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deansapplepie · 1 year ago

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Till THE DEAD do us part |Chapter 18

Chapter 17 Chapter 19

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Chapter 18: I ain’t sleeping with Hershel

Summary: The group is hopeless until they find the prison, now they try to build a new home. While which one of them have to deal with their own issues.

Warnings: swearing, outbursts, walker killing, blood, gore, nightmares, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of baby being possibly dead, misunderstanding, fights, reader can be a brat, insecurities, jealousy (nit the reason for insecurities), reader and Lori implying Daryl would substitute reader for Rick (that’s a joke). Minors do not interact. (I probably forgot something because this chapter have a lot of things happening)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Grimes!Reader (Rick’s Sister)

Word Count: 4,615

A/N: Not proofread. Not one of my best writing. This was a chapter I was expecting to write since I started, and I’m a little disappointed on how it came out. My summary also sucks.

It had been 8 months, 8 long months of survival on the road, finding shelter here and there but never for too long. You had found a house near a small road, the men and little specimen of man (Carl), went to the house to clean it of walkers. You preferred being in action, killing walkers and shit, but Lori had a enormous belly, soon she was going to give birth, so all care she could have was necessary, so you’d better stay behind and take care of her.

Hershel was trying to teach you how to deliver a baby, well you knew the basics, you had already helped many puppies and kittens born. Ok, it wasn’t the same thing, but… you had also told Hershel you didn’t know if you wanted to do this. She was your sister-in-law, medically speaking you shouldn’t perform any surgery on her. ‘If something happens to me, I need someone that’s going to be able to do so.’ He used to say, and you would always say the same ‘nothing is happening to you, I’m protecting you.’. To which he always replied he was too old, and you couldn’t protect him from that. Being responsible to act on big medical ‘events’ of the group still made you nervous and uncomfortable, you wish you had an actual doctor in the group so you didn’t need to be one of the docs and be put in the same level as Hershel, when you clearly wasn’t. You still doubted your abilities as a vet, which you studied to actually be one… how could you take care of humans? You knew it wasn’t like there was many doctors around, so you’d have to do.

You entered the house carrying all the things you’d need, it was a lot of things for people that didn’t have a place to live. There were days since all of you had a decent meal, everyone looked apathetic, as if life had been drawn from you. You gathered around what looked like a living room, silent… Daryl sat by your side, an owl at his hands, plucking it. You used to love owls, so beautiful and majestic, symbol of wisdom… but at this moment you couldn’t care less and was even proud your man had caught it.

You noticed Carl at the corner near Beth, he had a can of something in his hand and was opening it. Was it dog food? God, how did you end up like this? You’d eat it and wouldn’t complain. You’d be happy to have whatever in your stomach. Looking at that food, you remembered Luna and how you had missed her all those months… before you could go deep into your thoughts you got startled when Rick took the can from Carl’s hand and threw it to the other side of the room, making a resounding noise that echoed around the house.

What was his problem? That was food, regardless of what kind! You were ready to get up and tell him off, but Daryl grabbed your hand and motioned with his head for you to not do that. You deep breathed and started counting… until T. announced there were a large group of walkers coming and you need to flee as fast as you could.

At some point you stopped again to make some fire and cook the owl Daryl had killed. Owls were mostly made of feathers, there was little meat, but beggars can’t be choosers… so each of you got your small share of it.

“Let’s go hunt something.” Daryl told Rick. “The owl wasn’t even a starter.”

“I’m going with you.” I promptly said, but I already knew they would refuse my company, again. They often did it, and it was annoying.

“Stay with Lori, she might need you. Besides that you’re better trained than the others, I need your protection here.” Rick stated and you just rolled your eyes.

“You don’t even believe your own words.” You said, then you turned to the hunter. “Don’t take too long and bring something delicious, ok?”

“Yes ma’am! I’m at yer orders.” He kissed your temple before taking his crossbow and disappearing with Rick.

You stayed behind with the others against your will, you crossed your arms and observed the two men disappearing in the woods. Soon Lori, Carol and Maggie joined you. “Stop pouting, they just went hunting.” Maggie elbowed you playfully.

“Without me.” You stated. You got frustrated every time they left without you, especially Daryl. “They spend more time together than with me! It’s like they’re substituting me.”

“Seriously, Y/N/N? Are you jealous of them?” Carol asked with a smile of amusement.

“Rick can substitute you, but Daryl can’t…” Maggie affirmed. Rick couldn’t, he was substituting you… it was rare when he seek you to talk or advice.

“Rick, it’s true. But Daryl… I don’t know, Rick has a quite beautiful ass.” Lori joked, Rick and she were still not talking, but moments like this would bring her some sense of normalcy, just as if they were friends gossiping in the kitchen and there were no walkers around.

“Hey! I have a beautiful ass too.” You protested.

“Of course, you’re siblings.” Lori shrugged then she put one of her arms around your waist. “You worry too much, they’re men. They need this time away from us. Besides… I need you here, I feel better with my sis and the baby too.”

“Ugh… you always know the right words to convince me. Ok, let them be. I’d rather pass my time with my girls.” You told them and hugged Lori resting your hand on her belly.

“Or boy.” Lori completed, because you didn’t know the baby’s gender.

“Nah, I have a feeling it’s a baby girl. So, I prefer to pass my time with 4 of my favorite girls.” You said a grin on your face.

After a time, that felt like eternity, they came back with news that they found a place, a prison and you could stay there and make it your home. You just had to… take it back from the walkers.

You had to work together to take the yard. First you had to cut the fence so you could enter and after it you needed to close it again. That wasn’t the most difficult part, there was no walker in the corridors around the fence, but the yard…. It was full of them. Also, one of the gates was open and it needed to be closed otherwise you’d not be able to fight all of them. Rick wanted to close the gate while the rest of you distracted the walkers and covered him. The plan was perfectly executed and you could all clear the yard out of walkers.

It gave hope to all of you. If you could clean part by part, soon you’d have a place you could call home. A safe place to live. A place for Lori to have the baby, a little bit of the domestic life again. Later that day you were all reunited around the fire, eating the little hunt Daryl and Rick got earlier. Some chatted, Beth sang a beautiful song… Rick was near the fence that separated you from the walkers on the patio, it was safe, he could come to the fire, but he wouldn’t. You could go and try talking him into resting and relaxing near the bonfire, but you knew he wouldn’t listen to you. He never did. Not anymore.

Daryl was on top of a toppled bus, watching or something. Carol went there to take some food for him. They had developed a nice and kind friendship since the farm, you were glad he was getting close to everyone in the group. Even though you sometimes felt jealous, you just pushed this feeling to the coffins of your mind and didn’t think about it. You knew him, you trusted him. You knew Carol, she was your friend. Besides that you were also jealous of him and your brother, so this wasn’t something you had to take seriously.

Later that night, you were laying on a blanket close to the fire and in Daryl’s arms, and you couldn’t help but think about the future. “Do you think we’ll be able to make this our place?” You asked him, your hand playing with a thread from his poncho.

“Ya’re the positive one ‘ere. Don’t you think we’ll make this place our home?” He told you. You had changed during the last months, all of you. You and him, you that would always reassure him, not the opposite. You used to always see things on the bright side of it, but you found closure and lost it so many times already, that you didn’t know if you could be like that again.

“I dunno. It’s just… we’re looking for a place for so long that it all just seems unreal. It’s like tomorrow I’m opening the eyes and we’ll still be on the road, or maybe something will happen and we’ll need to leave.” You tried to explain what you were feeling, but that wasn’t even the start of it.

“We’ll be fine. We can do it. I know. We’re making it a home.” He told you, he didn’t even know if he believed in his own words, but he trusted Rick and he said it would work. Also, he’d do anything to take those worries from your mind.

You snuggled into him and the warmth of his body and his unique scent, even when you didn’t have a descent bath in ages, engulfed you in comfort. After some time of comfortable silence between you, you drifted to sleep letting the exhaustion take you.

The next day you needed to take the patio and try to clean one of the cell blocks. Rick, Daryl, T.Dog, Glenn, Maggie and you worked together on taking the patio while the others kept at the fence trying to distract them. You used your crossbow and knife, you also had a gun, but all of you would rather not use it, since you were low in ammo and of course it attracted many of the dead if you used it. Some police walkers gave you a hard time, but soon Maggie discovered how to kill them and it became easier for you. As soon as you finished, you entered Block C and killed the few remaining walkers that were still inside.

After, all of you started to enter the Block and settle in, bringing your belongings and cleaning what you could and the best way you were able to. While that the men started to carry the corpses from the block and from the patio so they could burn them and finish cleaning the place you already had. You chose a cell in the upper floor, you looked at it and could already see you and Daryl living there.

You let your belongings outside of it and started to clean. You shook the bedsheets to take away the dust and then arranged it all again. The bunk was rather narrow, but you two pretty much slept so into each other that it wouldn’t be a problem and you could arrange it in the future. For someone that the day before wasn’t so sure if you could make this place a home, you were very excited.

You heard some cries coming from some cells away from yours, you walked there and found Lori. Carol was squatting in front of her, trying to comfort the pregnant woman. “What if the baby is dead?” She cried. “I feel like there’s something wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong. You’re good, the baby is fine. Your belly is perfectly normal.” Carol reassured her.

“Yeah” you intervened, sitting by your sister-in-law side and caressing her back. “Don’t worry. I’m a doc, ain’t I? I’m saying it and you can trust me.” You weren’t sure of your words, you were not this confident about treating people, but you wanted to soothe Lori in some way. “Do you want me to take Rick?”

“No! Not him. I… bring Hershel, please.” She asked, Rick wouldn’t give her any comfort. He didn’t even hug or kiss her in months… what good could possibly do having him around right now?

“Ok. I’m gonna take Hershel.” Carol got up and left to find the old man.

When the doctor of the group arrived, you left to give them some privacy, even though you already knew her worries.

Later that day everyone that hadn’t claimed a cell yet, was claiming one and preparing to have a well deserved rest after such hard work. You approached Daryl, excited to tell him about the cell you had arranged for both of you, but you weren’t expecting his answer. “D., I cleaned that one for us. We just need to take our things there.” You said pointing to a cell further in the end of the corridor upstairs.

“I ain’t sleeping in a cage like a damn animal.” He was quick to answer, giving you his back and going to a place on the stairs where he’d placed a mattress and his things. He didn’t know his words had come so harsh, he didn’t even reflect about it before saying. His aversion was exclusively, because his brother had already been in jail, also being on jail was something that everybody where he came from expected from him, even though he had never been, not even because of bar fights or shit, and let’s say that the Dixons never ran from a good fight.

He had hit right at your feelings. You were taken aback by his harsh words, you weren’t expecting this. You were tired, the last months had been exhausting and for the first time in months you had a safe and rather decent place to rest. You turned your back and walked in the direction of the cell. When he turned back he saw you getting distant, with your back turned to him, he didn’t see the hurt you were feeling, but he was also with questions on his mind, why wasn’t it obvious to you that he didn’t want to sleep on a cell and neither alone? He had no reaction.

‘Maybe she needs some time alone’, he thought throwing himself at the mattress not even caring about taking off his boots.

‘Maybe he doesn’t want me’, that was what was in your insecure ass mind, everything was so good, so why couldn’t you just get over it.

You took your things from outside the cell and entered it, throwing you shoes anywhere and after jumping on the bed. This was the most comfortable bed you had had in months, but you felt there was no joy in it, if you weren’t sharing it… well at least he had his own mattress all alone somewhere. The exhaustion took your body and soon you drifted to sleep, but that didn’t mean it would be a good restorative night of sleep.

You were at the prison patio, the sky was cloudy and the air was sultry. Near the gates you saw a group of people, they were inside and had their back turned to you… but their silhouettes were so familiar… one of them wore a fisher hat and wasn’t very tall. “Dale? Is that you?” You asked, it just could be him, but how was it possible. Then they turned one by one…

Dale with his guts falling outside his stomach, a walker. Also, Amy, Jim, Jacqui, Sophia, Jimmy, Shane and Patricia. All of them walkers, even Amy, Jacqui, Dale and Shane that you knew there was no chance of being there. And then, contouring them, came a dog, a german Shepherd, your Luna and god… how you missed her! But she wasn’t her anymore, she had also become a walker version of herself. You didn’t even know if the animals could be affected, but you didn’t have time to care, because she ran in your direction and jumped on you.

You woke up sitting in the bed. You were sweating. A scream caught in your throat, unable to get out. That was better, you didn’t want to wake everybody up. One hand on your chest feeling a burning sensation you always woke up with when you had nightmares. The other hand on your mouth muffling your sobs. You were tempted about getting up and looking for Daryl’s arms, but you resisted the urge. He was the one that made you sleep alone. You weren’t thinking straight. It wasn’t that you never had nightmares sleeping with him, you still had them from time to time, but at least you were in his arms and felt protected. It didn’t let you sink in your intrusive thoughts.

After some time, you didn’t know how long after, you laid again in bed and tried to think about anything else else that wasn’t that nightmare. It would be good if you found the infirmary, you would complain if the library was still good and had good books, you’d love if you found some ammo…

You woke up with the sun touching your face, you felt as if you had been hit by a truck. Your body was painful and you were super sleepy. You put your shoes on, the gun in the holster, the knife on your waist and the crossbow across your body. You left the cell while you made your hair into a ponytail and walked to the stairs. Daryl was already up, he stopped everything when he saw you. You looked at him and remembered what you went through having to sleep by yourself. “Good morning.” You said, you were still a polite person after all, even angry at your boyfriend.

“ ‘morning pup.” He caught you when you passed by him, before you could finish descending the stairs. Both of his arms wrapped around you, he pulled your back against his chest and his face on your shoulder.

Ok. You were not understanding him at all. The day before he pushed you away, and now he’s all lovely to you. You inhaled, and delicately you took his hands from you and left his embrace and went down the stairs. He didn’t understand a single thing. You loved morning hugs, you needed them to start your day and he was there giving you that without caring if anyone would see and he would feel embarrassed, so why were you so cold?

You walked to the common area where most of the awake people were gathered, you didn’t have anything to eat, but it wasn’t any news. You saw Rick, wished him a good morning and hugged him. Ok, now Daryl was remembering every step he gave in the last months just so he knew exactly what he did wrong. “Your eyes are swollen, have you been crying?” Your brother asked, first time in a long time he noticed something about you.

“No, why would I? Just If I was too happy we have a decent bed to sleep after a long time.” You said, a tad bit of acid in your tone. Your brother knew better than pushing you, so he let it be. He looked at the archer, which he discovered to be a good friend after many months on the road, and Daryl’s eyes showed he was as clueless as him.

You soon start talking about going further in the prison and cleaning other places, finding new places and supplements. “ I’ll be very glad if we find the library!” You said getting a little bit excited just by thinking about having books to read it.

“Oh it would be fantastic!” Hershel agreed. “I haven’t found a single good book the whole time we were in the road.”

“Alright” Rick said after you finished talking about everything that you could find in the prison. “I think we can go.”

“Don’t go.” You heard Daryl by your side, a gentle hand on your upper arm.

“Why shouldn’t I, Dixon?” God, he was so screwed… now he knew he was the problem, you almost never called him Dixon, not even in a sweet playful manner. So he knew it.

“Ya don’t look good.” He tried again.

“Well, good thing I’m going to kill walkers and not to a fashion show.” You faked a sweet smile.

“Wha’s up with the attitude?” He asked, he himself already getting annoyed.

“Just, I’m tired of being left out. I’m no damsel in distress so you have to tell me all the time to stay behind. Also, I’m not staying to be ‘protected’ by a 12 year-old.” You finally took a breath between your words. “ ‘sides that you’re not my father, nor my husband to tell me what to do. Even if you were…”

“Are you two done?” Rick tried to intervene while everyone watched the discussion without understanding a single thing, just as lost as Daryl was.

“Shut up Rick, I’m not over.” Your brother’s eyes popped and he was ready to tell you off.

“Also, you are taking Hershel with you, an old man, but the idea of me going is so absurd! No offense Hershel, but you guys are taking our best doctor in a risky mission. And I should not go, because I don’t look good?!” You vomited facts all around that weren’t needed to be said, none of those people around you were the reason you were so pissed off. Maybe Rick, because he was always leaving you behind.

“Well, I ain’t sleeping with Hershel!” Daryl blurted out the sentence, losing his temper.

“Neither with me, apparently.” You retorted, and realization hit him.

“That’s why ya’re upset and causing an scene?” He threw at you.

“Upset? I was upset yesterday. Now, I’m angry.” You took a breath and just as if nothing had happened you told the others. “I’m waiting for you on the patio.”

You left and everyone stayed behind sharing looks and glances between them. Daryl grunted in frustration, god damn, he thought you wanted to be alone the day before, but in fact you probably understood he didn’t want to sleep with you.

“When you wanted relationship advices you should have asked Hershel, not me.” Rick patted his shoulder before leaving.

“Yeah, guess so.” Daryl mumbled under his breath.

“Son, you two need to communicate better.” Hershel said to him. “Also, be grateful you don’t sleep with me, I snore quite a bit.” The old man joked.

Daryl breathed one more time and looked around, his eyes landing on one of the bulletproof vests that you were able to find. He took it and his crossbow and left block C, joining you on the patio. He came in your direction holding the vest and you almost rolled your eyes.

“Hands up.” He said.

“I’m not wearing this shit. It’s heavy and I can hold myself well without it.” You said.

“Yes, you are if ya wanna go inside with us.” You laughed.

“And what are you going to do? Are you going to lock me up in a cell.” You teased.

“If ya continue to act like a fucking brat, yeah” he said. “Now put yer arms up. We’ll talk later. We suck at communication sometimes.”

“You two, stop it. We have work to do.” Rick told you, a finger pointed in your direction. “Watch duty for both of you tonight, and you better make up.”

You rolled your eyes and put your arms up, Daryl slid the vest through your arms and then adjusted it on your body. “Stay close, and dun do anything reckless, ‘kay? I ain’t protective ‘cause I think ya’re useless. It’s ‘cause…” ‘I love ya’, he completed in his mind. Why was it so easy to tell you while you were sleeping, but so difficult to say with you wide awake. “… I can’t lose ya.”

You really wanted to be mad at him, but you just couldn't. You almost broke when he back hugged you earlier, and now even if he called you a brat, and was even harsh, you just couldn’t when you saw his blue eyes soften on you. You had really been a brat, but who wouldn’t in your place? Rick retold all of you what you were supposed to do and reaffirmed you shouldn’t leave formation, and like this you entered the building.

It was very calm at first, no walking corpse on sight, but soon they started to appear, small groups of them, you killed one by one. You used the crossbow to stop them from coming closer, but when they did you’d use your knife. That was great until a group of them separated all of you. “fuck…” Where was everyone? You kept walking in the dark trying to avoid the walkers and killing them before they’d kill you.

You walked on your side trying to maintain your eyes everywhere until you knocked into something and almost panicked before discovering the something had arms and wrapped one around you and covered your mouth immediately so you didn’t scream. “Told ya to stay close.” Daryl whispered.

“I can guarantee, I didn’t separate from you on purpose.” You whispered as soon as he took his hand from your mouth.

You continued to walk together, till you reunited with the others and… the worst had happened. Hershel was bitten, god damnit! Couldn’t they just say no to the old man and have left behind? You were all cornered in a corridor when you found the cafeteria, without much thinking you all got inside and ran to Hershel’s aid.

You ripped the leg of his pants and looked at the bite. Fuck. Your doctor was bitten. You had to be the doctor. ‘Think fast! Think!’, you repeated it like a mantra inside your head, and then the idea hit you.

“A BELT! Someone give me a belt!” You commanded and Rick was fast to give you his. “I’m sorry Hershel, we have nothing to lose anymore, so I need to try this.”

You put the belt around his leg and restrained his blood from flowing. “Rick, you do it. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do it in one.” Rick took his hatchet and did what he had to cutting off the bitten part of Hershel’s leg. The doctor got unconscious, Maggie was despaired and blood was everywhere. Suddenly you heard a sound coming from the very end of the cafeteria, most of you aimed your weapons in the direction of the sound just to be met by 5 strange faces and none of them belonging to a dead person.

“Holy shit!” Exclaimed a ginger man.

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freebooter4ever · 18 days ago

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A few things i have noticed in the past two weeks after the huge switch on dec 29th:

I have had to switch to eating two big meals a day - this still is a significant decrease in calories and im struggling not to lose weight so this isn't sustainable but until i can figure out the right combination of medications to continue fighting this its temporary. But the extra time in between meals 5+ hours is helping digestion a ton.

Its alarming how fast i lose weight still. On one hand i am no longer malnourished and am having my period again...on the other hand i went from almost normal weight down to nearing dangerously underweight in a span of 19 days here.

Im starting to feel hunger again using the two meals approach so i think i will increase the amount of food in each meal rather than go back to three meals

THE BIG ONE: i am having 'normal' moments again. In the time span between when i wake up at 8am ish till 11am when i have my first meal i feel normal, the POTS is almost entirely gone, there is miraculously no blood pooling in my arms or legs. It's like i have my body back as it was (but way exhausted lol). More and more I feel like i have reached the point where I have the same amount of bacteria that i did in late july. If i keep using the motility agents and make sure constipation doesnt return i am hopeful that these 'normal' moments will become the norm once more.

The downside is that as the 'normal' moments have become stronger, the 'sick' moments have also increased. My theory is that my body totally disconnected my autonomous function for a few months and was relying on the compression and salt intake to normalize it. Now the connection is trying to come back online and succeeding sometimes but failing when the bacteria produces gas. And the moments when its going haywire are actually it reconnecting but responding to the inflamation and trauma in my body. As I finally get rid of the inflamation and trauma, I'm hoping the connected system won't go haywire anymore.

It is fascinating how doctors seem to try to constantly deny that my body is doing the things it is doing. I have watched my GI go through phases of doubt, and then slow acceptance as he realizes that the same reactions are happening to me in predictable ways. My cardiologist thinks I'm an insane person, but that makes sense because this entire time all tests have proven that it's not the heart that is the problem, it's my gut and nerve connections.

#jrnlsht

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queenwendy · 5 months ago

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Sometimes I get morbidly curious and scroll through the terf tag (bad idea) and half the time it makes me sad but the other half it makes me laugh my ass off because like… they seem to think anybody can walk into a doctor’s office, declare “I am trans!” And just get sex reassignment surgery??? Like, what???? That isn’t how that works at all

I’m a trans woman in the western US, and I am lucky enough to have A) supportive family and B) really fucking good healthcare through my family. To be clear, if you do not have A and especially if you do not have B good fucking luck getting blockers, much less hormones or dear god surgery! It’s nigh impossible!

In early 2018 when I was almost 15, I came out to my parents. Immediately I was put in therapy (that had more to do with the depression and suicidal ideation I experienced while in the closet than being trans). While social transition (different name, different clothes) happened pretty quickly, it wasn’t until my mental health stuff was dealt with that my therapist and doctor, both on the trans youth specialist team, started talking HRT.

The first step was puberty blockers. To get that approved I not only needed parent permission and a ton of forms, I was all but required to bank sperm (as a 15 year old!) and I had to socially transition and meet a bunch of WPATH requirements (I actually like WPATH a lot, to be clear) and wait through a months long waiting list just to get an appointment with a psychiatrist, who then asked me a bunch of questions (he was nice, I do not remember the questions, this was years ago) to ensure I didn’t have some other problem. After passing that, I got a prescription for nogonadotropin as a puberty blocker.

From the time I first told doctors I was trans to the time I had my first blockers shot, a little over 6 months had passed. To be clear, in the US, that’s fast. In the UK? That’s impossibly fast.

It then took another 6 months of blood test, questioners, meetings with my doctor and my parents and my therapists before I was finally cleared for estradoil tablets. 1 mg/day. I got them nearly on the year to the day from when I came out. I was nearly 16

Again, that is crazy fast.

Within a year and a half my estradoil doseage had increased to 6mg/day and I was on 100mg/day of progesterone as well. Eventually that became 200mg/day. Years later I switched from estradoil tablets to estradoil shots.

The entire time I have seen the same therapist, not just for trans healthcare but also mental health stuff. I got SSRIs for anxiety, got an ADHD diagnosis, etc.

In fall of 2022 (I was 19), I reached out to my doctor to say I wanted bottom surgery. We had talked about doing it before, but I had always said “I don’t know if I’m ready.” I was unsure. And even though I could have gotten at least an orchiectomy after I turned 16 if I really wanted to (with parental permission and I am sure so much medical red tape I would have been an adult by the time it happened), I never wanted it. My doctors were surprised I wanted it, so were my folks.

I had to meet with my therapist several times, coordinate with a social worker, and get 2 or 3 letters of recommendation from doctors. Then I needed to unravel who and what my insurance cost and find surgeons I wanted to consult with. That took MONTHS. It wasn’t until fall of 2023, a full year later, that I was FINALLY was able to schedule with two of the three surgeons I wanted (we’ll get to that third one in a bit).

It is now the last days of august 2024. I had my first consultation, which was out of state, earlier this month. It went well. If I had scheduled a surgery date right then and there, there would have been a year long wait time. Which again, is a very very small wait time. I didn’t though, because I wanted to consult with other surgeons and I knew that would be smack in the middle of graduate school.

My second consultation (which, ugh, I need to do some phone calls for to figure out transportation!) is in a few months. The third one? I’m still on a waiting list to GET A CONSULTATION.

To be clear, neither my parents nor my doctors ever pressured me into anything. My folks were completely blindsided when I came out and had basically no idea how to proceed besides using a different name. My doctors always said “well, here’s your options and all the risks. You want that? Okay, think on it for a month and we’ll discuss next steps at our next appointment.” All of this was my choice. Mine. And they never tried to stop me either, just make sure I was being safe and following procedure.

Both my younger sister and my cousin on my mom’s side are trans as well. Considering we have several blood relatives on that side of the family who are also LGBTQ+ going back at least to the 1940s, assume there’s a genetic predisposition for it. Both my sister and my cousin have had a lot harder of a time getting HRT, even though my sister has the same insurance, same provider, same psychologist as me (idk what my cousin’s insurance situation is).

Odds are, I will have my graduate degree (environmental engineering) before I undergo surgery. Maybe even before I have a date for undergoing surgery. If all goes well, I graduate in may 2026. I’ve agreed with my girlfriend that once we graduate in 2026 if we’re still together I’ll feel comfortable getting engaged, so it’s very possible that I will be fucking married before I get SRS. Y’know, assuming it isn’t outlawed or anything.

When I was 14, I figured out I was a girl. Without talking to anybody, I knew I wanted a female body and that the puberty I was going through wasn’t right. Looking back, there were times I almost knew when I was 11, when I was 7, when I was only 3. At that age, I considered “surgery is something I might do when I’m older. I dunno. Right now I have crippling depression and cheat dysphoria, I really just want to be called the right name and pronouns and have HRT.”

I am now 21. I haven’t undergone any surgeries in that time, at all (except wisdom teeth removal ig. Does that count?). I have had one (1) SRS consultation, and the soonest I could get surgery is a year from now, but odds are it will be in two years. Maybe three even.

There is no epidemic of children being told they are trans and getting surgeries. That doesn’t fucking happen. If you’re really worried about kids getting unnecessary surgery look into the weird world of rich white girls getting facelifts and breast enlargement surgeries and stuff. At no doctor’s office in this country can you walk in with one set of genitals and walk out with another at the drop of a hat. There is a YEARS long medical process that happens before a consultation is even scheduled. And before that there is a trans person’s entire earlier life of doubt and questioning and fear and pain.

#trans #transgender #trans healthcare #transgender health #srs #hrt #vaginoplasty #terfs up up to their usual bullshit agian #tw: transphobia #tw: terf #tw: suicidality #just mentioned tho #those thoughts happened almost a decade ago now #wendy's posts

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sbd-laytall · 3 months ago

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Random Grey's Anatomy Opinions (Part Four)

Arizona, Callie, Meredith, and Jo's short hair/bob eras were amazing, but Amelia's was so bad. Meredith's bangs era was also really bad, but Lexie's was really amazing (but then again, Lexie slayed in every hair era). Bailey and Maggie's season 19 hair styles were so pretty, and I bow down to the hair hair department for that. Simone's original curly hair was gorgeous, but I wasn't sure how to feel about her shorter and straighter hair, and I still have mixed feelings about it.

Even disregarding my dislike for Owen, Teddy's relationships with Koracick and Henry (say his name, Teddy!) were so much better and so much more compelling.

Eliza was not that bad of a character when she first started and people were definitely being so immature to her, but she did end up a really bad character (especially when she didn't tell anyone that Stephanie was missing).

Numerous dynamics that should've lezzed out at least once: Teddy & Cristina, Meredith & Cristina, Lexie & April, Addison & Meredith, April & Arizona, Cristina & Callie, Arizona & Herman, April & Cristina, Callie & Addison, Bailey & Addison, Jo & Stephanie, Lexie & Amelia.

Everyone guilt-tripping Meredith about leaving the hospital in season 18 was so immature and stupid because not only was it inconsiderate of Meredith's feelings, but it also indicated that the entire hospital would completely collapse without this one singular doctor.

Meredith is by no means the worst character, but she certainly isn't the best either.

While Amelia should've gotten to say goodbye to Derek and she had a right to be upset that she didn't get to, I can't really blame Meredith because her entire world turned on its axis and she was trying her hardest to keep herself together for her kids (and we all know Meredith is a constant mess on a good day).

In the early seasons, Izzie was a great, complex character (besides her really weird misogynistic hatred for Callie), but was quickly ruined when she slept with George and just went downhill after that.

Breaking up Winston and Maggie was a stupid decision because they were so cute, but I do understand that they had a lot of problems because Maggie and Winston did not really seem to know each other after their marriage.

Whenever the show brings out a new batch of interns, the show kind of shoots itself in the foot because it tries to balance the stories of the old cast and the new cast, but with more and more cast being accumulated, there's just not enough attention for the new members, so the general audience cares much less about them (there are exceptions with characters like Jo and Schmitt becoming fan favorites).

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worms-i-think · 7 months ago

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My bone died and now I can’t walk!

here’s the story of how my skeleton betrayed me and how people’s reactions have inspired my upcoming villain arc.

Since the beginning of the year I’ve had some trouble with my hip, which made walking painful and gradually more difficult. I assumed I’d pulled something, but when things didn’t improve, I went to a doctor. Multiple X-rays, an MRI, and a CT scan later, I was diagnosed with avascular necrosis (AVN; also called osteonecrosis). I don’t know why I, as a 19 yr old female, developed a rare condition usually found in middle aged men with a history of steroid use and alcoholism, but I’m being passed around doctors who are looking into procedures to lessen the damage. Basically there wasn’t enough blood getting to my bone and the tissue died, fracturing in the process. I’m on two crutches and can’t walk for more than a few steps without leaning on the wall or something.

One of the most significant things I’ve noticed outside of my body, though, is the way people treat me. I work for a small company, and customers new and old have all had something to say about a young woman having to use a crutch. (I use one at work so my other hand is free.) I’m not kidding when I say that the day after I started using them, a man came in and asked, “why’re they making you work if you’re a cripple?” and he laughed. You’d be surprised the number of people who’ve called me that. Most people assume I broke something doing sports. I get “what’s wrong with you?” on the regular, which is *such* a strange thing to ask someone! I tried responding with ‘I don’t know’ or ‘broke my hip’, which were true, but didn’t seem to satisfy people. If you joke and say ‘bear attack’ they demand the real story. Once I knew what it was I had, I simply told the really insistent customers that I have a bone disease. (People don’t like that either! One woman asked my full legal name so she could write a letter to her priest about me, then came back weeks later to tell my coworker she sobbed in her car because of me!)

Coworkers aren’t much better: my boss and another coworker, both women around their 60s, were looking at me and laughing, so I asked what was up. They said I should tell everyone I got injured having the roughest, craziest sex of my life. That I found a sex shop that sells the perfect handcuffs and I could recommend them to customers who asked. My response to that was just to stand there like 🩼🧍‍♀️.

So! Yeah! People should stop assuming that they’re close enough to strangers to joke about their conditions or grill them for information. No, I don’t know when I’ll be able to walk. No, I don’t know why I developed this problem. No, you can’t walk into the store and call me a cripple, you don’t know me, you’re not funny, my bones have literally degraded and you’re laughing about how I’m ‘hobbling around’?

(Nobody get me started on doctors. I have one really great one but I’m currently in a new hospital where a nurse explained that they may or may not have lost the file for my CT scan… Plus the RMV had no idea where my handicapped placard went and told me just to keep calling them until they had it.)

That’s all folks! I might have updates about walking or surgery eventually but that’s my story :’)

#avascular necrosis #osteonecrosis #ableism #disability #physical disability #< just to specify. hoping for improvements to mobility soon <\3 #also I super miss running. and putting on socks and rolling around on the ground and stuff MANNN this is unfortunate #unrelated

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serial-serializednovelreader · 7 months ago

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Nova’s Notes - Dracula Daily - July 19

In which Seward says no….

Just a heads up: this is where we get into some of Seward’s more ableist language/practices. I’ll try to describe it more than quote from it in those places and I’ll tag this appropriately. I just wanted to give a heads up that this is where it starts to get rough. Please feel free to skip this entry if it’s too much: your mental health is more important. I also made a cut where I start talking about this topic (and yes, it is very soon into the entry).

“We are progressing. My friend has now a whole colony of sparrows, and his flies and spiders are almost obliterated.”

“We”? Who is this “we”?? Are you speaking French? That’s all Renfield! And here Seward goes again with this “my friend” thing. It really makes me uncomfortable when he does that, not least because you can draw a distinct parallel between him and Dracula when he does it (if you want to see more of that, check out @vickyvicarious’s posts about Dracula and Seward: she does amazing analysis about the parallels between them!).

As for Renfield, a COLONY of sparrows??? I can see getting one in and closing the window (yeah, I figured that out), but how did he get all of those? Again, so many questions and if Seward is going to play creepy observing doctor, at least ask some questions about how he opens the window to get more sparrows without letting others out. It’s a valid question!

So, the next part is where we get into ableism — or what I see as such (and we’re only into the third sentence too…). Basically Renfield asks Seward for a favor, but Seward compares him to…a dog. While this isn’t blatantly ableist, I suppose, I still don’t like the way it’s phrased. It’s very dehumanizing. First of all, as a doctor, you are never supposed to talk about your patients that way. Second of all, even if he is “begging” in that way, think about why, Seward. He has to depend on you for everything — he is at your mercy and your whims. If he acts like…that…while asking for something, that is only because you have put him in a demeaning position in the first place!

On to the favor itself:

“‘A kitten, a nice little, sleek playful kitten, that I can play with, and teach, and feed—and feed—and feed!’ I was not unprepared for this request, for I had noticed how his pets went on increasing in size and vivacity, but I did not care that his pretty family of tame sparrows should be wiped out in the same manner as the flies and the spiders; so I said I would see about it, and asked him if he would not rather have a cat than a kitten.”

Says a lot about Seward that he only mildly cares about animal life when we get to the cats. And that he seems to be fine with him having an adult cat, but not an adorable kitten…hm. Also, Renfield is a bit concerning on the “feed feed feed” part but eh, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about! (I’m totally not foreshadowing I don’t know what you’re talking about /s).

“‘Oh, yes, I would like a cat! I only asked for a kitten lest you should refuse me a cat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would they?’ I shook my head, and said that at present I feared it would not be possible, but that I would see about it.”

LOL he’s so right, it would be hard to refuse someone a kitten, I mean just whip out the puppy dog eyes again, right? For real though, I don’t know how to feel about this because I know what Renfield is doing to these animals — and I can’t really condone it. On the other hand, if this were just someone in an asylum who wanted a pet to take care of, why should they be refused? Because of ableist stereotypes? It’s tough because Seward hasn’t refused him up to this point, so he probably assumed he would get to also have a cat. Was it right for Seward to set a boundary at this point (making him feel strung along), or should he have just never let him have any pets in the first place?

I think the problem with Seward is that he doesn’t explain why he can’t have a cat. He just says no. Also, he hasn’t been giving Renfield these animals and insects with good intentions — it’s all been to run an experiment for his own distraction. So yeah, I don’t like what Seward’s doing here or how he just shuts him down. If you’re going to refuse, at least give a valid reason why.

This is where Seward really loses his credibility with me — and is why I put a warning in the first place. Renfield then gives him a fierce look that Seward doesn’t like. Oh, I’m sorry, are people not allowed to be angry you refused them something they wanted??? Then he refers to this look as something verging on a murderous look — uh-oh. It gets worse. Again, I promised not to quote what he says here, and I’m going to stick to that, but let’s just say he thinks that Renfield is dangerous to him and shouldn’t be trusted not to attack him…or worse.

It’s telling that he gets all of that from one look. Where was your rational assessment of him from so long ago, Seward? Is that just out the window because he’s more upset at your refusal to give him a cat? This isn’t surprising, though. I would say most people in Renfield’s position are considered “fine” by society unless they show any kind of emotion at all; then, all of a sudden, they’re “dangerous” and need to be locked away from society for “safety reasons.” This is so harmful on so many levels.

“I shall test him with his present craving and see how it will work out; then I shall know more.”

If Seward was a cat, this is where I’d spray him with water from a spray bottle. Bad Seward, bad!!! Stop using Renfield’s emotions and cravings for your own nefarious purposes. If you want to give him the cat, fine. If you don’t, don’t. But stop playing with him and dehumanizing him this way. It’s horrible.

Later, Seward goes to visit him and Renfield is (understandably) brooding. He again asks for a cat and says his salvation depends upon it (note that for later, by the way). Seward again tells him no and Renfield goes back to his corner, gnawing on his fingers. The gnawing on the fingers reminds me very much of stimming (for the uninformed, stimming is a repetitive action, often used by neurodivergent individuals, to gather focus or gain emotional regulation. Examples include chewing fingernails, playing with a fidget toy, bouncing your leg, etc.) and I can’t help but see him trying to calm himself down a bit here. I think it’s rather cruel of Seward to give Renfield false hope by visiting him and then still saying no. :(

“I shall see him in the morning early.”

Why, so you can continue to get his hopes up? UGH, hate this!!

I know I’m really hard on Seward in this one, but I think it’s deserved. He’s being cruel to Renfield and I hate it. Very unsatisfying entry, unfortunately.

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jcmarchi · 2 months ago

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Joe Philleo, Founder & CEO at Edia – Interview Series

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/joe-philleo-founder-ceo-at-edia-interview-series/

Joe Philleo, Founder & CEO at Edia – Interview Series

Joe Philleo, the co-founder and CEO of Edia, leads the development of an AI-powered math platform designed for teachers and students, aiming to improve outcomes on state exams. The platform operates on the belief that education plays a crucial role in shaping individuals’ life trajectories. Edia’s mission is to create technology that ensures every student has access to an exceptional educational experience.

Currently, Edia collaborates with over 100 school districts across the United States, including prominent ones such as Fulton County, Loudoun County, and Palm Beach. These partnerships have demonstrated measurable success, with annual improvements in state math exam performance ranging from less than 2% to as much as 5-12%.

You made the bold decision to drop out of USC to work with Joe Lonsdale at 8VC, gaining exposure to groundbreaking tech projects. What were some of these projects?

Working with Joe Lonsdale at 8VC was an incredible opportunity. I left school when I was 20 years old to join his team, and it was my first exposure to Silicon Valley. Working in venture capital feels like living in the future—I met a lot of very smart people who were building self-driving cars, AI doctors, VR glasses, and new software systems to dramatically improve industry.

I spent a lot of time focused on defense, government, and education. I learned a lot. My biggest lesson from 8VC was the demystification of Silicon Valley. I grew up in Indiana, far away from any of this stuff. But spending time with Joe Lonsdale and other great entrepreneurs and investors made me understand that I could also make progress on solving big problems.

You’ve mentioned feeling disappointed that few top Silicon Valley teams were focused on K-12 education, which led you to start Edia in 2020. What specifically motivated you to tackle this gap in the education sector, and why did you feel the timing was right to launch Edia?

School has always been a personal obsession for me. I had three incredible teachers growing up who changed the trajectory of my life, and I also had some very bad experiences with teachers that pulled me in the other direction. Early on, I experimented with different ideas for how we could improve school. In 11th grade, I made a website called “booksarelong.com” to crowdsource AP textbook notes, and in college my friend and I applied Google’s PageRank algorithm to Wikipedia to build microcourses for all of human knowledge.

The real turning point came in 2020. Before then, only 10% of students in the United States had their own school-issued device, which severely limited how teachers and schools could use technology in their classrooms. Then, almost overnight, we went from 10% to 90% of students having devices because of the Covid-19 pandemic. In June 2020, OpenAI launched GPT-3, and it was clear that this was the moment to build something that could shape K-12 education.

What were the initial challenges you and your team faced when building Edia? How did you overcome them?

From the beginning, our team has been led by incredible engineers and designers. So, building our breakthrough math product wasn’t easy, but it also wasn’t the hardest part. As outsiders to the space, it took us a long time to distinguish our breakthrough AI math solution from legacy products that made big claims but rarely delivered. We felt that we had to distinguish Edia by showing real impact, which led us to guarantee growth for districts that use Edia—i.e. if they don’t see measurable results within one year of implementing, we offer a full refund. That promise has been a game-changer for building trust.

Can you explain how Edia’s AI math coaching works to provide real-time, personalized feedback for students?

One of the surprising things we realized early on was how little progress had been made in math learning software. Even fundamental challenges like “how do you easily do math on a computer keyboard?” hadn’t been solved before. We invented a completely new way for students to type math, inspired by Pinyin—the method Chinese and Japanese speakers use to type thousands of characters on a keyboard. This innovation makes it easier for students to show their work on a computer than on paper. Once the work is digital, AI can analyze it to understand the student’s thinking, identify where they went wrong, and deliver personalized inline feedback. The learning experience adapts to each student’s needs in real-time.

How does your platform use data to support teachers with small group instruction and data-driven lesson planning?

Small group instruction is one of the most impactful strategies for secondary math teachers, but it’s also one of the hardest to execute. Teachers often have 120 students across multiple classes and subjects, and it’s nearly impossible to pinpoint every student’s gaps, band them together, and create personalized lessons for each group. That’s where Edia comes in. Our platform automatically collects data from classroom assignments, quizzes, and homework to map out exactly where each student is struggling. Then Edia automatically forms small groups and generates customized lesson plans and practice tailored to their needs. This makes small group instruction manageable for teachers and has a huge impact on student outcomes.

Chronic absenteeism is a significant challenge in many districts—how does Edia’s platform address this issue uniquely with AI?

Chronic absenteeism—defined as missing 10% of school or more—has doubled since 2020, and it’s one of the biggest challenges districts face today. The key to solving chronic absenteeism is twofold: districts need to (1) understand and address why students are missing school and (2) rebuild the community’s expectation that coming to class matters. Our platform uses AI to engage parents within minutes of a student missing class to ask why their child is absent.

This interaction reinforces the importance of attendance, and it helps administrators understand the root causes of absenteeism—whether it’s issues with a specific teacher, social anxiety, lack of transportation, or something else. Armed with this information, schools can take meaningful action to address the problem.

Could you tell us more about the AI-driven, multilingual communication system and how it helps to engage families in real-time?

Engaging families effectively requires breaking down communication barriers. Many schools struggle to connect with parents who speak different languages or don’t check traditional forms of communication. Our AI-driven platform tackles this by sending real-time messages in the family’s preferred language, using conversational AI to bridge the gap. For example, if a student misses class, the system immediately reaches out to that family in Spanish, Chinese, Arabic, or any other language to let the family know and ask for an explanation – and parents can easily just reply back. It ensures families stay informed and engaged, while also helping schools address issues proactively. It’s about creating a two-way dialogue that fosters trust and accountability.

What is your long-term vision for Edia? How do you see the platform evolving in the next few years?

Our mission is for every student to have an exceptional experience in school. We want kids to look back 20 years after graduating and think, “Wow, I was really lucky. I had such a great time in school.” That’s the kind of lasting impact we’re aiming for. Right now, we’re focused on solving challenges that block students from succeeding. We began by making math accessible for everyone, and we’ve been able to accelerate growth on state exams from 0-2% per year to 8-23% per year, which is incredible. This year, we launched our AI solution to address chronic absenteeism, which is another critical barrier for many students to succeed.

But the possibilities are endless. From improving school budgeting to rethinking the design of school buildings—why do so many schools look like prisons?—to tackling critical issues like school safety, there’s so much to be done. Schools should be places that inspire, support, and protect kids. We see it as Edia’s mission to take on these challenges and ensure schools provide the best environments for growth and learning.

How do you see AI shaping the future of K-12 education?

One of the most exciting possibilities with AI is solving what’s known as Bloom’s Two Sigma Problem. In 1984, Benjamin Bloom found that replacing classroom instruction with one-on-one tutoring could improve student performance by two standard deviations, bringing an average student to the top of their class. But the problem is scale: there are 60 million students in the U.S. and only about 3 million staff. We simply don’t have enough adults to provide personalized tutoring for every child.

That’s where AI comes in. With AI, we have a real chance to give every student the benefits of a tutor. AI can scale this kind of personalized instruction in ways that were never possible before, helping every child reach their full potential.

What is the most rewarding part of your work at Edia, and how does it align with your personal mission in education?

It’s seeing the impact we’re having in such a diverse range of schools and students. We work with large urban districts like Fulton County in Georgia, New York City, and Palm Beach in Florida. At the same time, we’re also helping some of the smallest, most remote schools in northern Alaska, where the only way to get there is by seaplane or boat.

Knowing that students anywhere in America—whether in the heart of New York City or in a tiny Alaskan village—are both getting access to the same cutting-edge AI technology is really fulfilling. We’re giving these kids the experiences, confidence, and support they need to reach their goals, no matter where they are or what their circumstances might be. It’s an incredible privilege to play even a small role in shaping their futures.

Thank you for the great interview, readers who wish to learn more should visit Edia.

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eternal-echoes · 3 months ago

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Creativity, therefore, it is important for a Jesuit. Pope Francis, during a visit with the Jesuit priests and other staff members of La Civiltà Cattolica, had articulated a triad of important characteristics relevant to the cultural initiatives of the Jesuits. I turn my thoughts to that day, June 14, 2013. I recall that back then, in a conversation just before the meeting with the entire group, the pope had already informed me about this triad: dialogue, discernment, frontier. And he insisted particularly on the last point, quoting Pope Paul VI. In a well-known speech, Paul VI had spoken directly about the Jesuits: “Wherever in the church—even in the most difficult and extreme fields, in the crossroads of ideologies, in the social trenches—there has been and is now conversation between the deepest desires of human beings and the perennial message of the Gospel, Jesuits have been and are there.” I ask Pope Francis for a further explanation: “You asked us to be careful not to fall into ‘the temptation to tame the frontiers’: one must go out to the frontiers, not bring the frontiers home in order to paint them a bit artificially and tame them.” What were you referring to? What exactly did you wish to tell us? This interview, as you know, was organized by a group of magazines directed by the Society of Jesus: what invitation do you wish to extend to them? What should their priorities be? “The three key words that I commended to La Civiltà Cattolica can be extended to all the journals of the Society, perhaps with different emphases according to their natures and their objectives. When I insist on the frontier, I am referring in a particular way to the need for those who work in the world of culture to be inserted into the context in which they operate and on which they reflect. There is always the lurking danger of living in a laboratory. Ours is not a ‘lab faith,’ but a ‘journey faith,’ a historical faith. God has revealed himself as history, not as a compendium of abstract truths. I am afraid of laboratories because in the laboratory you take the problems and then you bring them home to tame them, to paint them artificially, out of their context. You cannot bring home the frontier, but you have to live on the border and be audacious.” I ask for examples from his personal experience. “When it comes to social issues, it is one thing to have a meeting to study the problem of drugs in a slum neighborhood and quite another thing to go there, live there and understand the problem from the inside and study it. There is a brilliant letter by Father Arrupe to the Centers for Social Research and Action on poverty, in which he says clearly that one cannot speak of poverty if one does not experience poverty, with a direct connection to the places in which there is poverty. The word insertion is dangerous because some religious have taken it as a fad, and disasters have occurred because of a lack of discernment. But it is truly important.” “The frontiers are many. Let us think of the religious sisters living in hospitals. They live on the frontier. I am alive because of one of them. When I went through my lung disease at the hospital, the doctor gave me penicillin and streptomycin in certain doses. The sister who was on duty tripled my doses because she was daringly astute; she knew what to do because she was with ill people all day. The doctor, who really was a good one, lived in his laboratory; the sister lived on the frontier and was in dialogue with it every day. Domesticating the frontier means just talking from a remote location, locking yourself up in a laboratory. Laboratories are useful, but reflection for us must always start from experience.”

-INTERVIEW WITH POPE FRANCIS by Fr Antonio Spadaro, August 19, 2013

#Catholic #Christianity #quotes #Pope Francis

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mischievouslittlecreature · 1 year ago

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Part 19: In the Bleak Midwinter

Summary: Tommy begins to recover and Lucy visits a church--but not for absolution.

Word Count: 6,599

Warnings: Violence, mild sexual content, and references to sexual assault.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 15: Sinful Rosary

She didn’t leave his side until he could stand on his own, watching anxiously from her chair when he braced his hand against the doctor’s, the other pushing down on the bed, face hardening with silent determination as he rose to his feet. Steady.

He’d made great improvements over such a short amount of time. It really shouldn’t have been that surprising. It was Tommy after all.

They’d removed the halo brace, though they’d kept the patch of hair on his head shaved until the stitches from his incisions were ready to come out. But he looked considerably better; the shadows around his eyes had retreated, color returning to his face. He’d lost maybe a little weight from his time laying in the hospital bed, but not enough to lose too much of his muscle definition. When he caught her staring at his naked torso from where she was folded into her chair, he shot her a smirk, eyebrow raising smugly.

Handsome bastard. Even with that ridiculous bald spot on his head.

But he wasn’t cleared for sex yet. Nor would he probably be for a while. Which wasn’t that much of a problem while he was still in hospital, but it might prove to be once he was allowed to return home. They never had been particularly good at keeping their hands off each other.

Okay, it was a little bit of a problem even with him still in the hospital. But that was only because he’d apparently decided to forgo clothes during his recovery. She was pretty sure he hadn’t put on anything besides his white cotton boxers the entire time he’d been there.

“I can feel you staring at me,” the rumble of his voice brought her back to herself, pulling her out of her lewd daydreams while she watched the muscles in his back flex when he lifted his cigarette to his lips, head tilted upwards towards the windows. Imagining how those muscles in his back would flex when he…

She shook her head, forcing herself to stop that particular train of thought before it got out of control, even as her thighs squeezed together. “Sorry.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, smirking. “I don’t mind.”

Rising from her chair, she went to join him, humming happily when he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer until her head was resting on his chest. She looped her arms around his torso, still handling him gingerly even though he kept insisting that he was fine.

“You’re sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Better than I have in a while actually, love.”

“That’s just ‘cos you’re still on the morphine.”

“Probably,” he kissed the top of her head. “You said once I was able to stand on my own you would look into if anyone talked.”

“Mhm. I had some of our boys look into if there was any suspicious contact made to Hughes or any of his associates within the few days before you tried to kill him.”

Tommy loosened his grip on her, sitting down on the edge of the bed, tapping the ash of his cigarette into the tray on the bedside table. She sat down beside him, taking the cigarette when he offered it to her.

“Scudboat says that he spoke to some people who were attending church on Good Friday. They told him that there was a woman that came in who insisted on being seen for confessional even though they weren’t holding any that day. Figured I’d start there. The priests who work there are associated with Hughes.”

Tommy nodded slowly, bringing the cigarette to his lips after she passed it back to him. “I don’t want you going down to that church all on your own.”

Lucy frowned. “I’ll be careful–”

“So was I and I got my head smashed in.”

Okay, fair point. “I’ll take Johnny Dogs with me.”

The idea seemed to relax Tommy somewhat. “Okay. Good.”

“Ada said she would be coming by later.”

“You mean to babysit me while you’re off gutting a priest?” but he smiled good naturedly when she opened her mouth to argue. “It’s fine.”

“It'll make me feel a little better.”

“I know.”

She kissed his cheek before standing, halfway to the door when he called after her.

“There are some reports from last week that need to be reviewed and signed. If you wouldn’t mind stopping by the office while you’re there.”

She glanced back at him from the doorway. “Yes, boss.”

His eyes snapped up to hers, and even from across the room, she could tell his pupils had dilated a little. “Careful,” he growled, tone playful. Lucy grinned, trying to ignore the flutter in her core, and stepped out into the hall.

∗ ∗ ∗

She met up with Johnny a few blocks away from the church, laughing when he pulled her into a bear hug.

“Lucy, you little demon! How are ya?”

“You know, I’ve had better years, Johnny.”

His smile wavered. “How is he? Really?”

“He’s recovering well. Doctors are saying that if he continues improving at the rate he is, he can come home soon.”

Johnny nodded. “Good. Don’t know what we would do without the bastard.”

“Yeah,” she jerked her head. “It’s this way,” she started to guide him down the road that would eventually lead them to the church.

“So what is it that you wanted me to do?”

“Ideally? Just stand there while I talk to him. Watch the doors and make sure I don’t get ambushed by any soldiers for hire that may or may not be lurking in any corners.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Lucy, but isn’t this something you could have just done on your own?”

“Probably, yeah. But Tommy didn’t want me to go alone after what happened to him.”

Johnny’s lips pulled into a grin, a knowing twinkle entering his eyes. “Ah.”

Lucy rolled her eyes, stuffing her hands into her pockets and looking away so he wouldn’t notice the slight pink blush blooming across her cheeks. Johnny had always been enthusiastically accepting and encouraging of her particular relationship with Tommy. It made sense, considering that Johnny himself had multiple wives.

“So does that mean that Tom’s alone over there at the hospital?” Johnny asked. They’d rounded the corner, the church at the end of the road coming into view.

“Ada’s with him,” reaching into her pocket, she plucked her revolver from its holster, checking it. Satisfied, she put it back, snug against her ribs. When they got to the church steps, she hesitated, staring up at the huge doors disdainfully.

“Lucy?” Johnny asked. She sighed, taking a deep breath, and stepped forward onto the consecrated ground, letting out a small sigh of relief. Johnny looked at her in puzzlement.

“Sorry. Bad memories,” she explained. All churches, especially Catholic churches, inflicted the same queasy feelings of uneasiness within her. Less than happy moments from her childhood dredged up to haunt her. That and the always enduring fear that stepping inside one would cause her to burst into flames. Johnny’s expression turned sympathetic, following closely behind her up the steps and to the doors leading into the church.

Flexing her fingers once, Lucy rolled her neck from side to side, drawing herself up to her full height, clearing her throat. Then she slammed the doors open with a resounding boom that echoed throughout the entire building, ensuring that she stepped with enough force that every footfall thundered loudly. It was the middle of an afternoon on a weekday, so there weren’t that many parishioners; the few that were kneeling or sitting in pews looking up at the comotion.

“Get out,” Lucy ordered, voice loud and echoing like an explosion in the otherwise silence of the church. “Now!”

The people in the pews scrambled, grabbing at their coats and bibles before filing out towards the doors.

“Check the confessionals,” Lucy told Johnny, stalking to the altar, where a priest was standing, frozen with his mouth half open in shock. She could hear Johnny opening the doors to the confessionals, glancing in to make sure there was no one hiding in the dark shadows of the little booths. She waited until the big wooden doors swung closed behind the last of the parishioners, coming to a stop in front of the priest with her hands clasped behind her back.

“Hullo,” she smiled sweetly. The priest finally gained back enough of his motor functions to close his mouth, swallowing harshly. Lucy cocked her head. “Were you the priest taking confessions here on Good Friday?”

“There were no confessionals offered on Good Friday, miss,” he spoke in a shaky voice. Good. Scared was good; useful.

“Ah, but there was, wasn’t there? One, according to our boys. A woman. She came here and demanded a priest take her confession.”

The priest pressed his trembling lips together. Lucy looked him up and down.

“So. Was it you who saw her? Or was it one of your fellow clergy? And don’t lie,” she added when he opened his mouth to answer. “You won’t like what I’ll do if I think you are.”

“It was me,” he straightened his back. Trying to be brave despite the slight tremor she could see in his hands. With Johnny Dogs there watching her back she could focus her full attention on the priest, picking apart each and every one of his little reactions to use against him.

“Hm,” she pressed her lips into a small smile, eyes narrowing. “Who was she?”

“I can’t-I can’t say–”

“Oh, yes you can. And you will. It just depends how much pain you would like to go through before you do,” she considered whether she ought to use the razors sewn into her hat, or the blade sheathed in her belt. The razors would allow her to slash as she pleased, but the blade would let her be more precise in her cuts…

Decisions, decisions.

She took a step towards the priest, and he cringed back.

“You can’t…not here…” he said. Lucy raised an eyebrow.

“No?” she drew the blade from her belt. In one quick movement she slashed out with it, slicing through the air and catching him across the cheek. Not cutting deep enough to do any real damage, just enough to draw blood. The priest yelped, jumping away with a hand flying to his face. “Hm. It seems like I can.”

“I cannot divulge what was spoken to me during confession!” he cried out.

“Ah but you already have, haven’t you?” with every step he took back she took one forward, carefully angling her movements so she was beginning to back him into a corner. “You told another priest, didn’t you?”

He stared at her with steadily paling skin.

“Yes, love, we already know about that,” she purred. They hadn’t really. Though he had just as well confirmed it through his reaction. And it was the only thing that made sense: the woman who’d come for confession had said something that tipped them off, and this priest had informed Hughes.

“Please, please, I didn’t know what he was going to do…” his back hit the wall, eyes widening. Lucy paced back and forth in front of him.

“Tell me who the woman was that came to confess..”

He whimpered, and she twirled the knife between her fingers.

“Or I’m going to have to start hurting you.”

The priest jammed his eyes shut, mumbling a prayer under his breath for forgiveness. Lucy rolled her eyes, but waited until he finished.

“I think she was drunk. Or…off her head with something, at least. She came in staggering, demanding to be seen for a confession,” he began.

Lucy had her suspicions of who it was. But she needed to be sure before she did anything about it.

“What did she tell you?” she demanded. Maybe the woman had just rambled and said nothing useful. Maybe what happened with Tommy and Hughes really had just been bad luck.

“Many things…many things that didn’t make sense. Something about killing a policeman. She said he was a bad man. That she felt no regret. Something about…about hearing a voice…um…”

“What else?” Lucy asked, even as her shoulders tensed at the mention of a murdered policeman. The priest stuttered. She sighed, flipping the knife in her hand and raising her eyebrows, watching the way his gaze tracked the glint of the lights and candles off the blade.

“She said something about…about there being a plan in place for the death of a holy man.”

Lucy felt her nostrils flare, jaw clenching. “And you relayed that information to Father John Hughes, yes?”

“Yes.”

She took a few steps forward, until she was standing directly in front of him, dagger still clutched at her side. Using the tip of it, she pressed it to the underside of his chin, forcing his head to tilt up from where it had fallen to bow against his chest, so he was looking at her.

“What was her name?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer. The priest hesitated, and she placed a little more pressure on the blade. Not enough to puncture the skin, but enough for him to know she wouldn’t hesitate to if he annoyed her.

“At first she just said her name was Shelby. But later she said it was Elizabeth Gray.”

Lucy let out a long, slow exhale of air. Her grip tightened on the dagger. Fucking Polly. It was because of fucking Polly that Tommy had nearly died.

It had been her suspicion since the beginning, but she’d forced herself to keep the rage that the thought created at bay until she knew for sure. No use getting all worked up over something and making accusations without having confirmation that she was right.

But with it now confirmed, there came other questions.

Because Polly had always been jealous of Tommy. Ever since he came back from France. While the boys were away, she had enjoyed a much larger amount of power and control over the company than she’d ever gotten before. And then the men came back, and she was pushed into her old position while Tommy seized control over everything. Lucy had seen, time and time again, the bitterness and frustration behind Polly’s eyes when things weren’t done her way. The contempt and buried resentment she held towards her nephew for taking the place in the family she believed should be hers.

It was possible that her visit to the priest had not been a drunken mistake, but a calculated, purposeful warning.

Lucy found it hard to believe that Polly would actually want Tommy dead. For all their arguing and disagreements over how the company should be run, she’d always figured that somewhere, deep down, Polly really did care for her nephew. At the very least she acknowledged that without him, the entire thing would fall to fucking pieces.

No, no. It did not seem right. And while she did not think that the suspicion was wholly unfounded, it made no sense. There was no real reason for Polly to suddenly decide she wanted Tommy dead now. Besides, if she did, there were far better ways to go about it than a contrived, risky visit to a confessional booth that could easily be traced back to her.

And Lucy had no doubt that Polly was smart enough to know that if she was going to kill Tommy, she would need to kill Lucy too. Otherwise she would never stop coming after her.

With that possibility omitted, the pieces started to come together in her mind.

The priest said that Polly seemed drunk out of her mind, and Lucy remembered the sight of her, laid up in a chair the day following Good Friday.

So Polly had staggered into this church, drunk off her ass, demanded to be seen for confession, and then proceeded to spill the beans on not only her past murder of Campbell, but of their plans to kill Hughes.

Intentional in the pain it had caused or not, it was stupid and careless. And she had not come forward to admit what she had done even as Lucy had their men running about trying to find the source of any leaks in their organization.

And no matter what Polly had meant to accomplish when she stepped foot inside this church, the outcome was the same: Tommy, laid out on a surgical bed while doctors worked feverishly to save his life. He would spend months recovering. Even if it had just been a simple mistake, it had been a colossal one.

She had almost lost Tommy. All because fucking Polly couldn’t keep her fucking mouth shut.

No better than any of the others, even though she thought of herself at a higher standard than them. Careless. Reckless. Stupid.

The wrath she had managed to keep at bay while sitting watchfully at Tommy’s bedside whilst he recovered was foaming up. She and Polly had never been friends. And while at first she hadn’t actually held any ill will towards her, years of being on the receiving end of nasty, backhanded comments and passive aggressive attempts to drive a wedge between her and Tommy had planted multiple seeds of bitter animosity in Lucy towards the woman.

And now she had almost been the cause for Lucy losing the most important person in her life.

She wanted to strangle her with her own bare hands.

“Now, listen, I’ve told you what you wanted–” the priest began. Lucy’s face snapped towards him. She’d had just enough of these fucking priests and their holier than thou dispositions. Their leery looks to the choir boys and girls as they passed them by. How they preached about love and forgiveness, and then exposed their hypocrisy through acts of violence, oppression, and rape, and somehow thought that because of the white collar and rosary around their neck, they somehow would be exempt from burning in hell like the rest of them.

She hated them all. Every last one of them.

Before the priest could finish his sentence, her arm holding the dagger slashed outwards and cut a clean, horizontal line across his eyes. Whatever words the priest was going to say were swallowed up a scream, hands flying to his face, clutching at the bloodied sockets where his eyes had been but a moment prior.

Seizing him with one hand around his shoulders, she pulled him to her, driving the knife into his torso, just below his ribs, and twisted it. The priest’s wails echoed throughout the empty church. Drawing the dagger back, she stabbed it into his stomach again, and again, and again. Steady, sharp jabs that had blood spurting from his abdomen. His hands clawed at her, but she batted them away with ease, sliding the knife one final time into his chest, directly into his heart, just holding it there, hands shaking with rage. She pulled it from his flesh like one would slice through butter, taking a step back and letting him crash onto his front on the ground, a burbling, whimpering sound still whining from his lips, body twitching until he finally went still.

“Jesus Christ, Lucy,” she heard Johnny mumble behind her.

Wiping her hand across her brow, she sighed, head tilting up, fishing around in her pocket for a handkerchief to clean the blade of her knife with before returning it to its sheath.

“Clean that up, will you, Johnny?” she asked, adjusting her coat on her shoulders, turning to begin to walk towards the door.

“Yeah, but…wait!” he moved to follow her, hand out like he was going to grab her arm, though he pulled it back when she cringed away from his touch. “Where are you going?”

“To the betting shop.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the most likely place that Polly will be.”

Johnny’s eyes widened. “Do you think that’s a good idea right now?”

She sighed, head tilting up. “Look, I’m not going to kill her, okay?” she huffed again at his unconvinced expression. “I’m just going to talk to her. Then I have to go take care of a few things at the office, and catch the train back to London,” reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her cigarettes. “Thanks for coming with me, Johnny.”

“Ah, it’s no problem, Luce.”

She pointed to the priest. “Weigh him down and throw him in the cut.”

“You don’t want your handiwork put on display?” Johnny asked. Sometimes they did that. As a warning or a message. She shook her head.

“No. The last thing we need is for them to try to retaliate. It’s better if this one just disappears.”

Johnny nodded, stepping over the priest. “Alright.”

“And Tommy wants to speak with you. After he’s recovered. He has a job for you. You and your wives and kids can camp out near the valley by Arrow House. No one will bother you.”

Johnny’s eyes sparkled at the suggestion that his family could relax in peace without fear of being chased off by angry landowners. “What sort of job, Lucy?”

“He’ll tell you when the time comes,” she promised. “For now, just enjoy the land and some peace.”

He flashed her that famous Johnny Dogs grin in response. Satisfied, Lucy nodded to him once gratefully, turning on her heel and walking to the door.

It wasn’t a terribly long walk back to the betting shop, one hand stuffed in her pocket while the other periodically brought her cigarette to her lips. All the while rage continued to simmer in her veins. She was well aware that she probably wasn’t the safest person to be around at the moment. The smart thing to do would be to just go to the office and then catch the first train back to London. But she had to get out what she needed to say to Polly. Or else it was going to eat her alive.

Stomping out her cigarette on the street, she pushed open the door to the shop, almost instantly hearing the buzz of Polly, John, and Arthur’s voices from the kitchen.

She didn’t bother taking off her cap, fingers twitching and flexing at her sides, walking slowly through the front sitting room towards the kitchen. Taking deep breaths to remind herself not to completely lose it.

When she stepped into the kitchen, it was to find that the double doors leading into the betting shop were closed. John was leaning against the wall, Arthur seated at the table in the center of the room while Polly stood near the counter.

The moment she saw her, any of the fragile self control Lucy had managed to cobble together evaporated in one single breath.

Every time she blinked, all she could see behind her eyelids were the stitches still in Tommy’s head, the blood running from his ears while she cradled him in her lap.

She strode across the room in a handful of quick strides, seizing Polly by the front of her blouse and slamming her back into the nearest wall, face crowded in close to hers. “You fucking bitch! Do you have any idea what you did!? Do you!?” she roared it in Polly’s face, giving her a small shake. “Do you know what you did!?”

Polly let out a small, surprised yelp when she first seized her, staring at her, mouth half open in sock. Lucy could vaguely hear Arthur and John shouting at her, grabbing at her shoulders and trying to pull her off of their aunt. She was practically shaking with anger, unable to think of much else aside from Tommy laying still in that hospital bed, the way that the doctors had told her about how they had to cut open his head and piece his skull back together. How heavy he’d been when he went limp in her arms on Ada’s stairs.

Her hands were dangerously close to Polly’s throat. She could feel her face twisting in a snarl.

“You fucking–”

“Lucy, stop!”

She was finally yanked away from Polly, John and Arthur shoving her away, placing themselves between them.

“What the fuck!?” John shouted, looking like he was seconds away from pulling his revolver on her.

“Lucy,” Polly had a hand on her chest, smoothing down the fabric of her blouse where Lucy had been clutching her. “Lucy, why…?”

“I know it was you who tipped off the priests,” Lucy growled. Polly froze, eyes widening. John and Arthur shared puzzled looks with each other.

“What?” Arthur asked. Lucy ignored them, not taking her eyes off Polly, who’s lips had thinned into a firm line, jaw clenching.

“Now, listen–” Polly started, drawing herself up to her full height as she prepared to defend herself.

“He almost died!” Lucy continued to rage. “He almost died because of you!”

She could have sworn Polly paled a little at the statement.

“You were drunk. Right?” wiping her mouth with her hand, Lucy started to pace from side to side across the small kitchen, her body desperately needing something to do with all the furious energy burning through her.

“Yes,” Polly said, voice steady despite the odd expression that had passed across it. Something that Lucy thought may have been guilt.

A scathing scoff passed Lucy’s lips, smiling humorlessly and shaking her head. “How could you be so fucking stupid?”

Polly’s face hardened. “You don’t get to talk to me like that–”

“Tommy’s in the hospital because of you, I can speak to you however the fuck I please,” Lucy spat, stopping her pacing with her hands on her hips, rocking back and forth on her feet, unable to fully stand still for fear that she would lunge at Polly again if she did. “God,” she laughed humorlessly, shaking her head, staring upwards. “You were supposed to be one of the smart ones,” she sighed, and when she looked back at Polly, she saw that that was probably the most hurtful thing she could have possibly said to her, the Shelby matriarch's cheeks turning pink, anger and humiliation building behind her dark eyes.

A sudden flood of tears welled within Lucy’s eyes, and she blinked them rapidly to try to keep them from escaping, shrugging her shoulders helplessly to Polly. There wasn’t much more she could do or say, she realized. The rage within her had not dissipated, but it had suddenly lost its activeness. No longer did she feel the need to scream and kick and snarl. Instead she just felt rather numb.

She realized, with a considerable amount of surprise, just how crushingly disappointed she was in Polly. Certainly she didn’t like the woman, nor did she often agree with her ideas or way of going about things, but fuck…

She at least had thought her competent enough to not stagger into their enemy’s lair and spill their secrets.

It was going to hurt Tommy to know it was Polly. He may not have always been the most obvious about it, but he cared greatly for his aunt. And he thought a lot of her. There was a reason why he allowed her such a high place in the company and family business, after all.

“You were careless and you were stupid,” Lucy said, drawing in a shuddering breath. “And now Hughes is still alive. Tommy will spend months recovering from his injuries. So I hope you’re fucking happy,” she could feel John and Arthur also staring at her, but she kept her eyes trained on Polly’s.

“Pol, is that true?” Arthur asked, turning around to stare at her. Polly didn’t look at him, continuing to glare at Lucy. But just beyond the hardness within her eyes, Lucy could see a flicker of shame and regret. Her jaw remained tightened defiantly. Lucy glanced briefly at Arthur and John, both staring at Polly expectantly as they waited for an explanation. When she gave none, Lucy looked back at her, cocking her head.

“Nothing to say?” Lucy asked. She doubted that Tommy would ever get an actual apology from her, let alone any of the rest of them. Polly was too proud for that. Lucy shrugged. It was more or less what she’d been expecting. “Okay,” she let her hands fall to hang loosely at her sides, giving one last shake of her head and a scoff. “This is why we don’t tell you things.”

None of them said a word as she stalked out the door, slamming it ragefully behind her.

∗ ∗ ∗

By the time she got to the office, she had calmed down a considerable amount. Getting out what she’d needed to say to Polly had certainly helped, though there was no doubt that it wouldn’t exactly help improve her relationship with the woman.

Whatever. There was nothing on earth she would be able to do to change Polly’s mind about her anyway.

Rubbing the heel of her hand against her eyes, Lucy pushed open the doors, slipping off her cap and stuffing it into her coat pocket.

“Hey, Lizzie,” she mumbled. Lizzie looked up from where she was sitting at her desk, typing away at her typewriter.

“What are you doing back in town? I thought you would still be at the hospital.”

“Needed to run a few errands. Could you get those reports from last week for me? Tommy wanted me to review and sign them before I catch the train back.”

“Sure,” Lizzie stood to go to Tommy’s office.

“Thanks,” pulling another cigarette out while she waited, she swung around while lighting it at the sound of one of the doors opening, Michael stepping out, hands sliding into his pockets.

“Lucy,” he looked nervous. She raised an eyebrow.

“Hullo, Michael.”

“Didn’t expect you to be back yet.”

“I’m not. Not really. I’m just doing a quick thing for Tommy and then catching the next train back to London.”

Michael nodded, looking down at his shoes. Lucy frowned.

“Is…uh…” he cleared his throat. “Is he taking visitors yet?”

“Not unless it’s an emergency.”

“Oh,” Michael wasn’t meeting her eyes.

Tommy hadn’t been in a particular mood to see anyone besides her and Ada. But as she took in just how nervous and jittery Michael seemed to be, she felt her curiosity being piqued.

“...Is there something wrong, Michael?” she asked gently. He looked up at her, then around the office. Taking a step back, he pushed open his door with one hand, standing back in a silent invitation. Lucy’s brows pinched.

Well now she had to know what was on the kid’s mind. Walking into the office, she took a seat in the chair across from his desk, a sudden, unnerving feeling washing over her when he closed the door behind them.

“I…um,” he leaned his hip against the desk, twiddling with his thumbs. “There’s something I need to talk to Tommy about.”

“Okay…” Lucy said, waiting. Michael sighed, looking everywhere but at her.

“It has to do with the priest.”

Shifting in the chair, she fiddled with her cigarette. “I’ve already dealt with the leak, Michael,” she didn’t offer any further explanation. He would probably hear about it all soon enough anyway.

But Michael shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s…” shoving his hands back into his pockets, his shoulders heaved when he sighed, suddenly looking far younger than he was. Like a lost little boy. “Father John Hughes, right?”

Her fingers tightened around the cigarette, jaw clenching at the name. “Yes, that’s right.”

“I know him.”

She went still. “What?”

“When I was…” he still wouldn’t look at her. “When I was a boy, before I was adopted, for a time I was in the care of the holy fathers.”

Lucy felt her stomach drop to her toes.

“I know…” he was struggling to get the words out. “I know things about him, Lucy. Things that might be useful.”

Her lips parted, nodding slowly. “Okay. I’ll tell him,” her voice was soft, but it suddenly seemed very loud in the quiet of the room. “You can come by the hospital tomorrow.”

Michael’s hands pulled free from his pockets, fiddling with each other, his eyes finally meeting hers.

“When you and Tommy killed the men who hurt you…” he trailed off, frowning. Lucy waited patiently for him to finish. “Did it help?”

She blinked slowly. “Yes,” she was surprised at how sure her voice sounded when she said it. “The nightmares didn’t stop,” she coughed. “Or the flashbacks, or…any of the rest of it, but knowing that they were out there, walking around, living their lives, and that at any moment they could show back up and…” she trailed off, biting her lip and unable to finish the sentence, instead looking down at the wooden floor. “It helped knowing that they couldn’t hurt me anymore. Or anyone else. They got what they deserved. And they died afraid and in pain. And I get to sleep at least a little more soundly at night knowing that.”

Michael was staring at a space on the wall across from him. “I want to kill him, Lucy.”

She knew all too well the rage she saw within his eyes. It was the same wrath she’d seen reflected back at her in the mirror every day since her ex-fiancé and his friends dragged her into that alleyway in the dead of night, her screams useless thanks to the roar of the thunderstorm booming above them.

“I know,” she said. “But we have to be careful. And it has to be at the right time,” glancing at the clock on the wall, she stood. “I’ll talk to Tommy.”

“Thank you,” he looked back at her cautiously. “I don’t want my mum to know.”

“Okay.”

He nodded, grateful, hands going back into his pockets. “I’ll come by the hospital tomorrow. Unless I hear otherwise from you.”

“Sounds like a plan,” moving to step around him, she stopped, gingerly resting her hand on his shoulder in what she hoped was some semblance of comfort. “I’m sorry.”

Michael looked down at the floor, a small pained sound coming from his throat, shrugging his shoulders. Lucy gave him a little pat; there wasn’t much else she could say, and slipped out the door. She glanced hastily over and signed the files Lizzie had set out for her, handing them back and bidding her goodbye, heading out the door and beginning the short walk to the train station.

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy didn’t say much when she reported to him everything she’d found out. He didn’t seem all too surprised when she told him about Polly. He was carrying the same suspicions that she was, after all. But he’d been quiet ever since. Not even her reminder that the doctors finally said he could go home soon seemed to improve his mood.

Poor Tommy. He was clearly trying to hide just how hurt he was over the knowledge of what Polly had done.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, she watched him where he was standing in the middle of the room, cigarette in one hand, eyes focused upwards at the dim, bluish light filtering in through the windows.

She couldn’t wait to be out of this place. It was far too dark and dingy for her liking.

Reminded her of being underground.

In his other hand, Tommy clutched a spoon, pouring helpings of morphine from a little bottle onto it, sliding the silver utensil between his lips. His features relaxed, eyes closed and features relaxing into bliss.

He was higher than a fucking kite.

Lucy frowned, not taking her eyes off him even as the door opened a nurse announced Michael’s presence to them. She knew that the morphine was necessary at the moment to keep him from being in insurmountable pain, but she’d heard about the addicts who’d gotten hooked on the stuff when they were taking it while healing from injuries during the war.

He needed to be careful to not over do it.

Michael said his piece, nothing particularly new from what he’d already told her, which she in turn had relayed to Tommy. And Tommy himself wasn’t much use, eyes still focused up at the windows, not even turning to face Michael when he spoke.

“We’ll let you know when it’s time,” Lucy assured Michael before he left. When she spoke to Tommy about it earlier, he’d been agreeable to the idea of Michael getting a chance at Hughes.

Would probably be best to talk about it when he was more lucid, though. His pain had been bad today.

He took another spoonful of the morphine, and she stood, watching Michael leave and close the door behind him.

“Give,” she held out her hands, taking the morphine and the spoon from Tommy, cupping his chin gently and angling his face so she could examine his pupils. “I think you’ve had more than enough, love.”

His eyes blinked at her lazily. “I feel like shit, Luce,” he mumbled.

“I know. Come lay down,” she guided him back to the bed, ushering him to lay down while she sat down on the edge of the bed again. “Doctors said some days will be better than others,” she glanced at the stitches in his head. No puss or other signs of inflammation or infection. He was healing well.

Tommy just closed his eyes, head resting heavily against the pillows. Lucy looked him up and down, unable to fight back the feeling that his sudden drop in mood didn’t just have to do with how he was feeling physically.

“I’m sorry about Polly,” she said, touching his hand. Tommy grunted, eyes downcast. Her heart broke for him a little bit. “I’ll get to take you home soon,” she tried again to raise his spirits. “We’ll get to see Charlie. And Shadow. And the horses. Get to sleep in a real fucking bed rather than this piece of shit,” she poked the lackluster mattress for emphasis.

“Yeah,” Tommy was just staring at the ceiling. Lucy tried not to be too put out at his reaction, considering he wasn’t really all there with her at the moment. But when she stood, his eyes snapped to hers, hand reaching to loop around her wrist. “Don’t leave me.”

Her eyes widened at the sudden desperation in his voice. “I’m just gonna put these down, love,” she held up the morphine bottle. He let go, albeit reluctantly, and she set the bottle and spoon on the bedside table. Sitting back down at his side, she smoothed his dark hair away from his forehead, giving him a gentle kiss there. “Try to get some rest.”

“Mm,” he closed his eyes. “You could lay down,” one hand patted against the center of his chest. “Right here.”

Lucy fought back a smile. “We tried that, remember? We got scolded by one of the nurses.”

Tommy made a face, mumbling something about getting the woman fired while he readjusted himself against the pillows. Lucy snorted.

“You get better fast, and then we can go home and I can lay on you as much as you want.”

He hummed like the thought pleased him greatly. “You promise?”

She raised an eyebrow. Jesus, he really was out of it. She wondered if he would even remember anything come morning.

“Yes, love, I promise.”

Whether her agreement brought him enough peace to fully relax, or he simply was that exhausted, it only took a few moments until he was sound asleep.

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