cupped her mouth and twitched her body in discomfort, a frown on her face. You instantly knew what it was. Quickly grabbing her upper body, you helped her turn sideways. Not even a second later and she was putting all of her stomach’s content on the floor. Without hesitation, you held her upper body, supporting her weight and moving your hand on her back in circles.

You knew she didn’t have much time left and would definitely pass out in a few minutes. Anxious and majorly concerned, you called for help once again, before getting back to whispering that she was gonna be fine. 

A few seconds later, an officer with an awful mustache showed up at the door. As he spotted you two on the ground, you notice his eyes changing from confusion to sheer panic, a tingle of fear playing in his expression. You narrowed your eyes but returned your attention to the girl as breathing got even more irregular.

“Why are you still standing there? Call 911!” Your voice seemed to get him out of his trance.

“W-what? No, this inmate isn’t allowed here. I’ll take her with me and fill in a report, she must’ve coerced you-” He stepped closer, already motioning to get hold of her.

You immediately put yourself between the two of them, clenching your teeth. 

“Call 911!” You insisted, glaring at him. He was playing dumb. An officer would recognize the symptoms of overdose, it’s basic knowledge in the criminal world. 

“Watch your language! You’re one of the delinquent visiting kids, you shouldn’t be here either. If you come with me now, I won’t bust you-” He tried to grab your arm. You dodged his grip, leaning the girl against a wall to stand up and get to his level. The dominant, dick, kinda guy. You knew plenty like him.

“Call. Fucking. 911.Or this girl will die and it will be on you. And I’ll make sure you get punished for it.” 

His eyes widened in caution and he took a step back. In that moment, you knew you’d won. He wouldn’t risk losing his job (or freedom, if it was up to you). Resigned, he took out his radio, speaking a few code words before looking back at you. “Hush.” He said, and you knew exactly what he meant.

“What’s her name?” You got down once more, disgusted by the officer’s behavior and obvious uncaring attitude towards the young woman.

“Tricia.” 

“Hey, Tricia” You shook her slightly until her eyes opened “Stay with me, ok? I’m (Y/N), I’m with you. You’ll be fine. You’ll be just fine.” You kept bugging her and did everything you could to keep her conscious for the next minutes.

First, Baby-face appeared, followed by two other guards. They tried to take Tricia from you, but you didn’t let them, arguing you’d only let the paramedics move her. When that didn’t work, you said you’d only reveal what drug she’d taken if they let her with you until medical help came.

You didn’t know what had made you so protective of her, maybe you saw yourself in her, maybe you didn’t trust any other officers after meeting Mustache... You just wouldn’t cool down until you saw her safe in an ambulance. The female guard, the leader of your tour, showed up right after, stubborn on getting you to go back to the bus. You repeated the same thing excuse. She wasn’t so easy to bend.

You were almost being dragged out of the room when a woman with messy blonde hair appeared on the doorstep. Her gaze traveled straight towards Tricia, and she hurriedly made her way towards you, taking the girl from your arms. You didn’t protest - you saw the love and genuine concern in her eyes.

“What the fuck, Tricia!” She whispered, holding the young adult close to her chest, tenderly. You swore you saw a silent tear strim down her face. As far as you knew, the woman hadn’t really noticed you yet. 

The paramedics came in half a minute later. While two of them managed to take Tricia from the woman and take her to the ambulance, you talked to the other one about the drug, OxyContin, a powerful and dangerous painkiller; explained her symptoms and showed him the bag of pills.

When you were done, he gave you a small smile.

“Great job, kid. You might’ve just saved a life today.” He said, before running off.

You stood there for a few seconds, still shocked about the whole situation. Next to you, the woman seemed to find herself in the same situation. She acknowledged you with a curt nod as you were being escorted out of the room.

As soon as you got home, the first thing you did was ask your parents to drive you to the hospital Tricia was in. There was no way you’d move on with your life without checking on her first.

[mcutrio]

Fire Burns (CW) [15]

Fire Burns (CW) [15]

Tags: @imaginesofeverykind @buckys-little-monster​

Peter sat quiet and shivering beside Courtenay’s bed, her still body covered with cool-blue and white sheets. Her head was propped up slightly with a soft, clean pillow, her blue hair stark and bright against her pale, sunken face. Before she set off for her mission, she’d announced to Peter that she was going to dye her hair purple in celebration of a successful mission. He wondered if she’d ever touch the box of dye after this, or if it’d remain untouched in her en-suite.

Her lips parted and she sucked in a slow breath. Her eyes opened slowly at first, and then all at once, and she squinted at the fluorescent, white lights. Immediately, Peter stood and turned them off, and instead letting the pale, early evening light filter in through the blinds. Courtenay’s fingers curled against the sheets, her knuckles paling with tension as she felt a spike of adrenaline.

Pete, noticing the increase in her heart rate on the beeping monitor, sprung to action and took one of her icy cold hands in his own.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe,” he promised, his eyes boring into hers. Through narrowed lashes, she looked at her body. The sight of wires snaking in and out of her arms immediately made her throat swell with emotion and she sat bolt upright, her heart rate sporadic, and tore them from her skin. “Court, calm down--”

Not even ten seconds after her heart rate monitor flatlined after she tore the tubings from her arms, Dr Cho and a secondary doctor burst in, prepared for the worst. However, they eased at the sight and immediately pressed her onto her back.

“Courtenay, you need to relax,” Dr Cho said calmly, her lips pressed together. “You’re in pain and you need to rest so that your body can heal.”

“No,” Courtenay struggled out, her voice deep and guttural with fear, “don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me--” she breathed, shaking and shuddering and ducking away from the tubings that Dr Cho tried to reinsert.

Once Court felt the tug on her skin, she shoved Helen Cho in the chest, but it was feeble and the doctor merely stumbled back as her eyes widened in surprise. She quickly regained her stance.

“She’s in shock,” she realised, looking urgently towards Peter. “Calm her down, please?”

Pete stood up and clutched Courtenay’s hands, trying to gain her attention as she slurred words of incoherent fear and torment.

“No more, please, please, no more,” she begged quietly. “I can’t take anymore, it hurts, it hurts--”

“Court? Court, look at me,” Peter encouraged, “you have to calm down, okay? For me?” He soothed, though she didn’t listen, tears streaming from her eyes as she struggled.

Helen sighed through her nose, “we can’t wait, Peter. She needs to be still so that she can heal, and if she won’t have the tubing then the morphine won’t be able to control her pain. We have to make a decision here.”

Peter, body shaking as Court thrashed in his grasp, swallowed quietly and nodded.

Dr Cho nodded to her counterpart, holding out a gloved hand. The other doctor reached into the cabinet, pulling out a clean syringe and a bottle of strong medication. After the syringe was filled, it was pulled out with a glimmer as air bubbles were forced out of the tip. The doctor handed the device over to Helen Cho, who placed her free hand upon Courtenay’s shoulder.

Upon noticing the syringe, Courtenay burst into tears, pleading and begging “no,” over and over. However, given the situation, Dr Cho didn’t have much choice and with the restraining hands of Pete and the other doctor, she punctured Courtenay’s arm with the needle and inserted the medication.

Once Court felt a pinch in her arm, she let out an agonized scream.

After about five seconds, her struggling ceased as the energy left her body and she was lowered slowly to her pillow, where her half-opened eyes sparkled with tears and her mouth escaped a final, sore-throated sob before she fell asleep.

Unbeknownst to Courtenay, a gathering of team members quietly surveyed her from the one-way window opposite her. The sight was raw and painful, perhaps most especially to Steve who stood, arms folded over his broad chest, his eyes dropping to the ground as he heaved a breath. Tabitha was beside him, her lips parted and her eyes glassy as she analysed the scenario. She had major deja-vu, thinking back to the times of torture when they would be strapped down to sleek hospital beds and injected with serums that would feel like bullet-ants skittering through your bloodstream.

“When this is all over; we need to talk,” Steve said suddenly, his voice flat.

Tabitha didn’t look at him but nodded. “Yeah.”

Kat suddenly stepped forwards, her face pale and tear-streaked. “How is she?”

“She resisted,” Tabitha tilted her head, swallowing, “she was scared when she woke up.”

“They put her to sleep?” Kat asked, voice wavering as she nodded towards an unconscious Courtenay, a seemingly distressed Peter at her bedside.

“Yeah,” Tabitha nodded, voice dropping off.

“The healing process will begin soon,” Tony began quietly, “Helen’s an expert with this stuff, Court will be patched up in no time.”

Kat turned to look at Tony, her face somewhat worrisome considering that Steve had outed the Hydra intel to the rest of the team. However, Tony, somewhat close with the girl, smiled at her forgivingly and leant a hand on her shoulder.

“We all make mistakes, kid,” he sighed, “some are made for you.”

“Thank you, Tony,” the girl wavered before Tony pulled her in for a brief hug, his hand clapping on her back.

Tony pulled away, looking a little estranged. “Your skin is strangely hot.”

“Huh?” Kat sniffled.

“Never mind. Just chin up, kid,” Stark said, holding her at arm's length, “at least your dad was there for you,” he grinned, referencing how he felt that his father was never around.

She let out a weary laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

“We’ll figure it all out,” Tony huffed, “sort the press out, get your files off the record. Steve will come to terms with it, eventually. Just talk to him.”

“Maybe he will,” Kat looked at the super soldier, who spared her a glance through her reflection on the glass pane in front of him before he turned and left the room. “But something tells me he won’t.”

Tony sucked his teeth for a moment. “Until then, just stay on the low. The news is loving you guys if you haven’t noticed.”

“I did,” Kat said matter-of-factly, eyes glaring over to where Happy sat, feet propped up on the table, his eyes staring at the news almost blankly as reports of the girls went live. Upon noticing her stare, he swung his legs down and turned the power off, adjusting his collar awkwardly. She looked back at Tony. “Have a good night, Tony.”

“You not setting down?” He asked, raising his brow, the door in his grasp as he turned to leave.

“Soon,” Kat answered.

Tony nodded, eyes cast downwards before he left and the door swung shut behind him. Kat let out a heaving breath, finally feeling somewhat relieved to be alone. She had a looming shroud of heavy grief and confusion draped over her; like a heavy cloak that she couldn’t figure out how to get out of. Upon that thought, she felt for the necklace around her neck. The chainmail link suddenly became sizzling and scalding hot after a moment of her touching it and she pulled her fingers away, confused. Before she could ponder on it for another moment, Tabitha approached her.

“Hey,” she began, “jury’s still out. We’re screwed,” she briefly laughed, not even sure as to whether she was serious or not. “Steve wants to see us as soon as Court’s better.”

“What, he didn’t even think to stop by and give her some flowers?” Kat mocked, her eyes trailing away back to where she saw Peter gripping Courts hand through the glass shield. “She saved Steve’s life; really. Stupid.”

“I know,” Tabitha agreed, folding her arms over her chest. “Maybe it’ll give Steve some perspective.”

“You have high hopes,” Kat smirked solemnly.

Tabitha elbowed her in the ribs. “Stop giving the man such a hard time. He’s trying his best to hold this team together.”

“I don’t trust him,” Kat admitted suddenly.

“Why?” Tabitha asked quietly. Any other day she would’ve thought Kat ridiculous, but given the circumstances, she’d hear her out.

“He’s so capable of just… throwing us in a cell, locking us up and never letting us see the light of day ever again,” Kat huffed, “and I feel like all of us have to tread eggshells around him just to make sure he doesn’t do just that.”

Tabitha pondered on this. Kat wasn’t particularly wrong; Steve didn’t trust them and could have them held in containment if he so desired, but she felt for sure that after all she and the other two-thirds of the trio had done, he’d at least give them a little credit. Tabitha was stumped for words; she wanted to defend Steve, to say his situation was tough, but… Kat was right. They shouldn’t have to tread eggshells just because Rumlow slipped up and outed them, considering that that wasn’t who they were anymore. For now, she’d be understanding.

“Just… give him a break,” Tabitha shook her head, “what he says, goes. Maybe we should be treading eggshells. It was our life, after all.”

And with that, she left.

Kat took one last, longing stare at Courtenay before she wandered back into her room, locking the door behind her as she did so. She collapsed straight onto her bed, her arms outwards and her hair splayed as she stared blankly up at the ceiling.

Suddenly, she had the feeling she wasn’t so alone.

Unbothered, she didn’t even look at the foot of her bed. “What do you want this time?”

“I was hoping to scare you but that plans foiled,” the Grandmaster sighed, his unearthly voice echoing. After a moment, he hummed. “You don’t think I’m real, do you?”

“No,” Kat answered flatly, “a figment of my imagination to convince myself that I’m probably entirely insane and that this whole ordeal is just another one of my psycho hallucinations.”

“That would be a lot easier to digest, wouldn’t it?” The Grandmaster said, “but I’m afraid, dear child, that I am very much real.”

“Whoopee,” Kat cheered sarcastically, her voice plain and dull. “So, what do you want? Are you here to kill me? To kill my friends?”

The Grandmaster almost laughed. “You know that somebody else is already planning on doing that.”

She felt a jolt of anger at this. “Steve isn’t trying to kill us,” she rolled her eyes, “I don’t like the guy, but… that’s not who he is.”

“It’s not who he wants to be,” the Grandmaster corrected, “but soldiers believe in sacrifice. They practice it daily.”

“What’s your point?” Kat questioned.

“Steve is willing to sacrifice his morality in order to protect Bucky,” he clarified.

“What the Hell is your obsession with Bucky?” She suddenly snapped, sitting bolt upright. “You’re… why are you here? What are you trying to do, meddle? Stupid meddler.”

The Grandmaster merely rolled his eyes. “I’ve placed everybody in the perfect position for this. It’s quite exciting, seeing this all unveil.”

“What?”

“I’ve compelled the team to follow a strict storyline,” the Grandmaster announced proudly, “and while some are a little harder to crack than others, they all eventually follow in pursuit.”

“My friend almost died today you sick--” she picked up a hairbrush from her bedside table and threw it with every inch of energy she had left, though he swerved and watched as the hairbrush indented the wall and stayed there, lodged in the cavity.

“I feel a fire growing within you,” the Grandmaster said, “let it out.”

She heaved, breathless and unkempt, her hard eyes glowing with anger as her fingertips began to slowly turn red with heat.

“Goodbye, Kathryn,”

And with a burst of fluorescent light, he vanished. Kat lifted her scalding hands from the bed, startled and caught off guard by the strings of smoke that rose from her hands. She shook her fingers, afraid they might have caught alight, convinced that the Grandmaster was playing some other sick joke on her. With a frightened glance around her room, she rubbed her suddenly ice-cold hands together before she passed out again.

[possibilistfanfiction]

these are what they call hard feelings (of love)

[carm/elle, grey’s anatomy au (no one dies tho). they’re disaster kids who are also surgeons. yknow the deal.]

//

these are what they call hard feelings (of love)

guess this is the winter/ our bodies are young & blue/ i still remember everything, how we’d drift buying groceries, how you’d dance for me/ i wish i believed you when you told me this was my home —lorde, ‘hard feelings/loveless’

//

it starts like this: you get to work before the sun even rises, change into your scrubs, go on your rounds, perform an eight-hour operation, kiss another pretty girl, walk home after your twelve hour shift; you have a normal day, really, all things considered for a resident who works somewhere that has a winter for eight months.

it starts like this: it snows before the sun even rises, and that day you lose a child on the table, and her heart stops beating in your hands, and you tug elle to you in the on-call room because you can’t stop feeling the exact moment, and you kiss her roughly while you cry, and after you put on your beanie and light a cigarette and walk home in the snow, the ash burning in the dark, your delicate, extraordinary hands going numb.

//

most days aren’t so bad; you like pediatric surgery because sick children are both more honest and far less annoying than sick adults, and the teenagers especially are cool—jaded and clever and funny.

you also have a stellar surgical record, so most days are actually kind of great. when you have time to plan, when you know you’re going to be able to be perfect, it’s amazing. but then an eight year old girl comes in who ran into a tree while sledding in the park, who has broken bones and a small crushed chest and you’re across from elle in the operating room, her steady hands always steady, always lovely, as she tries to stitch up this tiny heart and tiny lungs but it’s not good enough. that day, neither of you are perfect.

//

‘what are we doing?’ elle sighs very quietly. you feel her sigh because you have your head on her chest so you can hear her heartbeat while the wind howls away outside. you’ve started spending more and more time together outside of the hospital; today you’re in her warm bed, fully clothed because you’d both been too tired for anything last night and honestly you didn’t mind. you’re getting less and less used to sleeping alone.

you shrug. ‘i thought we were just having fun.’

‘the past three times we’ve had sex you’ve cried.’

you grunt. ‘false.’

elle tries not to laugh—you can hear it—and you’re glad she can’t see your smile into her soft tshirt. ‘true, carm.’

‘well there’s no need to add insult to injury. first do no harm, right?’

she’s quiet for a moment, so that joke didn’t land. ‘i have feelings for you,’ she says after a while, very quietly, almost like her words are going to shatter something, like the soft, unbearable weight of snow after a night of it.

you swallow and your heart races because you have feelings for elle too—who wouldn’t? she’s smart and kind and beautiful, some kind of perfect version of a kate moss lookalike in a weird world where she ended up being a cardiothoracic surgeon. she makes you laugh and always brings you coffee when you have rounds together and you first started working in a clinical trial together a year ago and then—

‘i can’t,’ you say, even though you don’t want to. but you feel your broken wrists and countless black eyes and ribs that were bruised for years; you feel the kind of love your mother had for you—dark and rough and unforgiving and hateful. it’s confusing and your heart races and you’re scared; elle has never, ever, not once, raised her voice at you, let alone raised a hand. ‘i’m sorry,’ you say, getting out of bed because you feel her chest hitch and you really don’t want to see her cry. ‘i can’t.’

you start to dress and she doesn’t move and you don’t look back, you can’t look at her, because if you do, you’ll stay forever. 

‘i’m sorry,’ you say, again, and when you get outside the snow hasn’t stopped.

//

elle is, frustratingly and predictably, entirely professional and maybe even nicer. she never snipes at you, even when you make some underhanded comment. you think she seems sad, kind of, but elle is happy too—she’s always happy, always amazing with patients. it seems like she has something in common with literally everyone, and she can calm a room within a second.

it’s one of the reasons you liked her to begin with, when you were residents she’d immediately been beyond competent in the OR but also beyond competent interacting with people, which you’d admired even though you hadn’t want to. the first time you kissed was outside clinton’s, across the street at the market near the park, in the fall. you had run into her—you needed cigarettes and she apparently needed vegan sausage and couscous—and you’d never hung out with her outside of work but you were both tired and hungry and you got poutine and beers and then there you were, with your cigarettes and couscous, kissing on the corner under a streetlamp in october.

which was over a year ago, you realize, of kissing her all over the hospital and all over the city and on your orange fire escape on a tuesday evening and in her kitchen while she made you breakfast in the summer light.

you can sleep with lots of people, and you do, after you walk out of her bedroom in the middle of a blizzard—you’re a surgeon and you’re beautiful, you know these things. your hair curls softly and you have eyelashes from god and you have far too many pairs of blundstones and perfectly ripped skinny jeans and when you buy a girl a drink at the gladstone and let her take you home, it’s not hard. it’s not hard because it’s nothing—it’s a few moments of pleasure and then you put your boots back on. 

it’s not hard because you won’t allow that of yourself; you won’t allow yourself to build a life with elle—because that’s what you would be doing, going to work together, saving people together, going home and making dinner and playing with her cat and going to trinity bellwoods on the weekends and probably even letting her convince you to join the hospital’s softball team even though you’re the least athletic person you know.

you work with her, admire her hands and just how fucking smart she is, the way she remembers meilinn’s medical history even though she’d spoken to her for maybe four minutes almost eight months ago; the way she goes through each patient checklist in the OR before surgery like it’s the single most important procedure she’s ever done. you cut your hair in the spring and she smiles genuinely and tells you it looks lovely; you find yourself sitting with her at lunch every now and then. 

taking other girls home is easy; elle—her laugh and the way she chews on the tip of her pen when she’s concentrating; the way she smells like magnolias and the birthmark near her elbow—is hard.

//

your leg fucking hurts, in the kind of way that scares you because it reminds you of when you were small but also because you know that it’s distinctly not good. 

you’re kind of stunned, and it’s probably shock because you were just in a car accident and your uber driver is conscious and seemingly not critically injured when you check on him in the front. you struggle out of the car, but you get the door open. there are plenty of people around and you’re sure someone has called 911, which is good because your leg, when you look down, is sufficiently fucked, which means you only have a few more solid minutes of adrenaline. 

there are two kids in the car that hit you, though, and one isn’t waking up, and she’s bleeding out of her ear and she’s so small. this is, however, what you know best, so you have all of her vitals when the paramedics get there four minutes later. you insist that she’s taken to your hospital, and you try to let them go in the ambulance with her, but they overrule you when they cut your pants open and see part of your femur poking through your skin.

you’re on a significant amount of morphine when you get to the hospital, and after some top-notch scans, you’re relieved that you have some whiplash and bruises and a little gash on your forehead that needs seven stitches and a leg that will require surgery, but nothing else that’s worth caring about. 

elle, however, does not seem to know this news, and she comes rushing into your room in the ER while you’re waiting to go to the OR. 

‘whoa,’ you say, and she’s even prettier and softer and lovelier when you’re high. ‘calm down there, hurricane. i’m fine.’

she rolls her eyes and pulls up what you’re pretty sure is your chart on her ipad, scans through everything quickly, then sits with a very relieved sigh in a chair at your side. 

‘you scared me,’ she admits, and it’s the kind of thing that’s so tender and sincere you want to cry. 

‘just a few scratches.’ you wave your hand vaguely in front of you. ‘nothing to worry about.’

‘i had very little information when an intern told me a few minutes ago.’

you snort a laugh and you’re too loopy to even care. ‘interns.’

elle takes your hand, very unceremoniously, and it’s the first time you’ve touched in months. 

‘elle—’ you start, but she squeezes your hand and shakes her head.

‘just—don’t say anything now,’ she tells you, quietly. ‘i’m just glad you’re okay.’

‘yeah,’ you say. ‘okay.’

you doze off and then you have surgery to fix your leg and elle isn’t there when you wake up—you don’t blame her, because she was in scrubs and her labcoat when she’d been to see you earlier and she usually has big surgeries scheduled for tuesdays—but there is a huge bouquet of magnolias by your bedside and you don’t even need to reach for the card to know they’re from her.

//

you take time off of work to heal—you have to, and you’re bored out of your mind. you crutch around your apartment and order in a lot of food and amazon prime pretty much all of your toiletries for two weeks, and you’re legitimately about to go crazy when there’s a knock at your door.

it takes you a frustratingly long time to get there, but then you open it and elle is smiling, holding a huge bag of groceries.

‘when is the last time,’ she says, ‘you had a decent home-cooked meal.’

‘you could’ve called,’ you say, even though you’re smiling and you scoot back to let her in.

she looks guilty for a second, putting some really fancy-looking wine in your fridge. ‘i deleted your number.’

‘ouch,’ you say.

‘i wanted to drunk dial you,’ she explains. ‘like, a lot.’

‘who wouldn’t?’ you say, gesturing kind of in general to your admittedly sloppy and dark apartment and your unkempt hair and the same sweatpants you’d had on for three days now, and elle laughs, then goes to open your blinds. 

you go over to the kitchen island and get yourself situated on a stool before taking her phone and trying out her old passcode (562533, which really just spells LOCKED, which always made you laugh) and when it opens you smile. you put your number back in.

she gets back from your bedroom with a pile of laundry and you say, ‘let’s open the wine.’

‘trying to get me drunk?’

you gesture to her phone. ‘well i did put my number back in your contacts.’

she huffs a laugh. ‘i’m going to start this laundry while you shower, and then i’m going to make dinner, and then we can open the wine.’

‘buzzkill,’ you say, even though you’re already hobbling to your bathroom and you feel more alive than you have in months.

you have wine and the best friend chicken on this earth that night, and you want to kiss her, but elle makes you laugh with her awful impressions of everyone in 9 to 5 before you fall asleep. she’s just—she’s elle—because she sleeps on your couch and leaves you croissants and a cortado from ezra’s pound the next morning, the blankets folded neatly and wine glasses washed.

//

you start to text again, just little messages here and there, a lot about work and some about her cat and a thrilling few when she’s clearly drunk that she misses you. 

but you don’t see her until weeks later, when you get your cast off. you’re limping terribly, but it’s finally a little warmer, and you’d gotten a haircut and some new sneakers you desperately needed. you’re up to maybe sitting at the park and reading, but you want cigarettes and you can’t help but laugh when you spot long blonde hair and what you’re sure are perfectly tailored all saints jeans. 

‘hey stranger,’ you say, walking up behind her.

elle turns with a smile. ‘carm!’ she says excitedly. ‘you got your cast off.’

‘that i did,’ you say, paying for your cigarettes while she frowns. 

‘i hoped your brush with death might’ve stopped that habit.’

‘never,’ you say, winking before you follow her out after she rolls her eyes.

she sighs on the street corner and looks at her watch, then looks at you hopefully, even though you can tell she’s trying not to. ‘do you want dinner?’

‘only if we order like seven kinds of poutine and you buy me drinks.’

‘i’m so glad patients don’t run into you outside of the hospital,’ she says, and you elbow her with a fake glare before she laughs.

you eat and drink and she tells you about the new intern class and you’re set to get back to work in a week or so, so you actually try to pay attention to the tips she gives you. someone is singing terrible karaoke and really boring jays spring training news is on the tv and elle is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

'i was, like, really abused when i was little.’ you say it aloud and you’ve said it before, to a few therapists, but you don’t talk about it and you certainly haven’t talked about it to elle, who looks at you so softly you have to turn away. ‘that’s why i—you know, why i—couldn’t.’

she nods. ‘you broke my heart, you know.’

‘i’m good at that,’ you say. ‘broke mine too.’

‘fortunately for you,’ she says, leaning toward you a little but your chest still tightens, ‘i’m a world renowned cardio-thoracic surgeon.’

you laugh, really laugh, because otherwise you’re pretty sure you’d both start crying.

‘also,’ she starts, very solemnly, ‘i can’t promise everything, but i can promise that—i’m good, carm. i’m good and i won’t hurt you.’

you nod down at the remnants of your poutine. 

‘if you want,’ she adds softly.

‘okay,’ you say, and when you look up she looks a little surprised but really, really happy. 

‘yeah?’

‘yeah,’ you say. ‘yeah.’

she laughs this little delighted thing and raises the last sip of her beer in a little toast and then puts down far too much cash and gets up, then helps you.

you feel jittery when you walk outside, even though you’ve both certainly done this before. 

you’re underneath the streetlamp and you both slow and elle laughs. ‘we’re really going to kiss here again?’

‘first kiss 2.0,’ you say. ‘seems fitting.’

she shakes her head and then leans down, and it is. it is.

//

it starts like this: you walk to work, slowly but surely, on a warm morning that’s sunny but not too hot, and a child’s heart is in your hands but it keeps going, beating away, and you watch elle place stitch after careful, lightning-fast stitch, and you wait for her at the front doors, and you kiss a very, very pretty girl, and you hold her hand on the way back to her apartment, anything but numb.

[emicorntech]

Your Brain on Massage | BBmassageandfloat

The benefit of massage is quite obvious after you get out of a long massage. You feel lighter, looser, happier, and, hopefully, pain-free. What makes you feel so good? The release of neurotransmitters such as dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin, and endorphins and the decrease in the production of the hormones cortisol and adrenaline, all of which are signalled by your brain.

Dopamine

You know the feeling after that first bite of the food you’ve been craving? Or the feeling when you see someone you love after a long time apart? You’re feeling dopamine. The reward center of your brain is responsible for the release of dopamine that brings you immense happiness and even controls cravings. Dopamine is also responsible for aiding our fine motor movements, intuition, and enthusiasm.The levels of dopamine in your body increase about 31% during massage, leaving you feeling rewarded and wanting more.  You’ll also feel more balance mentally, physically, and emotionally.

Oxytocin

Oxytocin: the love hormone. In social situations, oxytocin is released to help you feel connected to those around you and gives you a warm, fuzzy feeling, especially when someone touches you. As it turns out, human touch is crucial for living a long and healthy life. Brene Brown wrote in her book, Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone, that “living with obesity increases your odds of dying early by 20%. Excessive drinking increases your odds of dying early by 30%. And living with loneliness? It increases our odds of dying early by 45%.” With more than 40% of the population identifying as lonely, touch is important now more than ever. Not only do you feel warm and fuzzy after a massage, you also feel a deeper sense of connection to the world.

Serotonin

You probably know serotonin because of its effect on our emotions, but the neurotransmitter does so much more than regulate our mood. It is also involved in the regulation of appetite and digestion, sleep, as well as sexual desires and function. During massage, the production of serotonin increases by about 28% on average, causing you to feel relaxed and a general sense of well-being. Additionally, high concentrations of serotonin are found in blood platelets. After an injury, serotonin helps to clot the blood at the site of injury and signals to your body that additional healing cells are needed. Getting a massage post-injury stimulates the serotonin production and may help to speed healing.

Endorphins

We typically think of intense exercise when we talk about getting an endorphin rush--a euphoric feeling that is similar to the effect of morphine. While getting exercise is a great way to keep your body healthy, there are more relaxing ways to get a comparable endorphin rush. Massaging tender muscle tissue, specifically using acupressure and trigger point therapy, signals your brain to release endorphins which bind to opiate receptor neurons and block pain signals from getting to the brain. The massage may be uncomfortable at first, but your endorphins will provide a natural pain relief, leaving you feeling happy and healthy.

Adrenaline/Noradrenaline and Cortisol

Our bodies’ stress response is controlled by the hormones adrenaline, noradrenaline, and cortisol, all of which are released during high-stress situations that require us to perform at our best.

Adrenaline and noradrenaline, also known as epinephrine and norepinephrine, are released during situations that require our fight or flight response, ranging from being startled at a haunted house to giving an important presentation at work to witnessing a car accident. Adrenaline is mainly responsible for the increasing your heart rate while noradrenaline opens your blood vessels.

Cortisol, on the other hand, is released when there is long-term stress, such as financial struggle or consistently being too busy, and impacts the usage of glucose in the blood and in the brain, suppresses the digestive and reproductive systems, as well as alters the immune system, mood, motivation, and fear.

All three of our stress hormones are produced in the adrenal glands, located on top of the kidneys. For many of us, our stress response is utilized daily. The constant production of stress hormones over a long period of time causes adrenal fatigue and increases the risk of anxiety, depression, digestive issues, heart disease, insomnia, weight gain, and poor memory and concentration. Because massage naturally promotes relaxation, the adrenal glands are able to halt  the production of the stress hormones. Depending on your body and your stress levels, you may be able to feel the benefit of massage on your adrenal glands after the first session, but it might take multiple sessions to feel a deeper and more effective massage.