#so typical. doctors make the worst patients and all that

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

It's A Harmless, Little Joke

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch & Reader

Lucky didn’t stray for a second, dark brown eyes glued on the man as he silently typed away. Subconsciously he reached down, ruffling her soft fur, his shoulders easing slightly. Maybe having someone nearby could help keep his mind at ease for once.

A/N: this fic all started because of this post, and, well, a fic has been born! tw: mentions of wounds, mentions of blood, stitches, hospital settings, Robby having suicidal ideology

It had been an accident, truly, you weren’t planning on accidentally slicing open the palm of your hand with a knife. Sure, it meant you got to drive to the hospital with a rag tied tight around your hand.

Your service dog, Lucky, was whining gently in the passenger seat, head rested against the console between you.

“I’m sorry bud, it was an accident,” your smile was sad, he’d almost assumed the worst before realizing you hadn’t hit the floor.

His tail wagged gently, soft fur rubbing against the door handle as you very slowly pulled into a parking spot. God, doing everything one handed truly was the worst. Lucky’s head popped up as you turned off the car. You pocketed your keys before getting out of the car, patting your thigh so he would follow.

Lucky barked once, alerting anyone that was nearby that you were there. Reaching down with your non-injured hand you gently grabbed his lead, heading over to the front doors of the hospital.

For once it was almost empty, something you’d never seen before in your entire life. Lucky stuck close by your side, sitting at attention as you spoke with the woman behind the glass. Your hand was absolutely throbbing as you looped his lead around your hand, signing all the necessary paperwork.

“Okay, go ahead and take a seat, a nurse will call you back once a room is available,” her smile was friendly as she gestured to one of the many empty seats.

You nodded, tightening your grip on his lead and heading over to a chair.

“Sorry bud, I promise we’ll be out of here soon,” you patted his side, reaching up to scratch behind his ears.

His tail thumped against the tile, head resting against your knee while you both waited.

An older woman with blonde, almost white hair stepped out, your name echoing inside the waiting room. You nodded to Lucky, standing up carefully as you headed over to greet her.

“Hey there, is this your service dog?” She smiled down at Lucky, keeping her hands on the chart she was holding.

“Yeah, his name's Lucky,” you smiled as she led you into one of the rooms, gesturing towards the mostly upright gurney.

“Okay, we’ll go ahead and take a seat and a doctor will be with you soon,” she set down the chart, pulling the curtain closed before heading off to find someone to assist you.

Lucky sat beside the bed, eyes and body overly alert as she looked around. The sounds of the hospital weren’t loud, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable. Hell, you were struggling yourself just sitting inside the exam room.

Hospitals were something you typically tried to avoid if you could manage it, especially one like this. Most emergency rooms were noisy, a constant buzz as nurses and doctors ran about taking care of their patients that were brought in.

“I thought I heard something about a friendly service dog,” Mateo popped his head inside, a bright smile on his face as he headed over to your bedside.

“Hey! I haven’t seen you in forever, how’ve you been?” You’d been friends with Mateo for years, long before you had gotten Lucky as a service dog.

“Ahh, y’know, making my rounds around this place while keeping my attending sane,” he chuckled lowly, ruffling Lucky’s fur as he knelt down to be face to face with the pup.

Lucky’s tail wagged excitedly at seeing a familiar face, tongue lolling out the side of her mouth as she panted. The curtain pushed back further as who you assumed was the attending physician stepped over.

“Good morning, my name is Dr. Robinavitch, or Dr. Robby if you’d prefer, I know it can be a mouthful,” he pulled on a pair of gloves, stepping around Mateo to take a look at your hand.

His eyes stayed locked on Mateo who was happily playing with your dog, brows furrowed before turning his full attention to you.

“I assume you two know one another?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, more curious than anything.

“We do, I met Mateo back in college, different majors though,” you’d been studying classic literature at the time before the incident.

The air seemed to almost thicken for a moment before Robby stepped over to your bedside.

“Is it alright if I take this off?” He gestured towards the towel keeping your wound covered.

“Go ahead,” you held your hand out to him, wincing slightly as he carefully pulled the fabric from your skin.

The bleeding had stopped, most likely when you were waiting to be seen, which put your mind at ease that you weren’t actively dying. However, the skin around the gash looked more than irritated, almost inflamed as he gently prodded.

“Well, you’re definitely going to need some stitches, the cut isn’t too deep but this won’t heal on its own,” his voice was soft, a gravelly tone that ran down your spine like lightning.

Your eyes were locked on the way his hands nearly dwarfed your own. Something so large being so gentle itches that scratch deep in your brain. Mateo stood up from giving Lucky some long awaited pets and kisses, brushing off his shirt to try and get rid of the dog hair.

“Mateo, can you go and get Whitaker? This should be easy enough for him to do,” that quickly caught your attention, wouldn’t Robby be doing it for you?

“Sure thing, don’t go anywhere,” Mateo playfully winked at you, heading off to find whoever this Whitaker person was.

Robby glanced down at Lucky who had gone back to being her usual stoic self, eyes locked on the older man with an intensity you couldn’t quite place. A young man, kid more like it, pushed back the curtain with a nervousness that had you nervous in the same breath.

“This is Dr. Whitaker, he’s going to be doing your stitches today,” Robby placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder, lips pulling up into a small smile.

“Hi,” he seemed almost petrified to be in the hospital, but if Robby had faith, you could have some faith in him too.

You were too distracted watching Whitaker numb, and then stitch up your hand to realize that Lucky had followed Robby out into the lobby, body nearly glued to his side. The older man hadn’t noticed her until he sat down at his desk to look over charts, a startled yelp echoing as he noticed her.

“Hey, you need to be with your owner, not me,” he waved her off, turning focus back to the computer in front of him.

Collins walked over with a bright smile, her eyes locking in on Lucky almost immediately.

“Oh my gosh, who is this cutie?” She knelt down, petting Lucky’s soft fur.

“It’s a patient's dog, they’re having their hand stitched up by Whitaker right now,” he did his best to ignore Collins and the dog, the last thing he needed was a distraction.

She scoffed, petting Lucky a couple more times before pushing up and off the floor.

“C’mon, you could use a little relaxation in your life,” she laughed, nudging his shoulder before heading off to check on her patient from earlier that morning.

Robby sighed to himself, ignoring Heather’s words as the blank document stared back at him tauntingly. The day hadn’t started out too bad, most of the patients coming in due to self related injuries. However, it all seemed too quiet in the moment, a reminder that everything could go wrong in the blink of an eye.

“Hey, would it be okay if Y/N stays? I guess she was cutting up meat when she sliced her hand so she’s going to need labs done,” Mateo leaned over the edge of the nurses station, staring down at Robby.

“If she’s going to need labs done, that’s fine,” he waved off Mateo, trying to focus on what he was doing before.

Lucky didn’t stray for a second, dark brown eyes glued on the man as he silently typed away. Subconsciously he reached down, ruffling her soft fur, his shoulders easing slightly. Maybe having someone nearby could help keep his mind at ease for once.

The time passed quicker than was typical, Lucky keeping her warm body pressed up against Robby whenever he had a moment to himself. The hospital had been quiet nearly his entire shift, something that was almost unheard of in the medical field. Of course he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. By the time you had shown back up it was nearly time for him to leave himself.

“Hey, about time you came back down,” he chuckled softly, hand gently patting Lucky’s head.

“Sorry, we got really distracted,” you shrugged, hand wrapped tight to keep the wound dry and sterile.

Robby shook his head, waving away your worries of having had to come to the hospital and deal with getting your wound dealt with, along with anything else.

“It’s no problem, your pup kept me company,” his eyes crinkled as he smiled, more relaxed than he’d been in years.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as your eyes locked on Lucky who looked more comfortable than you’d seen her in a while. Well, when you weren’t at home that is.

“Oh, so that’s where she’s been,” you cleared your throat nervously, gently patting your thigh with your good hand to call her over.

Lucky bounded over with a gentle wiggle, sitting at attention as she assessed you, almost clinically for a few moments before deciding she was happy with her findings.

“I noticed she has a service dog vest on, what for?” He didn’t mean to pry, truly, but curiosity had gotten the better of him.

“She’s a suicide prevention dog.”

The smile wiped off his face faster than he could even blink.

Jesus, she’d been by his side the entire day, only to find out that she was a mental health service animal? Maybe Jack was right, he should find a therapist before he ended up doing something rash.

“Well, she’s a great dog,” Robby cleared his throat nervously, pushing himself up from his chair to head off. To where? He wasn’t entirely sure, but anywhere was better than being stared at by the rest of the staff after having that news dropped onto him.

You stood by idly, holding onto Lucky’s lead as you watched Dr. Robinavitch run off as if his ass was on fire. Maybe telling him wasn’t such a good idea.

“Hey, Mateo? Next time you see your boss, can you tell him I’m sorry?” You wanted to stay and apologize to him personally, but that didn’t seem like the best course of action.

His smile was gentle, all knowing in his own, weird little way.

“I will, and I’ll make sure no one else is around so he’s not more embarrassed,” it was nice knowing that he’d have your back, even under weird circumstances.

“I’ll see you next week, are we still on for lunch?” You’d had to cancel the last two times, mainly due to your own health rather than Mateo being busy at the hospital.

“Holding you to it,” he shot finger guns at you, back turned as he talked with the other nurses.

You’d be back in the hospital soon enough, whether it was because of your own clumsiness, or something else entirely. 

You’d find a proper way to apologize to Dr. Robinavitch

tagged: @gaylemonshark @lassie-farce @pear-1206 @sillybiscuitshepherdskeleton

[freedcmscall]

“Just lean on me, I’ll help you walk.” from eritvita!

@eritvita

A stubborn shake of the head even as Anders stumbles over his own feet. He's fine, really. Templars have simply been better at watching him, or perhaps he got too comfortable, too confident. It was only a matter of time before his tattered robes were recognised as something only mages wear. It was only a matter of time before his 'walking stick' was too clearly recognised as a staff. They would leave him be soon enough, the good folks of Darktown would never let them get him. He would never let them get him.

"Really, it's nothing." A blatant lie. The healer tested out putting weight on his leg; it nearly buckled under the pressure. Dammit. He reached deep inside, practically floundering about for any sense of mana, but to no avail. Really, whoever it was who decided that templars deserved the ability to strip a mage of their access to magic was a true monster. The attempt to pull forth magic temporarily walled off from his access brought forth a new surge of nausea that he forced down. Best not to get sick in front of anyone, best not to worry Roland more than he clearly already worried.

"Well, nothing I've not dealt with before, actually," he laughs. Laughter is the best medicine, or something. Or humour is the best coping mechanism. "No one laid a hand on you, did they?" Even through his own suffering, Anders always has to put the well-being of others in front of his own pain. It was something in his nature, innate and independent of his practice as a Spirit Healer. Simply it is who he is.

[asxgard]

This is for Frank Langdon where the both of you guys are doctors in the hospital but in different departments. However after a long and busy day requiring the efforts of the entire hospital, in your guys make it home to your apartment and he accompany you in the shower for shower sex. Just to hold each other and be close after the long day

Slow | one shot

Dr. Frank Langdon x f!doctor!reader

Requested

Summary: It was a shift with all hands on deck. You’re thankful that at the end of it, Frank’s hands are all over you.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Frank was interesting to write for! I think I might have a series brewing…

Also I’m not confident in my smut work, so I apologize if it’s lacking but I hope you like, anon!

Word Count: 1.1k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: afab!reader, SMUT (MINORS DNI), p in v, unprotected sex (seriously, wrap it up), mild angst, mild fluff, hospital setting, Frank is divorced, drugs?? what drugs, car crash victims/injuries of children, canon-typical gore, pet names (prettyboy, sweetheart)

not beta read

It was not unheard of for you to be down in the ED — for a consult, to bring a patient up to the ICU, or even just when you had a few minutes to spare. That was how you had met Dr. Langdon, over a pediatric patient who was going to need intensive care after a car accident. You had been down there to help stabilize before bringing him to surgery, where he would then come to the Pediatric ICU for the remainder of his stay.

Frank had been a livewire when you first met him, freshly divorced and on a downward spiral. His overtime was working overtime so he did not have to return to his quiet apartment. You weren’t exactly sure when something between you two clicked — likely somewhere between resuscitating a drowned little girl and sitting on the stairs hours later after she had been moved upstairs.

Neither of you really gave it a name, and with his divorce only months behind him, you had not wanted to title it. You weren’t really even looking for anything at the time, so being patient was not hard. Even as the months ticked on, you were content with late nights spent at his or lazy weekends at yours. No real dates, or anything concrete, but it was good.

The ED was a flurry of movement, of calculated chaos, bursting at the seams when you stepped off the elevator. It was usually those moments you questioned Frank’s sanity, for being able to thrive under the pressure of it all.

A mass pileup during the worst summer storm in recent memory had pulled a significant amount of doctors down to the ED, you included. You had heard a school bus full of kids had been involved, which was where you were planning to focus your attention.

To your relief, most of them had only been minorly injured, only one with a possible tibia break after being thrown from his seat. You moved your attention to the other patients, assisting where you were needed and assessing the kids who had come in.

You moved to get a suture kit for a head wound, and Frank stepped beside you. You did what you could to keep whatever it was between you a secret, but at the end of the day, you worked upstairs and didn’t particularly care about the ED rumor mill.

“Still expecting a few more ambulances.” He told you, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Anything serious?”

He shrugged, “Possible broken bones, and a severe laceration, I think.”

It was not just a few broken bones and a severe laceration. It was several. Add in the few slip and falls, a finger amputation, and some severe head injuries that had not been diverted to other hospitals, and you were back in the swamp. The influx never seemed to end and it made you want to beg for the sweet relief of the Pediatric ICU.

By the time you were back upstairs rounding out your shift, you were exhausted. Caffeine did little to pick you up and you wondered how Frank had been able to do that every day. Especially as a resident working extra hours.

He found you in the parking garage, lips in a smirk like he knew something you didn’t. And it was in the expression in his eyes that you found you were craving something equally salty and sweet.

Good thing Frank was both.

Frank’s lips were on you before you were even through the threshold of your apartment, hot, hungry and wanting. It was easy to fall into him, hands going into his hair while he helped you discard your scrub bottoms.

He had you against the wall beside the door, hands exploring, though as you bit his lip, he slowed down. Fevered kisses turned languid, beginning to take his time, which was a change of pace for him.

“You wanted to shower?” He breathed against your lips, his blue eyes piercing into you and making your stomach warm.

“The amount of shower injuries you must’ve seen surely should deter you, no?”

He smirked, “You’re no inexperienced rider, and I’m a professional.”

A brow quirked at his confidence, but it buzzed in your chest, “Oh, so you’re a professional now, prettyboy?”

“Oh, you think I’m pretty?”

You barked out a laugh, grabbing hold of his scrub top and pulling him to your bathroom. Clothes were discarded on the way, and something settled when the warm water hit your skin. Soft and unspoken, but known and quiet.

He held you close, arms wrapped around you in what felt like a tender moment. After such a long day, it was nice. His hand on your cheek, dragging his tongue along your lower lip before slipping inside your mouth.

You hummed when his other hand slipped between your legs, working slow circles on your clit. Your heart picked up and you hooked a leg around his hips, steadying your weight on him. He accepted the invitation, pushing you up against the tiled wall.

Heat was licking up your stomach before he was even inside you, growing buzzed on his mouth and the feeling of his hands on your body.

He kissed along your cheekbone, whispering in your ear, “You want me, sweetheart? Hmm, here?”

His fingers moved to your opening, teasing the entrance.

You moaned, gripping onto his shoulders. You attempted to move your hips, trying to gain more friction, “Fuck, Frank, please.”

You felt his smirk and he moved his head to look at you again, his eyes holding you steady. He trailed his hand along the thigh hooked around his hip, tugging it up a bit higher to allow him access. He braced one hand against the wall and moved just enough to line himself up, thrusting just enough to gain entry.

A low groan exited his throat, and you clenched around him. He didn’t move, just pulled your body closer, kissing along your jaw. You held onto him, enjoying the languid moment, relishing just how close you felt to him like that. Not just physically, but in a way that made your heart ache.

You kissed his shoulder and up his neck, adjusting your hips to take him deeper. He moaned and rested his forehead against yours, before he started moving — keeping his pace slow and deliberate.

You came undone wrapped around him, and he held you through it, never letting up or changing his pace. No words needed to be exchanged, just the soft moans and his low grunts. When his hips stuttered with his own release, he panted into your neck, still not letting go of you.

He swallowed and pulled back, eyes flickering across your face before a soft smile graced his lips.

“So you think I’m pretty?”

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that man is so pretty🥺

my requests are currently closed.

[sweetttsummer]

reachin' up for sunlight (just to be ripped out by the stem)

dr. robert chase x fem!reader

summary: Robert Chase and you fell somewhere, somehow, somewhat in love each other at what was the worst time of your lives. Now, a decade later, you've showed up at the one place he didn't think he'd see you, Princeton-Plainsboro, as a patient.

wc: 17k

tw: typical house medical stuff, Chase's family history (yes thats a tw) and some allusion to not a great family life for reader also!

author's note: this is a week late, but in my defense..its 17k words long. also, i'm not a medical doctor or even close to one so if you wanted accurate medical shit, wrong place! wrong person! this has not been beta read so apologizes!

have a request? ask away!

Dr. Chase took a moment to glance as he stepped out of the elevator door, and the next moment to breath in happy to be out of his own place. The long weekend off had done nothing for him, he felt exhausted. His weekend off had finally taken all the excuses he had left and he had pulled out the last box of things that his father had left him. 

It had been months (half a year? when did that happen?) at this point since he had learnt of his father’s death. When it first happened, it was like nothing had changed, he got the phone call, he remembers thanking the person for the information and then continuing on with his day. (Given the lawsuit that had found itself into his life, obviously it had bothered him more than he first thought.)

But then the box showed up. It had taken a week, and Chase had already learnt that his father left him no money (although it wasn’t shocking) so when the box showed up, he had been confused. Inside the packing bag, was a fairly decent sized briefcase. For the first week, the briefcase stayed on the dining room table. It’s not like he ate dinner in his apartment anyways. It haunted him often, and it took three days of it sitting there for him to realize it was the same briefcase he remembers his dad coming home from work with before he had left. That clarity was enough for him to take the briefcase and shove it against a nook, out of eye sight. And then came the long weekend half a year later, and what else was he suppose to do? Suddenly he was faced with the fact that five months later, the briefcase was still here and his father wasn’t. So he had picked it up back and opened it. 

There wasn’t a lot, the deed to a house his father had owned passed to Chase, some heirlooms he doesn’t recognize that he’s sure his father would be ashamed at the blank memory. The folder in which the deed rested in had been filled with other papers, some obviously were older than most. The already mentioned deed (and the pile of paperwork that comes with that), a pile of photos from before his father left, some mail that he’s sure his father’s lawyers had forwarded, and a bundle of letters, the top one doesn’t have a return address instead just “Robert” written in his fathers illegible writing. Papers that he couldn’t get himself to sort through so instead, he threw them on the table and moved along. The briefcase had ended up making its home at the front of his door, he had stared it down this morning before leaving thinking about easy it would be to slip his own things into it and use it. 

The beep of the elevator shakes him from the small turmoil he was suddenly throwing himself into. He forced his feet to start moving himself. 

The wooden bench was not meant to be sat on for hours: she had come to that conclusion about 20 minutes into camping in the hallway. That had been about an hour and a half ago according to her watch. Still, the lengthy medical file with her name poking out of the top was enough for her to deal with the numbness of her legs. The idea of wasting time did linger in the back of her head, she let out a small sigh and leaned her head up against the wall behind her, keeping her unfocused gaze on the ceiling. 

(Y/N) had found herself thinking about quitting her paralegal job at the law firm she had finally made a home at. Everything was going so well she had finally found herself a position that used her degree, and was in a town that she found the perfect balance of small but still full of things happening. Whatever bad luck she had when she was a teenager had finally been flushed out, or so she thought. 

About a week ago, she had fallen sick, quite literally. She had blacked out at her desk and came to by a small tap on her cheek, one of her bosses was crouched down near her obvious concern across her face. (Y/N) had felt embarrassed immediately and tried to sit up at her desk, but couldn’t seem to find her own strength and felt her face shake a little at the energy that was being used. Her struggle must have been obvious, as her boss had sent her home with a referral to a doctor she recommends. She was sent home by the first doctor with a simple answer of “stressed, dehydrated”, “You legal type work too hard, just give yourself the weekend” 

So she did. A whole weekend off, not answering her pager, her cellphone or home phone. It was a hard weekend, a reminder of the emptiness she had found herself in for adulthood. She had her job, her own pride, her health (for now), she tried not to think of the loneliness that lingered in the crawl spaces of her life. It would just lead to her dwelling on her teen years spent miles away, across oceans and railroads, with the one person who took in every piece of her and had shed light on the loneliness. No enough. 

She finally focused her gaze again and went back to staring at the tiles on the ceiling. She couldn’t think of him, she avoided it all these years and there’s no reason to think of it, of them, now. The ceiling is four by six tiles. She thinks to herself and it immediately brings her back to the ache of her butt against the wooden bench. A ding of the elevator torn her eyes from the ceiling and she went back to staring down the empty office’s glass door. 

Dr. Chase felt a few people slip out of the elevator behind him and he finally kicked himself into gear, moving towards the conference room. He was sure no one would be in yet, but he couldn’t stand sitting around anymore, better to hang out in the conference room where Foreman and Cameron might be able to pull him out of his own existential dread. Even if it’ll be through pissing him off, it would be better than this. 

Across the conference room, Chase noticed a small figure slightly slumped on the wooden bench. The color of her hair made his gut tighten just for a moment. The way it laid, the exact color, it all felt too close to someone he knew so long ago, someone he never thinks about anymore. It wasn’t on purpose, the way he immediately moved his feet towards the person on the bench. 

(Y/N) had heard the footsteps coming closer to her and ended up sitting up a little in her spot and looked up at the doctor who had stopped a little further than she thought he would. Whatever thoughts she was trying to avoid a few minutes ago, suddenly swarmed across her mind.  Dr. Chase didn’t even make it all the way over the person before his feet stopped him, it couldn’t be. 

There was a moment where they seemed to both size each other up, to debate if they had lost their minds. Chase couldn’t help the way his feet moved, they were use to walking towards her, not running away from her. 

“(Y/N)” Chase barely recognized his own voice. (Y/N) on the other hand had that voice burned into her brain. The lilt in the accent, the slight breathlessness laced in her name. It had been at least a decade since she heard him say her name. Still she could pick him out by voice alone. 

(Y/N) straightened her back against the wall in her sitting position and opened her mouth to reply. Nothing came out. Instead, the unanswered letters she had sent 10 years ago flash across her mind. She finally closed her mouth and kept her gaze up. He looked mostly the same, older of course, a decade apart will do that to a person. He had let his hair grow out, and despite the shocked look on his face, he still had the same rosy undertone in his cheeks. 

Chase took her silence to really look at her. He thinks of lingering teen hands, of giggling in the dark, of the only soft thing he had when everything was falling apart around him. There had been plenty of parties in his teenage years, so many girls, so many things he hid away but (Y/N). (Y/N) had been the one person he never spoke about, he had done his best to ignore the betrayal he felt when she left and she never reached out to him. He had packed it away. His father’s briefcase all packed with his things flashes in his mind. 

“What are you doing here?” Chase finally speaks up again, he rolled his shoulders a little and tried to put on a front, tried to pretend he wasn’t aching at the sight of her now. She still mostly looked the same, a little thinner than he thinks is natural for her, slightly hollow in her face in places that shouldn’t look like that. He tore his eyes away and glanced over to the empty conference room, House’s empty office. He ignored the voice telling him something was wrong. He had looked away and she could find her voice again. 

“Robert” (Y/N) finally spoke said the only thing that came to mind.  She didn’t know how to answer his questions, she wasn’t here to even ask his professional opinion, she had no idea he was even here. She had last seen him so far from here she never imagined he would have came all the way to New Jersey. 

Thankfully, the moment died quite quickly. Sadly, it was broken by the voice by House. 

“Chase, tell Wilson here..” House didn’t finish his sentence when he noticed Wilson had taken his chance to slip away, not wanting to hear whatever shitty thing House was going to yell across the hall to Chase. 

Chase clenched his jaw and kept his eyes trained on House as he limped over to where Chase stood. 

“Not now House,” Chase mumbled. 

“Dr. House?” (Y/N) tried to confirm if this was the man she was told could help her. House acted like he didn’t hear her and went to say something else to Chase before (Y/N) stood up quickly and held her medical file out towards House. 

“My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and I was referred to you. I work under Stacy Warner and-“ (Y/N) was cut off by a small wave of fatigue. She felt her legs shake a little at the act of standing up so quickly. Chase didn’t think twice  when he moved a little closer, let his hand linger around (Y/N)’s  arms. He stopped himself before he could actually put his hand on her, there was something scary about the idea of touching her again after all this time. It felt like another lifetime when he had the chance to be able to touch her freely, and her disappearance from his life felt like enough for a sign that she didn’t want him to touch her anymore. 

His voice soften when he spoke, “Hey, you should sit back down,” he kept his hands lingering near his elbow as he came closer to her, a little nudge to get her back onto the bench. (Y/N) listens without thinking and falls back onto the wooden bench. Her medical file is still in her hand and slightly held up towards Dr. House. “If you could at least look at it, tell me anything please,” (Y/N) tried to get Dr. House’s attention. 

House didn’t seem to be looking at her, or the medical file. Instead he had his gaze trailed on Chase, on the hand that he pulled away and shoved into his coat pocket when he noticed the lack of response from (Y/N). House finally caught Chase’s eye for only a moment before Chase immediately looked away. It was the only response House really needed. It had been a while since something had Chase on edge. House had been wondering if after the lawsuit Chase had caught if he decided to simply shut down, but his actions now seemed to say otherwise. 

House barely glanced at (Y/N) before snatching the medical file from her hand. (Y/N) let out a small sigh and leaned her head against the wall again, her eyes closed for a moment in relief. Dr. House grabbed my file, he’s opening it, Stacy had told her this would be the hardest part and she did it. (She can’t help but internally laugh at the fact that the hardest part is Robert Chase standing. right. there. But Stacy couldn’t have known.) 

Dr. House barely glanced at the file before swing it towards Chase for him to take it. Chase clenched his jaw but took the file and held it closed. 

“You ever spend time in Australia?” Dr. House leans against his cane as he finally stares down (Y/N). 

(Y/N) couldn’t help but glance over to Chase who was staring down House. She thought of her time in Australia. She had met Robert by accident, when she was working some fancy event that he was attending as a teenager. He was so obviously a bad idea, but he made her laugh and she could see the insecurity behind whatever fake gusto he was displaying. She remembers how he had almost blown her off when he realized that he wasn’t going to be able to fuck her tonight. She tries not to dwell on the years they spent attached at the hip. She tries not to think of all his secrets she had been holding close to her heart. Sometimes, when she focuses enough, she can remember the first time he had confessed that he thinks(knows) that no one else will ever understand him the way (Y/N) did. 

“I lived in Australia for 5 years when I was 16. My mother wanted me away from my father, and apparently across the country wasn’t enough, so she took me to the further place she could think of. It’s been so long I doubt it’s connected, I just barely started getting sick.” (Y/N) answered keeping her gaze away from Chase. 

House let out a little “huh” before he opened his mouth to say something else. Chase immediately spoke up to stop him from asking what he knows House will ask, “No.”  House glanced over Chase’s shoulder and noticed Cameron and Foreman making their way over to the both of them. 

House snatched the medical file, that Chase still hadn’t open, and met Cameron and Foreman half way and pressed the file into Foreman’s hands. Chase took a moment to glance at (Y/N). He thought of how much it hurt when she left, he thinks of her promises that she would write, that being physically separated didn’t mean anything with them. She felt his eyes on her and pulled her eyes from the ceiling, Chase still seemed to have her memorized because he could tell she was going to say something about the situation and he wasn’t sure he could handle it. He immediately turned away and went over to where Cameron was speaking. 

“It says here she had a cold about a month ago….”

“She also lived in Australia when she was 15 and now she seems to be 30. Weird right?” House said in an obnoxious tone that had Chase glaring at him already. 

Cameron’s attention is pulled from the file as she looks at Chase slightly confused. “You know her?” She asked ignoring the glare Chase is wearing. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Foreman said as he quickly walked over to (Y/N). She seemed to be slightly falling asleep against the wall, her head falling a little before she realized and slightly stood up. Foreman grabbed her shoulder a little and shook her awake a little. House watched as Foreman made sure she was aware of where she was, he noticed the way Chase’s jaw clenched at Foreman’s attention and grabbed the file out of Cameron’s hand. 

“Get her a room, and come back to me with information.” House made his way back to his office. Cameron glances at Chase for only a second before she made her way over to (Y/N) and helped Foreman out. Chase didn’t move, keeping his eyes on House his jaw clenched, “Well. Go!” House motioned with his cane. 

Chase had waited for House to make himself comfortable in his office before he took off. He didn’t even mention to Cameron and Foreman that he wouldn’t be around. He just needs a few moments to himself, the irony of how much he didn’t want to be alone an hour ago wasn’t lost on him. Chase was staring at the inside of his locker, he had walked into the doctor locker room without thinking and opened his locker like he was going to go home. The locker was full of his own items and he tried to take inventory. Instead he lost himself in the memory last time he had spoken to (Y/N) face to face.

They were both 21, he never had a secret with (Y/N) since he first opened up. Often, he remembers feeling like she had came into his life and without any medical school, knew how to perform open heart surgery, knew his insides without any problems. This was the first time he had held a secret from her. He had confirmed his medical school entry date and had been scared to mention it to her. ow, he couldn’t avoid it anymore, he was leaving tomorrow and the guilt at not telling her soon ate him alive. For the last few years it was just them, together, Chase knows he has his sister, and really his mother is still alive, but neither of them seem to see Chase. They see his hands cleaning up their mess, his voice lecturing them about something new. Then there was (Y/N). Every time he imagines not having (Y/N) it feels like those first ten minutes he was locked in his father’s office for the first time. He feels the ache in his hands from pounding on the wooden door, the panic in his chest. 

“Bobby,” (Y/N)’s singsongy voice came from behind him. 

He had picked her favorite little coffee shop he had shown her. She always claimed she liked all his spots equally, but something about the beach side patio this one had always made her brighten up a little. He likes to think it has to do with the fact that they can easily walk to the little beach cave they use to spend time in. He hoped it was enough to make her not hate him. 

He knew he wasn’t just dependent on her, it was mutual. She rarely spoke of her family, of the father and brothers she was pulled away from in the States. When she did speak of her mother it was in the same tone Chase spoke of his own. Distain, slightly laced with the longing want for someone, anyone to care. They both chalked it up to teenage angst as they grew together, not wanting the other to think them broken. It was a precarious situation. Both afraid the other would leave if they were broken, both holding each other together. 

(Y/N) was, as always in Chase’s eyes, beautiful. She was a little frazzled, caught being late as she was between class and work.She went to lean down next to his seat and without thinking he pulled himself up a little more, knowing what was coming. 

“Thought I told you not to call me that,” Chase mumbled a little as she pressed her lips against his cheek in a swift kiss. When she straighten up again and started towards the seat across from him, Chase stopped her and reached out to grab her hand. She stopped her movement without question and he pressed a small kiss onto the top of her hand before dropping it and letting her settle into her seat. 

She hummed a little at his comment, “Would you believe me if I said I forgot?”

Chase laughed a little under his breath and rolled his eyes slightly playful. 

(Y/N) took a moment to glance around the coffee shop. When they first really became friends, Chase would insist on meeting up somewhere, not wanting to expose (Y/N) to his mother, and (Y/N) hadn’t questioned it not wanting to answer questions about her own mother. This coffee shop had been in the middle of all the trips and for a while it didn’t mean anything to her. Most of them didn’t matter to her, what mattered was the company with her. What mattered what light blonde hair and rosy cheeks and blue eyes set in that slightly mischievous glare. What mattered when it came to their breakfast dates was how Chase would slip his feet towards her under the table, press his leg against hers just to feel her. What mattered was how easily it was kiss for kiss with them. 

Chase pulls out the folder he had put together, he was prepared, had his whole schedule, what halls he’s being put into. He had taught himself to have it all ready. 

“I was going to tell you sooner, but..” Chase trails off and keeps his eyes locked on the top of her head as she skimmed throughout all the papers he had pushed across the table. (Y/N) didn’t say anything for a few minutes, as she looked through the papers. Chase kept trying to find an excuse as to why he waited last minute to tell her he was leaving for medical school. It was never a secret this is what he wanted, had never let himself dream about it out loud unless (Y/N) was the one listening. Now, he was felt the guilt of abandoning her for this dream looming in his throat. (Y/N) took a sip of her now cooled down beverage and pushed the papers back into the middle of the table. 

“Can I keep this paper? Or should I just write the address down? Can you even get mail in a college hall? ” She said keeping her eyes on the paper. She ignores the abandonment that’s growing in her own gut, tries to figure out what can work with them. She knew this was coming and she wished he had told her sooner, but at least he told her. 

“What?” 

“You need an address to be able to get mail, as far as I understand the postal service at least.” (Y/N) took a sip from her drink once more and kept her hands on the cup and squeezed it just a little. 

Chase couldn’t help but laugh a little at her. He glanced down to the way she was squeezing her take out cup, reading it for the anxious movement it was he put his hand onto the table, his palm facing up. The dread he felt a few minutes away seemed to simply melt away. Of course it was going to be easy, it always is with (Y/N). She would write, he would reply, and they would survive. It would be even easier than it was now, besides the fact that they’d never actually see each other. Okay so maybe not easier, but worth it anyways. 

(Y/N) looked at the palm open hand Chase had stretched towards her and immediately dropped her hand into his.  He tightened his grip on her hand for just a few seconds before relaxing his grip and keeping his gaze on their clasps hands. 

“Just write to my current address, I’ll be back every other weekend to see my sister. It’ll make it easier to come knowing your letters, hand delivered,  are waiting” Chase said trailing off a little at his final statement. (Y/N) hummed in reply. They both see it for what it is, an invitation to wait for him every weekend, to just hold on during those weekdays. 

Chase squeezed his eyes closed at the memory. It continued without his permission. He remembers the first weekend he came back to visit his sister. It was a weekend his father decided to play his part, he was there, asking questions after question about medical school. More importantly,  (Y/N) had written a letter explaining that she had to leave (the details were blurry but Chase knew how much she didn’t like talking about her family) but she would keep writing, and he should write back, she misses his words, really his voice but his words will do for now.  Chase had spent that whole weekend rereading the letter, had recited the letter in his mind when his father was ranting about the medical school Chase had picked. Even now, all these years later, he can see her handwriting, her words at the end, in his head. Sorry I’m not actually there, but let’s pretend I am, we’d be sitting in that little grove you’ve hidden away from your sister, with shitty coffee made by whatever maid your father hired this week. Go do that. I’ll find some shitty coffee on Saturday, maybe if we’re lucky we’ll be doing it at the same time. (Hope to ) See you soon. 

Sick of the flashbacks, Chase presses his locker door closed and looks around at the empty locker room.  

_______

Chase slipped into the chair next to Cameron in the conference office. He put down the tray of coffee and takes his own out from the slot before Cameron and Foreman grabbed theirs. 

“Thought I hired you as a doctor, not an intern?” House spoke as he wrote on the white board. 

Chase glared at his back for just a moment before using a second to try and stable his voice, “Good thing I didn’t get you a coffee then”

Foreman slid a copy of the medical file he had made towards Chase. Chase’s eyes went to the file, he stared down the name sticking out from the top. (Y/N) (Y/L/N). He grabbed the file and held it closed but moved his gaze to House who had finished his nonsense on the whiteboard. Now that he wasn’t blocking it, Chase could see it was a rough timeline. His grip on the file tightened and he heard Cameron let out a sad sigh. 

“At 16, (Y/N) moves to Australia and she leaves when she’s 21,” House took another marker and circles the area between those years, “ Which makes these the Robert years,” House moves around on his cane for a moment mimicking a pace.

“She got sick a week ago, how is this relevant?” Foreman knew it was useless to ask the questions but he couldn’t help it. 

“Why would it not be relevant?”House leaned against his cane, “Parasite,  STD, spider bite, botched abortion who knows what happened in Australia?” 

Chase took his eyes off the whiteboard at House’s words the glare in his eyes back. After a second he finally found the courage and opened up the medical file to pretend he could handle this. His eyes immediately focused on the photo copy of her drivers license photo. 

“Can’t you torture Chase on your own time?” Cameron mumbles a little as she opens her own file and seems to focus on something inside of it. “Botulism fits most the symptoms?” 

“Botched abortion could have left the little Chase attached to her uterus, growing this whole time.” House ignored Cameron and kept his eyes on Chase. Chase looked up and gave House the most bored look he could muster. He couldn’t get himself to tell House anything. 

“It’s been too long for Botulism, but heavy metal poisoning could mimic it depending on the metal?” Foreman stated although he knows only Cameron seems to be paying attention.  

“She’s a paralegal who lives in a fairly decent area, where would she be exposed to that much of any heavy metal?” Cameron shut the file and finally looked at House who was staring down Chase still. At this point House typically picks a side and decided something. House gives Cameron a look of confusion, “Sorry” He hisses a little sarcastically “haven’t heard from my whole team, can’t decide just yet.” 

Chase didn’t think as he ran his thumb over the little black and white photo. He was listening just barely and realized both the options would give House an excuse to go diving into (Y/N)’s current life. He couldn’t seem to focus on the actual symptoms but when House hissed he looked up and noticed all three pairs of eyes on him. 

Cameron’s pity was written across her face and Chase clenched his jaw at how bad it made him feel. Foreman looked away immediately and focused on House instead. “Both can be found with blood testing,” House finally gave up and leaned back in his chair, cane sitting between his legs. 

All three doctors took the dismissal for what it was and stood up. House cleared his throat and stared at Chase a little dumbfounded, “Not done with you.” House waved away Cameron and Foreman. Cameron patted Chase’s arm as she passed him and exited, Foreman right behind her. House made his way into his office, Chase behind him. 

_____ 

In the hospital room, (Y/N) sat up in the bed a little at the sight of Dr. Cameron and Dr. Foreman. The last few hours had been hard for her, sitting in the dull hospital bed reliving those few moments with Chase over and over. She had gone from shocked to angry to sad to shocked multiple times and now she’s landed on simply dazed. She saved her lamenting of those years for dark nights in her empty apartment, for dreams that she pretended weren’t memories and now she couldn’t do that. The second she saw him, she had remembered the weeks she’d spent waiting for a reply, she remembers writing letter after letter, and never getting once back. There was a year of her life that she swore she spent more time at her local post office and PO box than her own little shitty apartment. It had taken a little over a year before she wrote her final letter to Chase. She wasn’t sure why he never replied, wasn’t sure what happened, but whatever it was, she wanted the best for him. She had ended this letter different than most, no references for a future, instead a simple goodbye. 

“We’re going to need a few samples, blood, urine, the simple stuff” Dr. Cameron smiled at her. 

(Y/N) liked Dr. Cameron so far. She had been polite, and managed to make some small talk when she and Dr. Foreman had helped get her settle into the hospital. She spoke kindly to the nurses and despite the awkwardness that came from the fact that everyone seemed to know Chase, Cameron treated (Y/N) as well as she can imagine a doctor could. 

“If this is for drugs, I’ve already admitted to smoking weed in the past but its been years, and my file is completely up to date and correct about any medication I have taken,” (Y/N)   said as Foreman grabbed some tools close by and motioned for her arm. (Y/N) let him take it and looked away as he took some blood. 

Cameron noticed the way (Y/N) seemed a little squeamish at the needle and moved to look at her. “We’re going to look for any sort of toxicity within your blood. You might have been exposed to something that’s causing your condition.” 

(Y/N) had a confused look on her face for a moment she went to open her mouth to speak back, try and understand what she possibly been exposed to. Cameron watched as (Y/N) seemed to lose her train of thought and in seconds, (Y/N) started to seize. 

_____ 

“I don’t want to talk about her,” Chase started once House had settled himself into his chair. 

“Really? Couldn’t tell,” House moved a little in his chair, “Problem is, you need to do your job, which involves, speaking.” House emphasized at the end of his sentence. 

“Just let me run the blood tests, or any of the lab work, I’m sure Cameron would like a break from the lab.” 

House took a moment to rest his feet up on his desk and stared Chase down for a moment. 

“I didn’t do anything to her, I haven’t seen her in years. She’s sick and I have nothing to do with it.” Chase said. He’s been repeating the same phrase in his head since he first heard Cameron and Foreman debating the diagnosis. She’s sick. She’s sick. She’s sick. 

“What are her symptoms?” House asks. 

Chase rolled his eyes, knowing full well that House had already memorized the file. When he got no answer, House stood back up and walked towards Chase and snatched the medical file Chase had been gripping this whole time. “Go away, you’re no fun to me.” 

House went to his office door and held it open, waiting for Chase to leave. Instead, Cameron filled the doorway, “She seized.” Cameron was obviously out of breath, “She’s been given lorazepam and-“ 

Chase took the medical file back from House before interrupting Cameron speaking, “Brain stem seizure could be a possibility” he mumbled a little under his breath as he opened the file and ran his thumb across the photo again and glanced at the medical tests already performed by previous doctors. “She’s always had high blood pressure,” Chase kept the file open but looked up to meet House’s gaze. House took a moment and focused his gaze on Chase before turning to Cameron

“Put her on Reteplase,” House started to walk away. 

“We should do an MRI first, it might not be a brain stem seizure, Reteplase can-” Chase was cut off before he could finish. 

“You know where the patient is, you know where the MRI machine is. Do it yourself.” House looked at Cameron “Give her Reteplase and monitor her”

_____ 

Chase didn’t pray that often anymore, but he almost went to the hospital chapel when Cameron said he would help him get the MRI before she gave her Reteplase. He tried to ignore the obvious pity Cameron had when she said she’d help him. He’s sure he looked like a kicked puppy when he realized House was going to force him to see (Y/N) no matter what, at least it’s working to his advantage. 

Cameron slipped (Y/N) into the MRI room and Chase felt himself sit up straighter in the computer chair as he watched them chit chat with each other. He didn’t think about his actions as he pressed the speaker button to be able to hear them. 

“Montgomery’s library is a little bigger than the this towns, but I think the university library tends to be the best for content,” (Y/N) had been speaking in a slightly out of breath tone. Chase wondered about her oxygen stats and leans forward on his seat to really look at her. Cameron’s voice was in the background as she replied to (Y/N)’s comment but Chase wasn’t pay enough attention to make out the words. Still, Chase felt a burst of joy at how easy Cameron connected with patients. 

Instead, he noticed the way (Y/N)’s hand shook gently, a slight tremor, another symptom he knew. He noticed the dark red nail color she had on, slightly chipped and obviously done by her own hand since her non dominant hand seemed a little messier than the other. The fact that she had already pulled Cameron into a full conversation effortlessly was also familiar. He remembered how easy it was to just listen to her. When they were young he remembers telling her he hated the silence, he had so much of it. She had always feared over talking, taking too much of the space. He smiled a little at how much stayed the same when he noticed the sheepish look on (Y/N)’s face at the fact Cameron had to stop their conversation to work. Cameron had slipped back into the computer room once she had gotten (Y/N) settled. 

There was a moment of silence as Cameron checked the systems. “She’s nice,” Cameron finally broke the silence. 

“Didn’t like her because she was nice,” Chase couldn’t help the way his defense seemed to come up. He still felt like he was in the room with House. If he looked over he’s sure he would catch Cameron rolling her eyes. Chase opened his mouth to apologize, maybe even to thank Cameron for her help, but was interrupted by a voice through the speaker. 

“Dr. Cameron, I should have probably mentioned that enclosed spaces aren’t exactly my favorite” (Y/N)’s voice held a slightly nervous shake. 

Chase clenched his jaw and looked at the machine throughout the window, he felt Cameron’s eyes on the side of his head and he reached his hand out to the speaker button and thought about what to say. His hand fell short once he found his own thoughts and he looked over at Cameron, “Ask her to tell you about the worst movie she’s watched recently,” He said in a slightly whisper, as if (Y/N) could hear through the glass and the machine. 

Cameron turned to glare at Chase but the look fell from her face after a moment, he had turn his gaze back to (Y/N) in the machine. His hand was resting near the speaker button, she could tell he wanted to do something, felt the small bouts of desperation that slightly radiated off him. Without thinking, she reached past his hand and pressed the speaker button. 

“No worries (Y/N), close your eyes and stay still it’ll go by really quickly” Cameron took her finger off the button. 

Cameron watched on the screen as (Y/N) settled and closed her eyes. The tension of the enclosed spaced was written across her face and when she glanced out the window and saw (Y/N)’s hand in a tight fist. Chase’s hand balling itself into a fist stole Cameron’s attention for just a second. 

Cameron let herself start looking at the scan and for a few seconds she had focused in enough to forget the situation around her, until she went to point something out to Chase and he seemed to still be staring through the glass focused at the way (Y/N) was relaxing her fist just to clench it again. Cameron had felt like she had learnt everything there was to know about Chase in the years working with him. Even sleeping with him hadn’t really taught her anything about him. She had used that experience as an excuse to write him off completely, an arrogant pretty boy doctor with daddy issues, they were everywhere in this field. Now she was faced with a quick reevaluation of him, had to put him into this new light. His other hand rested against his mouth in that same stubborn way he rested when he was resisting the urge to speak up. She had blown off the obvious connection with Chase and (Y/N) as a teenage year mistake that Chase was too proud to face, but that didn’t explain why he seemed to care that she was uncomfortable in the machine, explain the motion Cameron had caught of his thumb tracing (Y/N)’s picture. In just a few seconds Cameron made her decision and reached out to press the speaker button. 

“Hey (Y/N), do you like movies?” Cameron said in a soft voice and watched through the window as (Y/N)’s fist unclenched a little, Chase pulled his hand away from where it rested near the speaker button. 

(Y/N) hummed in response obviously doing her best to take the distraction given to her. 

“I saw this terrible movie in theaters last week.” Cameron continued trying to search for the last movie trailer she had seen on television to sustain her lie “Worst thing ever, something about calls? Ever heard of it?” She leaned back in her chair once she heard (Y/N)’s voice in a steady stream start to talk about what movie she thinks Cameron was referring to.  

She let go of the button and glanced over to Chase. (Y/N)’s voice was gentle in the room and Cameron noticed the way Chase settled back into his seat, and finally started to look at the work on his screen trying to catch anything in the scan. For a few minutes it went on like this, Cameron and Chase exchanging mumbles of “nothing here” at each scan loading, (Y/N)’s voice through the speaking filing the emptiness. There was a moment of lull in which (Y/N) had tampered off, slightly embarrassed at how quickly she had let herself start to ramble. 

Without taking a chance to look away from the scans, Chase reached his hand out, pressed the speaker button and, out of an old habit, something that was buried inside him from years ago, spoke out “Where’s the unmute button?” 

In the MRI machine (Y/N) felt herself lose her breath at the words. The phrase always lingered in her mind when she needed the boost of confidence even all these years later. She wishes she could remember when the joke had started, the first time Chase had joked about how she stops herself without any warning, how jarring it felt like someone had pressed the mute button on their conversation.The insecurity in her own voice had slowly started to disappear when she realized that Chase really did like hearing her ramble, it took him out of his own mind. He had started asking for the unmute button as a joke whenever he felt the heavy air of silence and eventually it just became a phrase she took as a sign that she was being listened to, that she, herself, was being listened to. 

She didn’t know what was happening outside the machine so she assumed that the tension she felt came from hearing the phrase. She let out a small breath and closed her eyes once more before she started speaking again. This was something she could do, she understood her role when she heard “unmute button” even after all this time. 

Cameron heard (Y/N)’s breath hitch for just a second before she continued on her rambling. Almost in tune with her, Chase froze until she started rambling again. 

Cameron opened her mouth and started to say something, “Chase..” She tried to find the right words. 

“It’s been ten years, it really doesn’t matter.” Chase didn’t let her continue. He leaned back into the office chair and let out a small sigh  “The brain stem looks completely clean, not a single sign of seizure” He sounded obviously defeated. 

Cameron didn’t say anything but instead stared at the scans. She tried to find an obvious sign of anything wrong in the scans they already had. Before she got the chance to speak Chase stood up and rushed out of the computer room. 

Cameron pressed the speaker button “Okay (Y/N), we’re all set, I’m going to come help you out.” 

—— 

 Chase knew that Cameron could handle (Y/N) and while the idea of them alone made him a little nervous, the idea of having to face (Y/N) was more nerve wracking. Instead, Chase had stopped by and visited Foreman in the lab to check on the samples. Foreman glanced up thinking it was something important. When he noticed it was just Chase he went back to reading the sample slide. Chase took a stool out from under the counter and sat next to Foreman, but kept himself facing the counter. He didn’t know exactly what he was here for, Foreman seemed to have it almost finished and they had rarely hung out and chit chatted for fun. 

“Brain stem is clean.” Chase finally spoke, best to land on the one thing they do have in common: the patient. Chase ignored the way his gut tightened at the idea of (Y/N) as a patient. She’s sick. She’s sick. She’s sick.  

“The toxicity report came back clean also,” Foreman let out a small sigh as he leaned back and crossed his arms, “Her liver functions seem fine, her blood seems a little high in white blood cells but she just got over a cold a few weeks ago.” 

Chase had his hand in his coat pocket, squeezing his fist for a moment as he tried to understand what was happening. 

“You’re stupid for letting House get to you this much,” Foreman mumbled a little as he started cleaning up the blood samples he had. 

“Like he’s never gotten to you?” Chase felt himself slip back into the amour he had built himself so long ago. Right, this is why he sought out Foreman. He exists as a reminder of the person he had crafted himself into here.  

“I hide it better than you,” Foreman mumbled a little before stopping his clean up, “Go home, or go see the girl, but stop mopping around, it’s embarrassing” Foreman shrugged a little as if it would make the statement softer. 

“Not that easy,” Chase mumbled as he glanced at the tests that Foreman had ran. 

There was a soft click before another voice took over the room,  “Actually, it is.” House spoke, “Cameron says she’s stable,” House glanced at the results to the tests that sat on the counter and turned to leave the room. “Keep your pagers on” House yelled from the hallway. It was the closest to a dismissal they have ever gotten from him. 

_____

Chase had tried to go home. He sat in the locker room with Cameron and Foreman and they all grabbed their stuff. He mimicked the motions, took off his doctors coat, grabbed his items ,Cameron even offered him a ride home, but he couldn’t do it. Foreman cupped his shoulder for a second before he left and Cameron just mumbled a little, “Get some sleep” when they both finally left. The silence of the locker room was enough to push Chase out the door, but not enough to stop his feet from heading to the third floor where (Y/N)’s room was. 

Once he got to the room he realized he didn’t know his plan. It had been so long since he didn’t feel prepared, since he felt ungrounded. His tether had been cut loose for a short time when his father died, but he quickly recovered, shoved the thoughts away and weighted himself down enough that he didn’t think anything would shake him again. He recalled the way (Y/N) had been sitting on that stupid wooden bench this morning, how silly all that tethering had been. How easily he felt himself fall back into her gravity and they haven’t even spoken more than two words to each other. Chase moved away from the closed door and debated his next steps. He didn’t know if she was awake, if she would even want to see him. He glanced around the hallway and after a moment pulled out his wallet from his pocket. He let it fall open and shoved his fingers into one of the extra slots. The wallet was slipped back into his pocket and he slowly folded the worn piece of paper. The creased were slightly discolored from the constant pressure in his wallet but it still read the same words. He didn’t completely unfold the letter, instead just flopped the first crease up, exposing the signature on the letter. Always yours, (Y/N). Chase ran his finger across the name, it was the only thing he let himself keep from the whole situation. He had taken his position at the hospital and made the decision to get rid of all his reminders of (Y/N), it was better, safer. Yet, the letter never left his wallet, he had pulled it out so many times and thought about tossing it, but this was the last thing he had of her. The only thing left that  confirmed he didn’t make her up so he kept it. He started to pull the whole letter open when a nurse slipped out of the room. 

“Oh, Dr. Chase sorry do you need Ms. (Y/L/N)? She just fell asleep for the night, I thought all the tests were done and she was little shaken up so I gave her something to help her sleep.” The nurse grimaced a little, House’s team wasn’t known for kindness. 

“No, it’s fine. Tests are done for tonight,” Dr. Chase folded the letter as he spoke and slipped it into his pocket before nodding a little at the nurse and trying to act like he wasn’t scared as he started towards the door, “Just checking in” He didn’t let the nurse say anything else as he finally stepped into (Y/N)’s room. 

The room was the same as every hospital room around it, not exactly dark, but no longer well lit, soft beeps breaking whatever silence there was. Still, Chase tried to look around the room instead of at the girl laying fast asleep in the bed. Chase clenched his jaw when he heard the smallest shuffle from the bed. He finally let his eyes linger on (Y/N). She was fast asleep, fist in a slight curling position near her face. Without thinking Chase let out a small breath of air and felt himself move over to the side of the bed. Chase raises his hand to uncurl (Y/N)’s fist a little but stops short. Throughout the day he had stopped himself the few times he was close to touching her, he thinks of the warmth that barely came off of her when he first saw her stumble a little. Thinks of Cameron’s easy hands helping (Y/N) settle into the MRI machine. (Y/N) shuffles a little more in her sleep and it finally breaks something in Chase, she had always been restless in her sleep. He lets his hand reach past her fist and instead lets his fingers move a few strands that rested on her forehead. The warmth of her skin tingles a little against his fingertips.

“Hi darling,” Chase whispers a little when his hand trails down her hair a little, letting it drop onto the bed when he gets to the end of the strand.  He felt a small shake in his knees and pulled his hand away, letting himself plop into the plastic chair that was in every room. He squeezed his hand into a fist and felt a few tears start to appear in his waterline. He leaned his head back a little to stop the tears from completely dropping before finally letting himself completely look her over. Despite the obvious signs of something unhealthy lingering in her features, she mostly looks the same, a little older, but still the face he knew all those years ago. Chase didn’t think as he pulled himself and the chair to be closer to the bed. He leaned forward in the seat and let his hand settle near the end of her hair. He lets the lack of movement from her push him to reach his fingers out and slightly twist the end of her hair. It’s not the touch he wanted, but it was something. He let himself twirl the strands a little before letting his eyes completely rest on her face. Finally, he broke the sound of the machines around him. 

“House is a dick, but he’s good. The whole team is really, don’t tell Foreman I said that,” Chase let out a small huff of a laugh before he drops the strand of hair he was toying with. He let his hand rest on her bed, not touching her, but only a small motion would bring his finger against her arm. 

“Seems like you like Cameron, she’s good with people, although the movie trick was mine, I’m sure you remember it. I think you’ve talked me through more movies than I’ve actually watched.” Chase’s voice stayed low as he spoke. 

It seemed a little ridiculous if he thought of it too hard, talking to someone who wasn’t listening, but still it was (Y/N), he had never learned how not to talk to her. He spent what felt like a few minutes explaining how he ended up on House’s team. It was a superficial telling, wanting to avoid the pieces that still felt tender, his sister, his parents. It didn’t take long for Chase to feel himself fall into the familiar place that was (Y/N)’s side, even if she asleep. 

Chase forgets how quickly time passes in a hospital when you aren’t working. How the windows barely give away time and people are always moving so it’s hard to notice when hours past. The only thing that indicated the passing of time was the nurses who slipped into the room every once in a while, in the same rotation they’ve been doing their whole careers.Every nurse took a moment to eye Dr. Chase, trying to understand why he was here, and then proceeded to explain what they were doing like he was just another family member. It wasn’t until a nurse showed up with an extra blanket and tossed it at the end of the bed that Chase accepted his fate. He didn’t give the nurse any indication of a thanks but grabbed the blanket as she was walking out. He closed his eyes and in the dark, he felt the nerve to reach out and rest his hand in her empty one. 

_____

Dr. Chase sat slumped in the chair and Cameron tried to bite her tongue at how he tried to switch his clothing to make it look like he’d gone home, but she knew that shirt had been a spare he left in his locker. The spare blanket he had tucked under the chair wasn’t obvious to anyone that hadn’t been in and out of the room, but still couldn’t fool Cameron. His eyes were droopy, but any attention he had left in his half asleep state was completely on (Y/N)’s hand interlaced with his. Cameron stood for a second and debated coming in and bothering him, she had assumed that (Y/N) was awake when she first passed by the door, hearing Chase low whisper and she felt a strange pride in her chest that Chase had finally gotten the nerve to speak to her. The pride was undeserved, apparently as (Y/N) was dead asleep and seemed to have been like that for a while now. When she realized Chase had leaned a little closer to the bed and was bringing (Y/N)’s hand up in his own she quietly tapped on the door to make her presence known. She mentally kicked herself when she realize how quickly Chase had slipped his hand out of (Y/N)’s. 

“Hey, just swinging by to check on her, thought she was awake,” Cameron’s pity seeped into her voice no matter how much she tried to fight it. Most the time, the family’s found some sort of comfort in it, the care that this stranger of a doctor had. Chase, was not most people. 

“She’s been asleep for a few hours now, a nurse just came in twenty minutes ago and did the bare minimum,” Chase mumbled as he leaned back into his hospital chair. If it had been any other person within the hospital he probably wouldn’t have spoken, but Cameron had helped him with the MRI, risked a verbal berating from House for him, and never once brought up how he had embarrassed himself after a one night stand with her. Cameron put her hands into her doctor pockets and stayed near the doorway. 

“Well, you know how House gets about the nurses,” Cameron rolled her eyes a little at how often Dr. House had groaned about the fact that nurses mess up, and how own team’s mistakes are his but he hated having to account for random nurse’s mistakes. 

Cameron moved into the room a little more, reaching for the clipboard at the end of (Y/N)’s bed. She took a second to pretend to read the information on the clipboard as if it gave anything new to the case. She glanced back up at Chase when she realized he had the same look she had seen a million times before, the same look she saw once in her own face, when she lost her husband. It felt wrong to see it across Chase’s face, to know this doctor who she found fairly intelligent (at least when he wanted to be), and charming (again, when he wanted to be), was falling into a pit of despair over a women none of his coworkers even knew about, a women who he claims he hasn’t seen in ten years. 

“She’s not bad enough for that look yet. We’re going to figure it out.” Cameron tried to make a joke but instead was met with Chase’s subtle glare. She let the joke sit in the air and decided there was nothing else she could do and started towards the door. She had barely reached the handle when she finally heard him speak. 

“I think I’ve made it fairly clear it wasn’t great after my dad left ” Chase spoke through gritted teeth. Cameron let her hand linger on the door handle, but she stayed frozen. “She was the only thing I had left to hold onto when I was a teenager” 

Cameron turned a little so she could face him but didn’t come closer. It felt a little silly, like trying to approach a lion during a safari trip, or a bunny in the backyard she didn’t want to scare him out of finally saying something. She noticed Chase had leaned his head back against the wall and had his own hands wringing within each other, resting every few moments in a sort of prayer position. She was sure if she looked closer she’d notice his eyes closed. 

Cameron realized it was her turn to speak, confirm she wanted to hear this. “She’s not Australian?” Cameron pointed out the only thing that felt safe. It had made no sense they knew each other all that time ago and when she looked at the file there was no relevant information as to why (Y/N) was in Australia, no past doctor seemed to find it important enough to ask and House knew better than to actually think her few years in Australian were important to the case. Chase shook his head against the wall. 

“She was in Australia because her family, I can’t….” He kept shaking his head and Cameron understood. That isn’t mine to tell, it’s hers, he was saying. 

“She was working at this shitty dinner that was down the block from my neighborhood. I’d always meet my friends there, to avoid them running into my mother. One day she was just there like she had always been around, too young to be working there but she knew someone needed to bring money in, she had problems I hadn’t even thought of but that didn’t matter, doesn’t matter even now. She just….” Chase finally pulled his head forward and kept his gaze on (Y/N)’s sleeping face. 

“She made sense, maybe not right away. But I kept showing up and she kept telling me she wasn’t going to sleep with me,” He laughed a little and Cameron realized he wasn’t actually telling her the story, he was just thinking out loud “I kept lying, saying that it didn’t matter to me,” His hand reached out a little as he tucked his fingers under (Y/N)’s resting hand on the bed, “And then one day, it wasn’t a lie. It didn’t matter to me, she just wormed her way into it all. She was the one thing I had that wasn’t ruined by anything, she saw me and nothing else around me.” 

“You cared about her,” Cameron whispered a little, trying to remind Chase he had an audience. 

“Yeah, something like that.” Chase finally caught Cameron’s gaze and flinched a little at the amount of pity that was seeping out her. “Not that it really mattered. We were kids and I had to go to medical school, just had to leave…” Chase stops and Cameron knows the implication, he needed to leave his parents house. “I told her and she took it well, thought it would be harder. She told me we’d be fine, she’d write and I’d come visit every weekend and we’d survive and once we were both away from our parents, on our own completely, we’d finally figure out whatever it was between us.” 

Cameron tilted her head a little trying to make sense of what Chase meant. 

“You weren’t together?” She finally just asked. 

“I had a reputation, she’s never been native” Chase shrugged a little knowing it was well earned, “And I think she knew we both needed each other more than we needed to be together,” The vulnerability was threatening to rip his chest out, but he couldn’t handle keeping it inside anymore. Cameron wasn’t, would never be, (Y/N) but she was still kind, still understood that Chase wasn’t always a dick. Cameron stayed quiet, waiting for Chase to keep going, he hadn’t gotten to the end, the piece that really mattered to her. After enough silence Cameron finally decided she needed to say something to push Chase into finally explaining why they had gone ten years without speaking. 

“I’m sure she’ll forgive you for not coming back,” Cameron whispered in her softest tone. 

Chase clenched his jaw and looked away from the gaze he had on Cameron. Shame was a feeling Chase had quickly learnt to hide away. He leant quickly that pity doesn’t get you much and that shame would never do anything useful for him. Now, the insecurity of being left by the one person he cared about was seeping into his gut. 

“I came back.” Chase said through gritted teeth, “I went home every weekend for my first year in medical school. She said she would write and the first weekend I went there was a letter  so I came back and waited for another letter for a whole year. Whenever there wasn’t one, I would reread the first letter.” Chase shook his head a little before stealing his hand back from under (Y/N)’s hand. He stood up and clear his throat, “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s been years.” Chase cleared his throat and fidgeted with his tie before he started towards the door. 

Cameron felt herself stunned at the sudden shift in tone. She didn’t expect it to be Chase who was left high and dry. For a second it all seems to add up in her head, of course Chase was the one who held on longer, was it not just a few months ago that he was trying to make something out of the one night stand they had? She forgot how soft Chase could be when he wanted to be, forget that underneath the pretty boy doctor facade, he was someone who raised his sister and his mother, someone who spent his childhood praying for something better, for help. Cameron glanced at the girl who laid in the hospital bed and felt a twinge of anger that this girl had hurt Chase. 

___

(Y/N)  winced a little at the pressure of the needle against her skin as Dr. Foreman mumbled an apologize.  She wasn’t exactly sure what happened overnight but the tension in the room had somehow ballooned into something more and even in her state, she felt it. She had learnt at a young age to be able to detect when something was unsaid, that something wasn’t right. After Dr. Foreman pulled the needle and she felt the pressure release from her back, she turned herself over a little to look at Dr. Cameron and Dr. Foreman. She tried to silence the whisper in her head that there was typically one more doctor on the team, tried to ignore the way he seemed to exist on the edges of her whole visit. The visitors chair had been pulled away from the wall when she woke up and she had stared at it for a few minutes, trying to create an apparition of the person she hoped had filled the chair while she was asleep. She noticed the extra blanket across her feet, the one part she always struggles to keep warm. Dr. Foreman had been exactly what she had expected from a doctor, what she has been dealing with for weeks, she had come to rely on him for the real medicine of it all, once she realized Dr. House didn’t seem to interact with patients. Dr. Cameron on the other hand, knew something and cared, (Y/N) wasn’t sure when it happened, but she felt the tension from her the whole day so hard. Foreman and Cameron were speaking to each other and when they started walking away (Y/N) finally spoke up. 

“Dr. Cameron?” (Y/N) cringed a little at how dry her voice sounded. Dr Foreman seemed to look at Dr. Cameron for just a moment before he walked away, obviously trying to get some sort of work done. (Y/N) kicked herself a little at the fact that she didn’t plan out what to say. She took a moment to sit up as much as possible in the hospital bed and felt herself shake a little at the energy it took. She noticed the way Dr. Cameron seemed to take in every shake and movement, ever vigilant in the face of her job. 

There was silence for a moment before (Y/N) cleared her throat a little and squeezed her eyes shut. For the last two days every test had brought her closer to the idea that this was it, that she had tried every option, that the world had give her this last chance to be able to tie up any loose ends in her life. Robert being at this hospital was a sign enough for her, she had nothing left but to figure this out so when she died she at last had the answers. She had been debating how to do it, focused on every outcome instead of the needles and the blood and the shitty hospital food. She hoped over and over every hour since she last heard his voice during that MRI that she’d get the chance to ask him directly. She even dreamt of him, the first time in years, of his voice, of him, close by. 

“(Y/N)?” Dr. Cameron said her name but her eyes were glancing at the machines to try and figure out if something was wrong. (Y/N) shook her head lightly at the questions interlaced in Dr. Cameron’s voice. 

“Everything is the same,” (Y/N) swallowed a little and braced herself, “I know I don’t have the right to ask you, but Robert, uh-“ (Y/N) ignored the pressure in her chest at the vulnerability she was going to force out of her. She noticed how quickly Cameron seemed to straighten up at the name. 

“(Y/N),” Cameron shook her head a little. 

“He has every right to not want to see me,” (Y/N) always knew her relationship with Chase was a stroke of luck anyways, “He knew me for only a few years so long ago, I’m sure it meant nothing but,” (Y/N) stopped herself against and tried not to cringe. 

At this Cameron furrowed her brows a little, it didn’t make sense to her. Meant nothing? Cameron thought of the way Chase held onto (Y/N)’s hand when she slipped in, thinks of the way he couldn’t work knowing she was uncomfortable in the MRI machine. Something wasn’t adding up, and Cameron was trying to put it together when (Y/N) kept speaking. Cameron seemed to have forgotten how quickly (Y/N) can tumble into rambling. 

“I’ll die, it’s fine,” She paused, “Well not fine of course, but I think it’s time I accept it. And all I want is to understand what happened. I know I don’t deserve it, if he wanted to give me an explanation he would have answered one of my letters but I’m dying now, so maybe…” (Y/N) trailed off when she noticed Cameron’s furrow eyebrows. 

“Sorry I thought you guys are friends, or that maybe he mentioned something, which is stupid now that I’m thinking about it,” (Y/N) felt herself slide a little more into the bed to try and escape the situation. 

Dr. Cameron shook her head softly and whatever anger she had felt when Chase told the story seemed to leak out of her, “Hey, I get it.” Cameron whispered a little, “I’ll talk to him, but…” She trailed off to figure out the right thing to say. Finally she just let out a huff, “One letter isn’t a good enough excuse to leave someone hanging,” She spoke in her softest voice. 

“One letter?” (Y/N) swallowed and pressed her fingers against her eyes to try and subdue the headache. “I wrote over and over and over.” 

Cameron glanced at the door and decided she needed to figure this out.

___ 

“You had no right and you know it,” Dr. Chase was snipping at Cameron. 

“She thinks she’s going to die, and she thinks you’ve abandoned her!” Cameron huffed a little. 

She wasn’t sure why she always put herself into things that were none of her business, but Chase is her friend, at least she thinks he is. She’s never been good at denying someone’s dying wish, although she’s sure that not many people deal with dying wishes this often. She had sat with (Y/N) for about an hour, learnt about what it meant to be pulled from the people who loved you at such a young age, what it meant to have a parent that saw you as nothing more than a weapon against others. Cameron kept a score each time she heard (Y/N) mention writing another unanswered letter. She had heard the way (Y/N)’s voice seemed to soften a little around Chase’s name.

“She’s not going to die.” Chase clenched his jaw.

“She said she wrote, she mentioned it over and over. Maybe the post office couldn’t deliver? It was the 90s and who knows how Australian post offices even work! You need to talk to her, really, you’re both just missing each other.” Cameron felt herself sparked within the story she had heard from (Y/N). “She’s so afraid, and her mother just” 

Cameron was immediately cut off by Chase’s cold voice. 

“Don’t try and make me understand her. I know about her mother, I know her, better than I have ever known anyone. You treat her as a patient for a few days and suddenly you think you get it?” Chase felt the anger of the situation he had been pushing away bubble in his chest. “She’s been the voice in my head my whole life, I didn’t exist before she said my name. I’ve seen her everywhere all these years. I thought I had finally lost my mind when she sitting on that bench, and instead it’s something so much worse. Don’t get involved Alison. Don’t speak on things that are bigger than you’ll ever understand.” 

Cameron opened her mouth to fight back when Foreman opened the conference room and stuck his head in. “She’s having trouble swallowing, the tremors are getting worse.” He ignored the obvious tension in the room between Chase and Cameron. 

“If you really know her, you know she wouldn’t have left the way you think she did. ” Cameron whispered before heading towards the door with Foreman. Chase ignored the comment and instead stared at the door where they were both leaving. Cameron was right, he knew her, knew she wouldn’t have abandoned him with a single letter filled of promises. He knows her. 

“Is she having trouble speaking?” Chase grabbed her file off the table and without thinking, pressed his thumb against her photo like before as he read the file, trying to make it fit with what is turning in his mind. Whatever Foreman responded was ignored as Chase pushed his way throughout the conference room and headed to where he assumed House was. He wasn’t sure if Foreman and Cameron were following, but it didn’t matter at this point. 

In the clinic Chase pushed into the room the nurse pointed that House was in. He had assumed the clinic patient House was taking care of was fake once he read “Eric Shawn” on the chart. 

“It’s her immune system. The tremors, the fatigue, it had to be autoimmune. She had a cold a while ago, but (Y/N)’s always been bad at gauging how much pain she’s feeling. It was most likely a Campylobacter jejuni infection and it started to attack her immune system. She downplays the cold, doesn’t notice the tingling in her limbs and dismisses any of the pain she was feeling, keeps going until it turned into what it is now. Guillain-Barre.” Chase closed the file he had brought within and looked up at House half asleep on the patient’s table. 

House glanced behind him to see Cameron and Foreman standing there. He didn’t get up just holding his head up, “Any objections?” 

Chase looks at them both, “It’s Guillain-Barre syndrome. A few weeks with immunotherapy, some plasma exchanges and she’ll be well enough to figure out how to survive with an autoimmune disorder.” 

“She’ll be in and out of the hospital all the time.” Cameron frowned a little. 

House pressed his cane against the floor and stood up from his laying position, “Oh wise one, should we test? Go run another useless test? Or can we treat?” House glared at Chase, letting him know that he didn’t appreciate the MRI test behind his back. Chase stood his ground, didn’t flinch at the glare, she didn’t have a brainstem Reteplase would have caused damage, he regrets nothing. He’s sure Cameron looks guilty enough for the both of them.  

“Figure out if you’re doing plasma exchanges or intravenous immunoglobulin, then do it” House pushed Foreman and Cameron out the door and shut it. 

“You should have figured that out when she was still sitting on bench.” House mumbled a little once they were alone. 

“At least I figured it out,” Chase mumbled a little. 

House didn’t say anything as he stared Chase down a little. After a few minutes, he finally shook his head before opening the door again and motioning Chase out ready to go back to his nap. 

___ 

Chase debated his next step. He thought figuring out what was wrong with (Y/N) would have been enough to clear his mind. In some sense it was clearer, more space had been freed up to think about what Cameron had said.  The few hours of sleep he had accidentally caught on her hospital bed didn’t seem enough to keep him standing much longer, so once Foreman sent an update about her condition and that were going to start some treatment despite not testing for Guillain-Barre, he took it as a sign to get some sleep. He thought of going through the motions of undressing in the locker room, getting his stuff and really leaving, maybe even swinging by to take create for his diagnosis like they always did, but found the whole ordeal exhausting. Instead, he pulled his coat out of the conference room and headed to his apartment with Cameron’s words repeating in his head. 

If you really know her, you know she wouldn’t have left the way you think she did.

If you really know her, you know she wouldn’t have left the way you think she did.

If you really know her, you know she wouldn’t have left the way you think she did.

He spent an hour in his own bed, twenty minutes on his couch and even tried to lay on the floor to try and calm himself down enough to sleep when he finally got to his apartment. If you really know her, you know she wouldn’t have left the way you think she did. He finally stood up completely and scrubbed his face a little at the irritation. His eyes landed on his father’s papers that he had tossed a few days ago, onto the dining table nobody used. He sat himself at the dining table for what felt like the first time since he bought it. If you really know her, you know she wouldn’t have left the way you think she did. If his brain wanted to keep tormenting him, he could do it right back he quickly decided. He grabbed onto the deed of the house and made a mental note to call the lawyer who’s card was paperclipped to it and started to sort through the papers. Anything with sentimental value was tossed away from him, something to handle later. His mind had somewhat silenced, completely focused on what papers would have to go straight to his sister and which he would have to handle himself. 

It didn’t take long and Chase let himself puff out his chest a little in relief. The final thing he had in front of him was a stack of letters, on top sat an addressless one, ‘Robert’ in his father’s terrible handwriting. He ran his finger across the name, bumping into the rubber band that held the stack of letters together. He pulled the top one out and went to open the letter when he noticed the next one in the bundle. 

The address read his father’s home back with his name, nothing straight. But the top corner, the send address held the name he had been avoiding. Immediately  he dropped the letter he was holding and pulled the rubber band off the small bundle of letters. He shuffled them as he looked at each sent address, Auckland. Tokyo. California. Colorado. Iowa. New York. Each addressed to him, at his father’s house. Each from the same person. (Y/N) (Y/L/N). She said she wrote, she mentioned it over and over. 

Chase dropped the letters onto the table again and spent what felt like hours, but most likely was only a minute, staring them down. They all had the same worn look, like someone had dropped them into a desk drawer and didn’t pull them out for years. They weren’t dated, he didn’t know if he should open them, (they were his mail he could right?) She said she wrote, she mentioned it over and over. 

Chase finally grabbed the one letter he knew he could handle reading; his fathers. 

Robert, 

There is no way I can make you understand why I kept these from you. You wouldn’t want to hear my answer if I tried. The first month she kept sending them and you kept showing up at the house, slyly checking the mail, looking at your textbooks but never really pulling anything out. I was grateful you had a reason to even come to the house, yet I needed you to understand the importance of your studies. Then the more time that passed, the more you seemed to forget, the easier it was to just ask the maids to tuck the mail away,  you seemed to focus on medical school. That’s all I wanted. You had a duty to your studies, to the Chase name, it seems you understand that now and your mother tried to take that from me long ago, I wasn’t going to let the same happen to you. Look at you now, it did you wonders. 

Chase turned the piece of paper around, as if he was going to find anything else. As if his father would have put another note on the back a quick “Just kidding!” Or a P.S of any sorts. Chase felt his eyes warm as the tears seemed to build and he dropped the letter back onto the table and pressed his palms together in a prayer motion without thinking as he felt a few tears slip out. It wore him out enough that he found himself falling asleep on the couch, ignoring the dread of letters he knew he had to open. 

____

(Y/N) perked up in her chair when Dr. Cameron slipped into her room. The treatment had been working for the last few hours now. It had taken some time to find the right plasma type and get it all set up, but (Y/N) already felt her shakes subside just enough. Dr. Cameron pressed the door shut behind her and dropped a cup of pudding onto (Y/N)’s lap, “Don’t tell the nurses, I had to steal it from someone’s cart,” She smiled a little as (Y/N) nodded. 

As she dug into the pudding Dr. Cameron started speaking, “Guillian-Barre syndrome is an autoimmune disorder. We believe it got triggered during your last cold. Dr. Chase,” Dr. Cameron paused just a moment to look at the way (Y/N) tried to not stiff, “mentioned that you’d probably downplayed the cold and any tingling that occurred before the fatigue. It’s easy to miss the signs at first when you’re trying to tough it out. The plasma exchange you’re getting is only to be able to stabilize the immune system again, you’ll have to get checked at least yearly from now on, it can reemerge, but you’ll be able to live your life mostly normal again.” 

“So Robert figured it out?” (Y/N) spoke with the spoon in her mouth, at Dr. Cameron’s nod of confirmation (Y/N) pushed the pudding to the side table and nodded back. “And he’s not gonna…” (Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut fighting back the tears at the lack of his presence and opened them again “Thank you. Please make sure the rest of the team gets told I owe them everything. Thank you guys.” 

Dr. Cameron reached her hand out and squeezed (Y/N)’s fingers just a little “Give him a little more time,” She whispered before leaving the room. 

____ 

When Chase finally woke up he felt the warm sting of crying to himself last night and groaned a little. He pulled himself off the couch, glanced at the clock that read 4:32am and grimaced a little at the 12 hour nap he had fallen into. He lagged for about an hour, trying avoid the obvious task sitting on his dining table. Finally, he had no choice and had scooped them all up and sat on his couch. 

He stared at his old address, written in handwriting he knew once long ago, and finally he gently, as if not to disturb anything, pulled the envelope open. Inside sat a postcard, scribbles across the back. 

 Hi Robert, 

It’s been nearly three weeks since I last saw you. (or heard from you. Write back if you’re not too busy. Please?) I barely explained in my last letter, I’m sorry. Things got worse with my mom. And you were gone, and we both decided that distance doesn’t matter so I hope you aren’t too angry with me. (If you are, that’s fine, just write and tell me you’re angry.) I’m going to stay at this address for about three months, so it should work if you are writing and the stupid post office is losing them. 

Anyways, enough of that.  I know you noticed the New Zealand postage. New Zealand is amazing Robert, you were so right I do love it. It’s green and warm and wet and everything a Tolkien girl could dream of.  I’ve taken to eating like the hobbits, snacks and snack and snacks, since you aren’t around to remind me about real meal times. I’ve met some cool people, no one is you, they’re being nice to me and showing me around. I’m sure you have a lot of homework, lots of studying, so here’s just a list of things I need to tell you about next time we’re face to face. The rowboat, two rainbows!! Aroha and her family, the terrible movie that was on cable the first night I got here, the book I read on the train to go swimming at some random swimming hole. 

I wish we could put cameras into our eyes, let you see everything I’m seeing, and force you to stare into a mirror so I could see you, even just for a little. I miss you and no amount of New Zealand can make me forget. 

Always yours, 

(Y/N). 

P.S I know you’re judging me for putting a postcard in an envelope, but I wanted to make sure it got to you in perfect condition, the photo in the front is the town I’m staying, so now you know where to picture me. 

Chase felt his heart ache at how easily he could hear her voice in her writing. He let out a small broken laugh when he flipped the postcard and started at the photo. She had drawn an arrow to some random spot in the photo and scribbled two little hearts, in the smallest writing yet she wrote “you’re right here with me!” 

He felt more tears come out of his eyes and he quickly wiped it away to avoid them dropping onto the postcard as he run his thumb over the two hearts, feeling the indentation of the pen. Flipping it again, he reread the letter, once, twice, and then a third time, trying to contain the bubble of emotion that sat in his chest. He grabbed the next letter in the pile and noticed she was still in New Zealand when she sent this one. When he noticed it was a full letter, not just a simple postcard, he wiped his tears as clean as he could and started reading the letter. She had decided and wrote upfront to ignore the silence on his end for this letter, instead writing details about her housemates, the swimming she had been doing, the coworker she was sick of waiting tables with, Chase flipped the page and read the other two in a matter of minutes.

The third New Zealand letter explained that she had felt like she overstated her welcome, and maybe it had something to do with the letter she had gotten from her mother, she had a saved enough to go somewhere, and when she looked at plane tickets, it seemed Tokyo was that somewhere. She promised that if he felt like writing her, she would get the letter if he sent it to her New Zealand address as the family she stayed with was happy to forward mail. 

The first Tokyo letter was almost the same as the first New Zealand postcard, but Chase could feel the dying hope of hearing back from him. No sly remarks about him writing to this address, nothing about seeing each other soon, but still at the bottom of the letter he read; “Always yours, (Y/N)”. One more Tokyo letter, and it read like an itinerary, “flying back to the states. landing in california, going to find my brother and dad.” an address to where he could write scribbled in a different color, as if she almost didn’t put it. And again, “Always yours, (Y/N)” 

It was the first Colorado letter that had Chase contemplating praying for his dad to come back to life just so Chase could kill him. The sloppy letter and smudges were enough to tell that (Y/N) had been emotional when writing. Chase didn’t register any of words instead paying attention to the smudged “R” where a tear had fallen. 

Robert. 

They were suppose to be here. My dad always loved Colorado and I thought maybe he would have been here. But he’s not, not in the phonebook, not in any directory. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve lost it all. Anything. Everything. 

The scribbling she had done barely covered the words, but still she started the letter over again. 

We were suppose to be fine. You promise you’d write and I know I promised I’d be there so maybe I deserve this. But I miss you and I miss our coffee shops and I miss the green grove at your parents and I miss shitty Australian tea. You swore everything would be fine. If I knew this was going to happen I would have stayed in that fucking house with the monster who thinks she’s my mother. I should have stayed, at least until the weekend, so I could have explained it to you face to face, but I couldn’t she had 

More scribbles in the line, these dark and hiding whatever secret her mother had done, whatever the final straw was. 

The worst part is, I can’t get myself to stop sending these. I keep convincing myself that you’re just not getting them. If that’s not the case, just write me telling me to fuck off, I can take it. 

I miss you so much. Sometimes when I’m in the dark room of my motel, I’ll close my eyes and I’ll find on a movie I’ve seen a million times and I’ll try to imagine you’re laying with me, asking the dumbest questions about the stupid movie just to hear my voice. More and more I’m convincing myself you were never real, something I made up in a time of despair. Other times, I know I could never have dreamed you up. Do you remember when you tried to teach me to surf? If I had tried enough I know I would have been able to get it, but you had your hands wrapped around my ankles as I tried to stable myself on the board and it’s all I could focus on. I had been so nervous and you started rubbing circles against my ankle bone and I lost any chance of learning how to surf. The other day I was in a crowded bar and some dude put his arm around my shoulder and suddenly I wanted to crawl out of my skin. Still, I slept with him, and thought of you the whole time. It’s probably better I never slept with you, I knew from the start you would have me wrapped up, completely incased in you. Imagine if we had actually slept together? I don’t know how much longer I can pretend your letters aren’t getting to me. I don’t know if I can keep holding onto something that’s slipping out of my fingertips. 

Next time, I’ll stay. I’ll endure what I have to, as long as it means you. 

Always yours, 

(Y/N). 

Chase didn’t bother opening the last two letters. He had enough. He stood up from the table and scrabbled to grab all the letters. His father’s letter was shoved to the bottom of his coat pocket as he rushed out the door. 

____ 

(Y/N) had slept well that night, finally actually getting the treatment she had been waiting for. She focused on that the whole time she was falling asleep, ignoring the pity she got from Dr. Cameron when she came to check in. Dr. Foreman had made it clear that (Y/N) would be in the hospital for a while as she got better, they wanted to keep an eye on her, make sure everything was going back to normal. So she slept, waking up for breakfast at 8am and eating as much of it as she could stomach. She flipped through another magazine some nurse had slipped her. It was all easy, until she flipped to the travel agency ad and they were boosting about low Australian flights. She tossed the magazine away and let herself slip back into an uneasy sleep. 

She was awoken by a small tickle against her scalp. She didn’t open her eyes but crinkled her nose a little at the sensation. Dr. Chase had entered the hospital and didn’t even bother going to find any of his colleagues or boss. Heading straight to the girl he wanted to see. He had stood in the doorway for a little trying to catch his breath, trying not to fall into an endless pit of guilt at his abandonment, he knows she won’t hold it against him. He was a victim as much as she was in this situation. Still he steeled himself to be sent away before he slipped in and let himself fully touch her, his fingers lightly scratching her scalp. 

“(Y/N)” The accented voice left a warm feeling all the way to her toes. 

“‘M sleeping Robert,” She mumbled a little, still mostly out of it all but pressing into his touch anyways. 

“The doctor who solved your case can’t get a minute of your time?” Chase tried to joke but felt the watery tone in his own voice. 

At the small crack in his voice, (Y/N) pried her eyes open, he dropped his touch. She didn’t say anything as she looked at Chase, instead just savoring looking at him. He had obvious tears in his eye line. The smallest quiver of his face made her sit up, “Oh you’re here,” She whispered a little and she tried to tame her hair a little and rub the sleep out of her eyes. 

“I didn’t think you’d come, I didn’t expect you to come, you’ve done enough. Thank you,” She shoved her hands into the blanket to avoid reaching out, “For saving my life,” She clarified. Chase hummed a little and sniffled to try and hold back a tear. (Y/N) furrowed her brow a little and glanced to see the door to her room was shut before she pulled her hand out from under the blanket and reached out to grab his. She stopped herself before she could grab it and looked up at him. He didn’t bother making eye contact with her, his eyes trained completely on her hand before reaching out and meeting her halfway. 

“I didn’t know, I didn’t get them. My father he- He’s dead and still mucking up my life,” Chase breathed out. He dropped her hand for just a minute so he could go around the bed, put himself back into the visitors chair that sat exactly where he had left it. Once he was sat, he reached out again without thought and wrapped up both her hands in his. “I was never angry at you for leaving, never for that.” He held their hands close to his chest as he spoke. 

(Y/N) let him speak as she tried to put together exactly what he meant. The sleep was still clouding her brain just a slightest, but having Robert here in front of her, touching her short wired her brain just the slightest. “Honey, I just woke up, you gotta clue me in a little,” She cooed and squeezed his hand a little when he squeezed at her voice. 

Chase pulled one of his hands away from holding hers and grabbed the letter his father left for him from his pocket. He pasted it to her and she grabbed it with her empty hand. As she started to read he started to speak, “I’m going to write you back, for each one. I’m going to send you four letters for every one you tried to send me. I had been writing them in my head for years, you’re always the person I’m talking to. Darling, I’m sorry,” He confessed. 

(Y/N) slipped her hand out of his completely and sat up as she read and reread the letter that Chase had given her. For a few minutes it was silent as she accepted the fact that it wasn’t Chase that didn’t reply. It wasn’t his fault he never saw her words, she mentally thanks whatever God that Chase never had to read her drunk crying letter from Colorado but feels a little dip of despair at all the postcards he missed out. 

“I know it’s not a good enough excuse, I should have looked for you, I knew you’d never break your promise and I just let myself believe you didn’t write.” Chase whispered after the silence went on for too long. 

(Y/N)’s eyes widen, “Wait what? Robert?!” She slightly scoffed. Chase cringed a little and (Y/N) knew what to do in this situation. This was something she was still an expert in. Soothing Robert Chase when he tries to shoulder blame that isn’t his was a textbook problem for her. 

“Your father kept all the letters from you until he died? And you think that’s not a good enough excuse?” (Y/N) dropped the letter and let it join the useless magazine from this morning. 

“Nothing to forgive.” She whispered and let herself be brave by reaching her hand out and wiping the tear that Chase had let out. “Plus you saved my life, kind of have to forgive anything” She joked a little but felt her own tears start to build. 

When Chase felt her hand against his cheek he let himself sink into it a little, his cheek resting against her palm for just a few seconds before he grabbed her hand in his again and intertwined your fingers together. “It’s my job, I should have been quicker, but you’ll be fine.” He brings their hands up to his lips and pressed the lightest kiss against her knuckle. 

“Has Cameron explained everything to you?” Chase leaned forward in the chair to be close to (Y/N). 

“Most of it, but I’d rather hear it from you,” (Y/N) contently sighed at the way Chase kept trying to get closer. 

____

Dr. Foreman had been about to slip into (Y/N)’s room when he heard Chase’s laughter leak out from it. He knocked instead of just going in and took a quick moment to observe the way Chase had found himself sitting at the end of the bed, (Y/N) sitting up and obviously in the middle of a story. Chase didn’t move an inch, didn’t even acknowledge Foreman, his eyes trained completely on (Y/N). 

“Hi Dr. Foreman! Time for more meds already?” She smiled. Foreman knew that she looked better because she was in fact, getting better, but he’s sure Dr. Cameron would claim it had something to do with the two making up. Dr. Foreman nodded and started to get the machines ready to give (Y/N) more plasma. He had zoned himself into the process so much, he didn’t notice the small whisper of Chase’s voice. When he looked up, he noticed Chase had moved, now resting back on the chair as he whispered to (Y/N). Foreman paid enough attention to hear him explaining what exactly each thing was to (Y/N) but stopped listening once he heard, “It shouldn’t hurt at all, sweetheart.” followed by (Y/N)’s soft confirmation. 

Foreman managed to get it all set up and never once did Chase seem to actually pay any attention to him. It wasn’t until (Y/N) had. slipped into a nap because of the meds that Chase finally looked at Foreman.

 “She’s doing a lot better. I’ve been waiting her vitals since I’ve been in here,” 

“Your diagnosis” Dr. Foreman said, letting Chase know there was no thank you needed. 

____ 

(Y/N) groaned a little at the stretch she had taken. The hospital bed wasn’t the worst to start but by week three she had found herself counting down the time to leave the hospital. She ignored the lingering doubt that she’d lose Robert again and let herself instead enjoy every second she had gotten over the last three weeks. He had started coming in to eat every meal with her. He was there when she went to bed, and unless a case had come up, he had been there when she woke up. It felt easy, it was always suppose to be easy between them, it was others that had complicated things. They had fallen back into the rhyme they once had, only it felt as if something had clicked. (Y/N) didn’t ask about his parents, although eventually he did drop some hints to what was happening. Robert had asked about her father, and brother and was met with an excited (Y/N) pulling out photos from when she finally found them again. It was this moment that made Robert pull out his own wallet keepsake. (Y/N)’s eyes had watered at the letter he had been carrying around for so long and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek when he said “I still owe you letters, I haven’t forgotten”. 

Now, she stared at the terrible hospital bed and found herself going to miss it, even just because it gave the perfect excuse for Robert to be closer. 

“Ready sweetheart?” Chase spoke from the doorway, “Convinced House I had to see you off,” He hummed a little and grabbed her bags without thinking. (Y/N) looped her arm around Chase’s open one and they set off outside the hospital. 

“Did you really think sleeping with me would make it worse?” Chase said as they stood int he elevator. 

(Y/N) groaned at his questions. He had been doing this all month, asking questions that had to do with her letters. He never told her if he finished reading them, but one night he had come in, teary eyed and pressed a kiss against her forehead mumbling apologizes that were unnecessary. She had assumed he read that final letter, the one she had poured everything she had felt into before she locked it up. 

“Sleeping with you would have probably ended with me trying to swim back to America from Tokyo,” (Y/N) pressed the floor button and rolled her eyes, “So yeah, it would have made it worse,” 

“Well, you’re already here so no harm in trying it now right?” Chase smirked a little and braced himself for (Y/N) gentle wack. 

“At least take me to dinner first Bobby,” (Y/N) gasped with no malice. 

“No,” Chase glared with no real threat at the nickname, “No one here knows me by that, lets not start, brat” He made sure all her bags were in one hand and used his other to pull her in his arm around her shoulder. “I’ll take you to dinner, maybe even a movie if you promise to talk my ear off the whole time,” He mumbled against her hair as they walked out of the hospital. (Y/N) hummed a small confirmation and pressed herself deeper into his arms.

extra authors note: thanks for making it this far! please come let me know if you hate it, love it or even if you want more! i have so many silly little thoughts about these two together <3 come chitchat!

[dandydrunky]

In The Absence Of Easy

Content warning: angst, hospital setting, mention of needles

Author's note: this is part of a mini series

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

The sharp smell of sanitizer and iodine inked the room like sharpie, lingering in the air like bad perfume. You tried to ignore it while the doctor scrubbed the heel of your stump like you had a thousand times before, trying to focus on the friction of cotton, but you couldn’t.

You couldn’t feel it. You could only imagine what it felt like, watching it shred between the doctor’s working fingers. She was quiet today, and didn't try to make conversation as you normally did.

You watched in silent dread, the remnant of your leg propped on a padded stool, skin jagged from the latest injury and progress delayed by another setback. Your fingers curled into the paper lined beneath you, tucked under the edge or the bed. It made you sick, ironically so, other than the phantom ache of a limb no longer attached, it still hurt like one.

You flinched, hearing the skipping of tape, even harder when a cool bandage was lined up around the curve of your stump, being pressed down with tape and then gauze. The roll fluttered through the air going over and under, masking the scarred flesh.

Dr. Harrow patted it down. Then, she paused, eyes flicking to your face, looking for any sign of discomfort. The whole process felt invasive to you, so there’s no way massaging the dressings down would have been the worse part.

She rose to her full height and you noticed her scrubs were tighter than last time, around the abdomen, the hem just barely covering the waistband of her pants.

It was hard to feel joy for her in her current state, surely she knows all of her patients are here because of genetics, some mutation or deformation of the sort.

That you could pass down whatever dormant disorder she’s carrying and unintentionally inflict it on her child, the worst punishment of all, life.

Maybe one day it’ll be her kid sitting here on this stiff bed. Hooked up to monitors or better yet in need of a nurse’s aid just to go pee. You almost pitied her, but you knew she knew better.

She set the tray back on the counter, the tools clinking softly.

Painkillers were typically administered next, but you had refused pills, so you’ve been attached to a morphine drip, feeding you micro doses through the course of the day. “You’re all done with me, I’ll send for Dr. Baylor,” Harrow informs, her usual exuberance muffled by the face mask.

You know the routine, you could do it in your sleep.

Harrow peeled the rubber gloves off with snap, tossing them in the can with your bloodied bandages, bracing her hands against the cart. She wheeled it out in a squeaky silence, letting the door close behind her, leaving you on the edge of your bed, waiting, rotting.

A soft knock on the door echoed through the room, but your lips remained pressed flat, uninviting. If this wasn’t mandatory you wouldn’t have even let him let himself in.

“Good morning,” he greeted, not looking up from his clipboard. “For you,” you countered, falling back across the mattress. He stopped short at the foot of your bed, taking a moment to assess you. Still in the spotted hospital gown, hair’s a mess, one purple sock on, and the machines clinging to your arms.

“Are you following your diet?” Since you were weighed last week, there was doubt of any major changes in seven days. “I missed dinner last night,” you shrugged, not bothering to sit up.

This is not what any of your doctor’s wanted to hear, but maintaining an appetite in your condition was hard enough.

You could hear a sigh under the scribbling of notes. You were bound to run him into an early grave; none of his other patients fought their illness with selectively applying treatment.

But freewill, he couldn’t stop you.

“And have you been taking your medication?” The twinge of hope in his voice was comical, but at least you could report that you have and it was time for a refill.

“How have you been feeling with these?”

It wasn’t what you were feeling, it was what you weren't. They were effective when you did take them, but overall you still felt bad. It wasn’t the illness, just the shitty reality of everything. “They make me tired,” you yawned, shifting against the mattress. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but neither were you.

After a counter-productive questionnaire Baylor scribbled down some more notes, punctuating the last one with the click of his pen. “Kid,” he combed a hand through his salt and peppered hair. He really did mean to help you, but he couldn’t force you to accept it. “If you keep up like this you’re only going to get worse.”

“Good thing I have you to stop that,” you droned, uninterested in another talk about life decisions. You were sick of being sick, but the only cure for you was to let it run its course. No more needles, no more pills, no more antibiotics, and no more pep talks. It was proving useless.

He cleared his throat, uncertainty settling. “Not for much longer.”

What does that mean? You grunted, struggling to sit up to face him, “what are you talking about?” Is there something else you missed? You tried to think over the last few days, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Routine check up for the leg and routine check up for the whole body, then you were left alone unless you needed a nurse.

“Your insurance doesn’t cover extended care.”

[abilouwrites]

THE BEFORE, AND THE AFTER

SERIES MASTERLIST

2

I clock in again the next day, the same routine. A familiar face in Dynamight; Bakugo Katsuki’s room. A woman who I assume is his mother fretting over her son. Bringing him water, and knitting as he sleeps.

“Are you one of Katsukis nurses?” She asks as I walk into his room, hair clipped up as I check the IV and his BP.

“Yes” I respond, “has he had any complaints about pain? Headaches?” I ask her. She scoffs and shakes her head.

“No, not that he’s told me. He’s stoic like that; doesn’t let anyone know he’s in pain. It can be very annoying” she smiles a little, greying hair loosened around her shoulders. She leans back in her chair and sighs

“They make the worst patients, the cast is off and I think some physical therapy will help with function in that wrist. Do you want that contact?” I ask and she nods, “I’ll put it in his chart”

“Thank you” she squints her eyes to see my name, “Y/l/n, that’s a beautiful name.. your husbands?” She asks

“No” I say weakly, “I’m single” I hear her tsk and shake her head.

“That’s such a bummer, you’re so beautiful” she murmurs, “ah, I’m so sorry.. I must be wasting your time.. I’m sure you have other patients to see”

I shake my head, “it’s all good, I’m hoping by tonight he should be able to go home. Do you know if he has someone who can take care of him?”

She shakes her head, “no, I’ll have him stay with me and my husband. Will that work?”

I nod, “just for a week. The neurologist is still nervous about that concussion but he should be fine to be at home on bed rest”

She nods and thanks me as I walk back to the nurses station. Which is typically how my days go, I sit and finish charts online.

Bakugos mother leaves that afternoon to go home and shower, “how are you feeling?” I ask stepping into his room once again.

“Like I got hit by a bus and you won’t let me leave” he groans, shifting from the bed to stand. Leaning on his portable IV drop, “what? Am I not supposed to be walking?”

“I guess. Only if you don’t mind me walking next to you. I’m required to do so” I explain as he slowly walks out of his room.

He rolls his eyes, “I don’t get why I feel like this.. only my arm was hurt right?”

I shrug, “you were hit very bluntly in the chest— and you have been bed ridden for a day so it’s all very expected” I watch him nod and slow his pace.

“Y’know my mom asked about you” He speaks softly, a little wheezy and with a soreness to his step, “she’s nosy like that”

“I’ve heard” I raise my eyebrows, “let’s turn back now”

“No I can keep walking”

“We’re turning back”

He huffs and pouts a little before following me back to his room, I help him sit back down and he has this shut eye look about his face, “do you want some more painkillers?” I ask, “we’re trying to ween you off but if you’re in a lot of discomfort.”

He shakes his head, “no. I’m fine. How much longer until I can be back on the streets?” He asks.

“I dunno, you’d have to ask your doctors. I’m just a nurse” I tell him once again, “but you should be going home tonight”

“Y’know, I’ll miss our talks” He teases, a running gag that I do my charts with him when his mother is home. Someone to keep me company.

“Yeah, sure you will” I roll my eyes as I sit down and flick open a chart and begin scribbling some notes down.

“Why didn’t you become a doctor?” He asks, sitting up and looking at me, “you’re very smart”

I shake my head, “mom pushed me into it, said it’d be easier to keep working when I uh eventually get married.. if that ever happens”

I hear Bakugo laugh, “you’re twenty sixish? You have years until you need to get there”

I smile at him, “yeah yeah, tell it to her.” I shake my head a little and look out the window and see no-one. Which is fairly usual as the halls up here are empty. We keep the nurses few as to prevent leakage and paparazzis.

“I’ll miss this, but I am so ready to not eat hospital food” he jokes. There’s a seriousness to his face and he shifts a little, “hey mom” Mitsuki walks in and smiles.

“Y/n!” I’m quick to stand and tuck my chart into my armpit before wrapping her in a tight hug, “I’m here to bring Katsuki home” she smiles. In the two days I haven’t seen her she’s cut her hair. It falls just at her neck and she looks a little more rested.

“Yes, he’s told me”

“You were an absolute doll and a wonderful nurse, when he gets hurt again I’ll be hoping you’re on his case”

“Thank you Mrs. Bakugo, but I hope I won’t see him for a long time”

I wave goodbye to her and Bakugo as she slowly wheels him into the elevator, and maybe I’ll miss him. Maybe just the slightest bit.

And so I drive home in my crappy little car to my apparent. Which is how my nights usually go, some left over pasta and chicken that Suki made while her boyfriend was staying with us. It’s good and just enough to push me through to shower and detangle my hair.

Suki comes in my room as I slip into my sleep shorts and begin braiding my hair, “hey cutie” she smiles as she jumps onto my bed and lays down. She’s only twenty and has picked up the little sister act perfectly. She sniffles a little and stares at me, “how was saying goodbye to your boyfriend?” She teases a little— although not knowing who the person is I’ve told her about the guy I’ve been keeping company throughout his stay.

“It was fine? He’s not my boyfriend you know” I correct as I tie off the braid and lay down next to her, “and I ate your leftovers”

“You suck” she groans. She rolls over and stares at me, “are you going to bed?”

“Yeah, don’t you work early tomorrow?” I ask and she nods, getting up. But not before stealing my moisturizer and blowing me a kiss goodnight.

“Goodnight Suki”

[lily-radiance]

Picture Perfect Psychopath

Doctor Jonathan Crane/ fem reader.

3.9k words

(So far, this is just a drabble, but I do have an idea of where this story could go. I've been watching The Dark Knight trilogy and got inspired. Reader works at Arkham Asylum as a psychiatrist, sharing the field of study with Scarecrow and old flame Harley Quinn. Likely not canon-compliant. Kinda merged various movies since I'm no comic book expert.)

Arkham Asylum is a cesspool of depraved criminals, as it has been for the past few years. Typical people who are suffering from mental illnesses and were sent away without care were obvious. This institution was the cheapest and easiest way to lock up the sick, even before the creation of the vigilantes. Everyone in Gotham City knew to keep their eyes on the ground and act as if crimes were invisible. If you cause a fuss in any shape or form, don't be surprised if you get dragged away in a body bag. You hated the mere thought of disregarding the pain of the city, but what could you do if no one would listen? Criminals, no matter the type, always have a story to tell.

“Bruce, the next time you interrupt my work for a house call, I'm stealing your Batmobile!”

You've been sitting in Wayne Manor for the past two hours, all because your friend wanted to “check-in” on the status of the newest patients. On any other day, you might have given him leniency, but he's been siphoning you for information without a decent break. Now, you not only have to write and submit a few dozen reports before sunset, all while juggling Bruce Wayne. The billionaire rolls his eyes but smiles, enjoying a day where he can loosen up and act as a person instead of a shadow.

“Nice try, but the garage is foolproof. I learned my lesson when you took my ride for a spin last year.”

You sip the cola in your hand, amused at the memory of speeding around the house and getting the vehicle caked in dirt. You apologized to Alfred when realizing the butler had to clean it afterward.

“Too bad, I was hoping to test the maximum speed,” you said with a chuckle, “I'm kidding, of course.”

“Sometimes, I worry about your coworkers. Do they know how much damage you can cause when bored?”

You glare at him from the couch. Work was something you liked to keep separate from life; he knew that very well. After all, if someone identified Batman successfully, then Wayne Enterprises would crumble in on itself.

“Do you know how much damage you cause when I'm not around to cover your tracks? Honestly, you may give Alfred a heart attack.”

The butler frowns at your humor before taking your empty glass. You notice the lipstick mark left over, reminding yourself to reapply the makeup. Psychiatric professionals do their best to look formal, and this habit has followed them since college. When you consider the many polished individuals at the facility, one is always at the forefront of your mind: Doctor Jonathan Crane. No matter the time of day, his appearance is that of near perfection, or you like to think so. Today, you have a briefing with him, and the idea has prompted you to dress to impress; the shade of cherry red on your lips is a testament to that.

“I'm always careful, (Y/N). I have Gordon, Alfred, and Lucius for that very purpose. You know Arkham is filled with lunatics and, more specifically, the worst villains.”

“We've had this conversation before, Bruce. I'm good at my job, and the people you lock up are kept in the deepest parts. Plus, I always hear exciting stories, which makes time fly by!”

He gives you a stern glance, not happy with your unbothered attitude. You drop the smile and sigh.

“I know you think I can't handle myself in that place. You get up close and personal with villains more often than I do. Every floor has a ton of security guards, not to mention cameras and passcodes in each room!”

Eventually, he gives up the protective demeanor. If you needed his help, he was the first in line. If not, he would be prepared for the future.

“Right, I know you're responsible and cautious, (Y/N). It's still the institution with the most significant number of patients in Gotham, so I want you to stay alert. Tim and the others are patrolling tonight if you run into trouble. Remember, the GCPD is conducting investigations on a possible new perpetrator.”

You nod to his speech, tapping your heels underneath the coffee table. He is about to give you another piece of information, but the sound of the front door opening and hurried footsteps is your cue to leave. Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, and Jason Todd enter the room, waving a synchronous greeting in your direction. Your phone beeps in your jacket pocket, and you fumble the device when the caller is listed. Barbara notices your excitement and chuckles, watching as you answer the phone.

“Hello, this is (Y/N) (L/N); how may I help?”

“It's Dr. Crane, as you probably knew judging by how quickly you answered. The administration got caught up in other matters, so it's just you and me. Don't be late.”

The voice catches you off guard, your heart beating too quickly regarding the abrupt message. You lose your ability to speak, and like everything else, he's already caught a glimpse of it.

“Doctor—what about the meeting on security clearances? We still have much to discuss with the board; isn't this important?”

“I've already taken care of most of the concerns. Currently, my priority is talking to you about your individual endeavors regarding Arkham. Do you have an issue with this?”

As he asks, you know he's not looking for an honest answer. You swallow your pride, although tempting to draw on this further.

“No, Doctor. I'm on my way right now.”

“Good, I have high hopes you'll be fascinated by my newest work.”

You have nothing else to add as he hangs up, an annoying habit you wish didn't leave you bitter. Barbara steps over, raising a brow in examination. Your behavior, coupled with the alluring cosmetics on your face, indicates an attention to detail made to attract. The young woman tilts her head, examining your efforts, and pauses. She prevents your curiosity by grabbing a maroon scarf hung on the hat rack and placing it on your neck. As she wraps the fabric loosely around your collar, she discreetly whispers, “In case whoever you see leaves a mark or can't keep you warm. It also matches your lipstick.”

The redhead winks at you, knowing that finding worthwhile men in Gotham is a rare treat. If only you knew who you were falling for, maybe someone else could have turned your head. The likelihood of your coworker getting obsessed with another pretty face was nonexistent, especially when he knew every method of pushing your buttons.

Gotham weather stands to be frigid regardless of the season, and the cold water on your cheeks proves it. Hurriedly, you head to your car, jumping in the driver's seat and turning the hot air on. You flip the sun visor down, using the compartment mirror to double-check your appearance. You smile, wink, and perform other expressions to understand if this is too much. It's not like you dressed yourself in fancy attire, but the makeup sensation tells you this is different—the scarf clings to your shoulders, adding an extra layer of comfort.

The City appears as dreary as ever, with gray clouds looming over the skyscrapers. You knew this landscape was not as picturesque as the Bahamas, but it was familiar. In this place, you felt like a necessary presence, that your actions were genuinely helping people live. Others complain that they think soulless thoughts and have no purpose in a city of thugs, but they don't see the possibilities. No, you appreciated the constant ebb and flow pattern because it meant everything was up to chance. Unlike Harvey Dent, you had no interest in flipping a coin to decide your fate; if you wanted something and could achieve it, why worry about the downfall? Bruce told you to avoid trouble, and maybe if you tried harder, you could, but curiosity always took control. The night turned Gotham into a place of both dreams and nightmares. When the streets glow amber and the windows shine with the moon, the law is subject to change.

Rain slams against the windshield, the downpour forcing you to drive at a snail’s pace. Common sense doesn't stop other drivers from taking risky turns; some cars cut in front despite your right of way. You honk your horn at the reckless speeding, internally regretting this venture. At least twenty minutes have passed since you left, and yet you're still running late. Luckily, most security guards let you pass immediately, while one or two demand identification. If you weren't so anxious, you would see the multiple faults that made Arkham’s reputation. People were lazy, some slacking without a care. Others were too busy dealing with life changes to support this institution.

The repetitive sound of your heels clicking on the tile floor draws someone's attention. Unfortunately, you can barely avoid this girl regularly, so it makes sense that she would be another obstacle.

“Woah, pudding, you getting ready for the runway or something? I haven't seen you wear red in a long time. It makes a girl wonder, what's the occasion?”

Harleen Quinzel stands in her cell, dressed in a jumpsuit that does her no justice. Her usually dyed hair is unkempt and faded, now a dirty blonde with pigment spots. Despite her living situation, her personality is still bubbly. She holds a bent cigarette and takes a drag, then tosses the leftovers underneath her boots. The woman approaches the metal bars, wrapping her hands around two and leaning through the gap. A stream of smoke is exhaled into your face, the delinquent playfully puckering her lips.

“I have a critical meeting with Dr. Crane, and it was supposed to be with the rest of the board until something got in the way. I'm running late, and if I don't get to that office in time—”

Harley raises her index finger, pressing against your lips to stop your words.

“That does sound like a pretty jumbo deal, dollface! From one doctor to another, rescheduling an administrative meeting is unnecessarily convoluted!”

She moves her hand to cup your jaw, tilting your face in multiple angles to glimpse your handiwork. A smile spreads across her lips, her tongue licking the front of her teeth. It makes you nervous, and she knows it.

“I mean, he said he ‘took care of it,’ but I don't know if that necessarily means it was rescheduled. The board could have discussed several possibilities, so I can't guarantee anything.”

You don't know what she's trying to prove.

“Something tells me your lover boy isn't inviting you for a simple coffee. No, with a mind as unpredictable as his, I bet you'll leave here with more than a headache. That is, if you leave at all, dollface.”

Her voice digs further into your mind, higher-pitched as she giggles to herself. You adjust the scarf to distract yourself, but she won't let this topic rest.

“Harley, as much as I appreciate what I assume is a concern, I know what I'm doing.”

“Sure you do, pudding. You think he's all sweet and charming, right? Doctor Jonathan Crane, who wears a nice suit and never gets his hands dirty? He probably compliments your work and swears to get back to your questions. I'll even bet he holds your hand a little too long when he shakes it, and you don't say anything because you want his hand on yours.”

She sees the blush rising to your cheeks and continues to torment you. You can't breathe clearly, not when your lungs burn like this.

“Oh, I bet you want him to do all sorts of things to you. When he holds your hand, do you imagine it somewhere else on your body? Do you think he'll have you by the waist while his other hand traces your neck? Will he squeeze your throat and bruise the pretty skin, rubbing his tongue up and down? Will you let him devour you as I did? I bet you'll have his handprints on your thighs for weeks, the dirty little secret that you keep to yourself?”

She plays with the ends of your hair, curling the strands around her fingers. You haven't been this close to her in years, and your proximity reminds you why. Getting close to villains is a quick path to insanity. You step away from the cell, regaining your focus. A pair of footsteps echo down the stairwell, slow and precise. When you turn, your coworker is impatiently waiting, a scowl etched onto his features as he stares between you and Harley Quinn. The blonde enthusiastically waves at him, earning a glare.

“Come along; we have lots to discuss and little time to waste. I thought I clarified that I wanted you in my office five minutes ago.”

You follow his figure, a knot in your stomach at his unusual mood. The doctor could be a pain when it came to protocols, but you two got along reasonably well. He gave you criteria to follow, and more often than not, he liked to debate your findings. You hoped this was a quick conversation, but then it didn't make sense that he instructed you to take a ferry for something he could have said on the phone.

“Yes, I had to drive through the rain and rush in traffic. I wasn't counting on the weather to be so awful or for Harley Quinn to pull me aside.”

He waits by the top of the stairwell for you, watching as your heels tap the concrete. It amazed him: the concept of walking on elevated stilts that could snap like a twig. You don't miss how he scans your legs or how the muscles in your calves tighten. He extends a hand, presenting the cordiality that made you admire him in the first place. You hesitate with trembling fingers, muttering a quiet “thanks” as he holds your palm. He's warm, and it gives you too much satisfaction. Instead of letting go, he merely continues walking, carefully trailing his fingers over your radial pulse. Each thrum of your heartbeat is now in his possession of knowledge, tipping him off on your anxiety. The door to his office is down a corridor, only accessible to visitors and himself.

“Had you considered wearing gloves, Doctor? You might want to invest in case the temperature drops. If you can't use your hands, I suppose the mind is sufficient, but exhausting yourself unnecessarily is no good to anyone.”

You sit in one of the two chairs, removing your scarf and placing it in your lap. Crane takes his place behind the desk and falls into the chair, folding his hands on the flat surface.

“Believe me, if I could grab a few extra layers, I would have. I was visiting a friend when you called, and since you requested I hurry, there was no point in going home to change. I've lived in Gotham for a long time, and a storm isn't enough to stop me from doing my job. Anyway, you said there was something you needed me to examine?”

He slides a manilla folder towards you, numerous papers spilling from the seam. You take the hint to inspect the documents, flipping through the pages and absorbing the content. MRI scans, coupled with test results and psychological jargon, cover the sheets. You wrinkle your nose in focus, recognizing the highlighted areas of the brain as the amygdala and the frontal lobe. The human brain structure separates information based on its importance, using the amygdala for the fear response and the frontal lobe for rational thought. If one of these locations is compromised, whether by neural chemicals or injuries, the body cannot regulate its reactions to stressful environments. You continue reading, wholly fascinated by the hypotheses listed. The last few pages are still being worked on, primarily blank except for messily written notes. While your train of thought is still understandable, you remove a pen from your coat pocket and begin scribbling. He stares in amusement, pride blooming at your coinciding wonder.

“Doctor Crane, this is beyond incredible! If you were to develop this drug, who knows what group might want it? Not to mention the possibility of designing a formula with the opposite goal of annihilating fear entirely!”

He doesn't bother to hide the smirk on his face as you supply him an ego boost. Initially, he worried you would have an adverse reaction given your good-natured spirit, but those doubts were put to rest by the sight of your smile. The longer he allows himself to relax, the more his eyes are drawn to your lips. Red was a beautiful color on you, contrasting the dim aura of this hospital. As you revel in this energized state, you do not anticipate the foreign sensation of his mouth against yours. Recognition dawns on you as the scent of his cologne lingers, and the papers fall to the ground. You cautiously lean into his touch, grasping his shoulders to bring him closer. The fabric of his shirt bunches as you dig your fingers into the material. He has no qualms with your proximity, but he recognizes the trepidation in your movements for what it is: the worry that you'll scare him away. It's ironic, and it tells him that the only way to disprove your doubt is to make sure you know that this encounter isn't based on the heat of the moment.

He kisses you harder, pushing his tongue inside your mouth. You gasp in surprise, allowing him additional access, as well as the ability to overpower you. Never had you thought that the absurd fantasy of him kissing you would come to fruition, and certainly not in his office over research data. This was supposed to be a dull day of filing paperwork and overhearing business, not the instance where your co-worker, technically your boss, would be sharing saliva. His lips travel to your cheek, then your jaw, trailing down your neck. He has to remove the scarf and unbutton your collar to reach the desired location. You tilt your head back, moaning as he grows closer to your carotid vein. Similar to your earlier encounter, he locates your pulse, biting and sucking the skin as your heart rate increases. You admittedly have no idea what you're doing, but you do know that the image of him making out with you is extremely hot.

Yet, rational is a demon that you cannot leave behind. You're a scientist through and through, which means taking time to analyze the effects of this situation is necessary. Gently, you press against his chest, halting his actions and putting space between you. He looks down at you quizzically, adjusting his glasses that had fallen from the bridge of his nose.

“We could keep going with this course of action, not that I would complain, but maybe we should consider what we're getting ourselves into. I mean, we work together, and if we pursue a relationship, that could cause an entire slew of issues. Let’s cool our jets and think about this objectively before getting too deep.”

You feel a new weight on your chest as you try to analyze his expression. Most days, you could guess his emotions based on small talk, if he even spoke to you. Unfortunately, he's again acting like a blank slate, unreadable as the silence grows longer. Somehow, this enigma of a human specimen has become a magnetic field, drawing you in despite your better judgment. It's not that you don't want to see where this night goes, but the idea of committing to him, especially in the workplace, sends a chill down your spine.

“I see what you are getting at, (Y/N). It's not a problem if you want to think this over. Honestly, I prefer my opinion, but I see no fault in mulling it over. We wouldn't be scientists if we didn't leave decisions up to logic, would we?”

He seems calm enough, and that takes some of the pressure off. You breathe out a sigh before stretching your neck, still a bit unsure of what to do. Another beat of awkward silence follows before you work up enough courage to face him. Blue eyes catch your thousand-yard stare and dart back to the ground.

“It's getting late. D-do you need anything else from me, Jonathan?”

He is not expecting you to refer to him by his first name despite the circumstances. The sound of your hesitancy is still cute, and he wasn't expecting his name to sound so good on your tongue.

“No, I have everything I need. Do you want me to drive you home? The weather is still raining cats and dogs. Not only that, but Gotham is dangerous already, and I wouldn't want you to get hurt.”

The offer seems adequate, and you know precisely the dangers lurking outside. If not for crime and insanity, you wouldn't have a job, but that doesn't mean you want to get caught up in legal shenanigans.

“I drove to the docking bay with my car, so assuming you drive, that would leave one of us without our respective vehicles…”

“You're partially correct. I take a taxi to get around town most of the time so that I won't abandon my car here. Then again, if I drove your car, I would still have to call a cab at one point or another.”

His analysis has you pondering the options until you decide to wing it. You've already made out with your boss, how much worse could it get?

“Screw it, I'll call you a taxi myself. If the weather gets too bad, you can stay at my place for the night.”

You pick up your scarf from the chair, throwing it around your neck in preparation for the cold air outside. The hallways are still empty, and for once, you're glad since the quiet gives you space to think. All that's left is to descend the stairs, pass security, and get the hell out of there. You place your hand in your pocket to grab your identification card but pause as your co-worker is two steps ahead of you, already swiping his badge across the checkpoint. That's right, he has a higher security clearance than you; no wonder he's always early to the office.

“There ya’ are pudding! How'd that meeting go—”

Harley Quinn wastes no time in asking questions as soon as she sees you approach. The doctor next to you gives her a scowl like last time, but the reason behind it is different. Before, he was irritated by her peppy attitude, and now it's jealousy. The blonde’s expression turns into a frown, but covers it with her usual distaste for nitpicky professionals. You would find their disagreement amusing if not for your fresh taste of humanity from the critical doctor, his shell still rough around the edges. You let your mind wander, barely recognizing the arm around your shoulder until you feel the support of his body against you.

These moments are the ones that make your heart race and your mind split. You know this guy, right? He has to be one of the good men in this rotten city. If not, what would you do anyway?

If you like this check the updating version on ao3: Click

[that-basic-simp]

The Turkish Nightmare

Fade x Fem! Reader CW: Human experimentation WC: 2.0k+ A/N: *record scratch* Yep. I'm back at it again. Back to writing about video game women who I saw in a trailer and then proceeded to play the game because of said character. The original character I saw that made me interested in the game was Reyna. (Typical) But then I watched a few of the trailers and found Fade's. Everything is history after that.

"She's a monster. A nightmare."

"She is too unstable to be let out."

"She can't be trusted. Not until we can figure out what's going on."

"If we can figure out what is happening to her, then we could possibly help her."

"She can't be helped. End of story. There is no way to help a monster. There is no saving her."

"Stop!" I slammed my hands onto the desk.

Everyone picked their heads up to find I was standing now. This meeting was crucial in our next steps of testing. But I heard enough. They weren't planning on doing anything other than up the intensity to the point where she either kills herself or kills us. My bet is on her killing us because of the hell we were putting her through.

Making her relive her worst nightmares. Relive the past trauma she tried so desperately to escape and heal from. But here we are, using her powers against her in order for us to get a better understanding at what those powers are. It's inhumane. Not right. And it pained me every time I walked into that room to find her on that testing table, with things attached to her head and IVs in her arm.

She looked so defeated with bags under her eyes, constantly asking to be brought food or water, to use the restroom. To be treated like a human, not a lab rat. And every time she was subjected to her own horrors, it made me want to cancel the entire program. But this was needed. It wasn't needed. It wasn't even necessary. It was their way to get rid of someone without killing them personally. The human psyche can only take so much before it snaps. And I don't want to be on the receiving end.

"We cannot do this to her," I whispered.

"She is a threat."

"A monster."

"A nightmare."

"She is a human being! And thus must be treated as such!"

"She is a monster!"

"She is just a person who is suffering by the nightmares she had created on herself! Where do you think those nightmares are coming from? Do you ever consider what she is subjecting herself to by our hands? She is reliving those terrors of her past over and over, again and again. I don't think any of you want to relive that. Let alone, be forced to experience it for so many days on end. And then to be treated like a lab rat instead of a person. We are scientists. Some of us are doctors and we took an oath to not harm the patient. And we are harming the patient."

The room went dead. So dead that the air grew colder and the sound of a pin dropping could be heard.

"What do you suggest we do?" one of the leading scientists, other than myself, asked.

"We put her in a controlled area and we observe from there. We cannot run tests on her because we are getting the same output. We are getting no where with our research aside from these nightmares stem from her past. If we put her in a situation where everything seems normal, we might be able to get a glimpse of her powers and abilities in a natural way instead of them being forced out. She also needs human to human interaction."

"Are you going to assign someone?"

"I will be doing it myself."

"Then that settles it for this meeting."

I grabbed my folders and papers before leaving the room. One of my colleagues came up to me after I had returned to my desk.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes. If someone is going to gain her trust, it is someone she has had no prior connection with. The majority of everyone on the team has had at least a few interactions with her. She already associates them with terrible things they have done to her."

My friend nodded, "All the luck to you."

The following day after that meeting, I had gathered her breakfast before I entered the new area she was going to be in. It mirrored a bedroom. So instead of the white walls with florescent lights, it was a soft blue color with normal lighting. There was even a window that let her see outside. There was a bookshelf, desk, dresser and drawers for what little belongings she had. I knocked on the door and waited for an answer.

"Who is it?" she asked in such a soft tone I almost didn't hear her.

"My name is Y/N," I said.

"I don't think I ever met you."

"You might not have. I was hoping I could talk to you."

There was no answer.

"I brought you breakfast. In case you were hungry."

"What kind of breakfast?"

"Well, I did a little bit of research and found that your home country calls it kahvalti. I wasn't able to get you any tea unfortunately, along with some other food items. But I do have some eggs, cheese, and sausages. And some fruit as well."

"I don't really drink tea anyway."

"Does coffee work?"

"Yeah."

"I'll leave this out here for you."

"Wait."

Soft footsteps made their way to the door. The door slowly opened up and I found her to be standing in front of me. Ever since we started this program, we had never used her given name. We had named her after the project name: Fade. Project Fade. The others call her The Turkish Nightmare after getting details of what she has done to people before she was brought here.

"T-Thank you," she took the tray from my hands.

"Of course."

"Y-You. I-I've seen you before."

"You have?"

"Yes. Behind the glass in the testing room. You are with other people who wore lab coats. You always looked tired."

"I always am tired," I let out a sigh.

"But you're not like the others."

"How so?"

"I remember one day, I was sitting in that testing room..."

I walked into the room behind the testing room. The window was large enough to where we could see every inch of that room. Fade was sitting on the bench with multiple things attached to her head. IVs were in her arms as well and she was in a hospital gown. I could see the henna tattoos from her hands and up her arms. There was another tattoo on her collarbone area. And a scar ran across from the left side of her face and along the bridge of her nose, stopping in the center of her right cheek. She had a septum piercing, bottom lip piercings, and a lot of earrings. There were dark bags under her eyes, but out of everything that made her who she was, those weren't what drew me to her. It was her heterochromia. One brown eye and one blue.

There were numerous results that had come back where it felt like I was reading the same thing. I ran a hand through my hair and let out a sigh, setting the papers down. I placed my hands on the table and picked my head up. I peered through the window to find her sitting on that bench, so defeated and so tired. It was like I was looking at a mirror. Same expression, but a completely different person.

"We need to stop this," I said.

"What?"

"We need to stop this," I said once more, a bit louder.

"We can't just stop the testing."

"I don't care," I turned to face the others. "We need to stop this!"

The room went silent.

"We have a patient in there who looks like they're on death's door. Or at least praying and asking to be killed. That is unacceptable! She is here so that we can gain knowledge on her powers, not treat her like she is some monster."

"Because she is."

"She is not! She is not a monster. All of you are monsters for treating her like this!"

No one moved.

"Fine. If none of you are willing to put a stop to this, I will."

I stormed out of that room and into the testing room.

"Hey, you can't be in here," said a nurse.

"I am the head of this research and I say we are done."

"Y-You can't just--"

"We are done," I said and turned off the machines.

I stepped towards Fade and found her eyes were so void of life. She wasn't even looking at me.

"This might hurt," I whispered to her. "May I see your arm?"

She moved it to where it was closer to me. I reached up and grabbed the IV.

"I am going to remove the IV. It might bleed a little."

"That's fine," she mumbled. "Not like I haven't bled before."

"I'm sorry," I said and removed the IV. I immediately grabbed some gauze and wrapped it around where the IV was inserted. I did the same with her other arm.

"I'm going to remove these from your head," I said and tapped the wires that were attached to her.

She just nodded.

"This might hurt, too."

I removed the adhesives from her skin and the wires fell onto the ground. Her eyes slowly found mine. Standing in front of her like this, there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"You were the first one to not call me a monster," she whispered.

"Because you're not."

"Do you not know what they called me?"

"No. I don't. I only get the test results back and file that information."

"When I came in," she said.

"Would you like to sit down?"

"Please," she nodded.

"Am I allowed in the room?"

"Yes."

I slowly entered and she sat on the bed while I sat in the chair that was at her desk. She took the mug of coffee and slowly sipped it.

"When I first came in and they did their first ever test, they were reading the report that they received."

"What did they say?"

"I can't remember much, but this one title they gave me stuck out."

"Was it a title they gave you?"

"Yeah."

"What was it, if you don't mind me asking?"

"The Turkish Nightmare."

"Your powers," I began.

"They cause people to relive their worst fears. Their worst nightmares."

"So I have seen from the tests."

"It can do a lot of damage to people," she said.

"That is why I wanted us to stop the testing."

Her eyes found mine once more.

"You were the one that stopped it?"

"Yes. I was the one who stopped it. I was the one who ordered that they remove you from the testing room and into this room. To make you feel more comfortable here."

"Why?"

"You're not a monster, Fade," I said. "You're not a nightmare. You're just a person. A woman who is trying to get past what they have done to people."

She shook her head, "I am a monster. I am a nightmare."

"Not to me."

"What makes you different than everyone else?"

"Because I can see the toll it is taking on you."

"Why do you care about me?"

"You're more than just someone who we are trying to run tests on. You're more than what you believe yourself to be, Fade. And I care about you because there is something more to you. Something different. Something that wants to be free and understood. But you're anything but understood."

"You don't know me."

"You're right. I don't. But I would like to try."

She looked skeptical at first by the way she furrowed her eyebrows at me. But then her expression softened.

"I want to make one thing clear."

"What's that?"

"If I am to interact with anyone, I want it to be you. And only you."

"Consider it done. Because that has already happened."

"So tomorrow, when breakfast time is near, or lunch, or dinner, or whatever, it'll only be you?"

"Only me."

"Did you request it that way?"

"I made sure it was only me. You already know the majority of the staff because they ran numerous tests on you. You only know me from that one interaction we had. Although it was brief, I can tell it changed something in you."

"It was because you didn't treat me like a monster."

"I never will, Fade."

"Thank you."

"I'll let you eat. There are some things I need to get done. I'll be back to check in on you, Fade."

"Hazal," she said.

I turned, surprised that she said her given name.

"I-I can't say your name. I'm sorry."

"I know," she said sadly. "I just want you to know that if and when I get out of here, and you by some chance find me, please call me that. So I know it's you."

I smiled, "Of course."

[heavenhellandhumanity]

I am so very surprised at how much I love the Pitt. It caught my attention with the 'Doctor Reacts' videos on YT and how accurate they were finding a lot of the medical stuff. But then I started watched full episodes and the whole show being like 75% them being doctors and 25% them being messy humans really works for me! And the format of it being all one shift with each ep being an hour, so it's happening in real time, was also a really great call.

Even character types like Santos and Langdon who I would normally dislike or ignore really get my attention. It's Santos being cocky as shit but then drop a scapel on her work flirtation's foot, which she'll then bring up herself with the med students partly to reassure them that everyone makes (embarrassing) mistakes. It's Langdon being irritable and smug (and an oblivious husband at best) but then having the biggest soft spot for Mel. But every single doctor on that show makes mistakes and learns from the others, even Langdon and Santos (Langdon's best moment so far was when he apologised to the patient for not communicating with him properly and doing what Mel advised him to).

Garcia has the same kind of cockiness but it never really irritated me as it did Santos and Langdon. Maybe because she wasn't in it as much? Or because it's fun to see the typical surgeon character (always want to do the cutting) as a woman? That scene where she tells Santos there is a difference between confidence and cockiness was so good because you get the feeling she is speaking from experience. And looking back on it, that endeared me to Garcia. She was confident from the start but she was willing to wait for what was best for the patient, even if she was someone who wanted to get involved from the get go, which Santos hasn't quite figured out that balance yet.

And Doctor Robby! Not sure whether I love him or want to kick him! He is having the worst day and even when he's rushed off his feet he takes the time to be kind to the students, especially those on their first day. He's empathetic and gives criticism really well. But then he doesn't trust that sometimes his doctors do know what they're talking about (Mohan with her mercury patient) and can be a massive hypocrite in that 'doctors make the worst patients' kind of way.

And don't even get me started on Collins, who is also having a terrible day but keeps it far more contained than Robby, Dana who is obviously running her nurses like a tight ship, Perlah and her list which everyone apparently knows about, Whittaker and his never-ending scrub changes, Mohan who wants to know her patients more than anyone (though I agree with Dr Robby a little and wonder if she'll find somewhere like ICU would work better for her), McKay who I forgot about for a hot second but has obviously gone through a lot and come out the other side, Jarvadi, who has been a little of a hard sell for me as she also was a little cocky in the way really intelligent people can be sometimes but pays attention to the little details which really make a difference.

And there are a bunch of other people, staff and patients, who I adore but this whole show just really works.

I'm only on Ep 7 (or 8, they're all trying to eat lunch) and I've been spoiled a little for the Langdon thing and Pittfest, but there is still enough I don't know that I'm looking forward to getting back to it.

[crossroads-system]

This isn't something we talk about often but tbh its important and we probably should talk about it more often.

TW: Vague mentions of medical abuse/neglect and intersexism

So we are intersex. It's been a journey coming to terms with that. Not because we think its a bad thing but more so that medical purism continuesly had us questioning and invalidating our own experiences. We were not given the label of intersex at birth but now as an adult with a better understanding of my body and how intersexism has contributed to the lack of / improper medical care we've received it makes alot more sense now.

We have quite a severe level of medical trauma in almost all areas. We have a plethora of disorders that have brought us to damn near every specialist out there and for literal decades the majority of our issues were brushed under the rug or flat out ignored because it was assumed that someone of our agab wouldn't be experiencing those things or that the complaints we had were 'typical' for someone of our agab despite the fact that they were utterly disabling for us.

Years of being put on hormone treatments that made neurological symptoms worse. Years of our body being literally tortured because people kept treating us as our agab. Years of irreparable damage done to our body.

It literally wasn't until we got into open, honest, in depth and a bit tmi conversations with our trans friends with the same agabs about the effects of their hrt and the shocking revaluation that I, after years of finally getting off the the improperly prescribed hormone regiment, was already well past some of the beginning stages of changes they experienced with their hrt that alot of things started to click.

We started exploring gender presentations as we started to unravel years of medical neglect and mistreatment. We got a team of trans care specialists whom were the first people ever to take our concerns seriously.

It was discovered we have some sort of allergy to the dominant hormone someone of our assigned agab should have. We were put on hrt and immediately some of our worst symptoms, including seizures improved for the first time in our life. We found out we had a rare developmental disorder in a certain secondary sex characteristic that was causing alot of other issues and was able to finally get it taken care of through trans health.

Even with all of that I have struggled with whether we belong in the intersex community or not. Not being 'medically recognized' as intersex had me questioning my own lived experience and overlooking how previous doctors' ideals around a strict binary sex model had contributed to my own suffering and had progressed certain life altering/limiting conditions far further than they had ever needed to progress if I had just been taken seriously the first time. Not a decade and a half after my first attempt at bringing up certain issues.

Trans care literally saved my life. The intersexism within the medical community nearly ended it. That reality doesn't change just because my intersex experience isn't that of the most well known types of intersex groups. It doesn't change just because medical professionals in a practice that is inherently harmful towards intersex patients doesn't want to recognize me.

That is the part we need to keep reminding ourselves of. Our experiences with intersexism are real. They are damaging. And not acknowledging that is a disservice to ourselves.

[snippychicke]

It's just Business Eight--Hold On.

Fucking Bounty Hunters.

No. Fucking Luffy who had to have the largest bounty in the East Blue and still traipsed around every island you came across, shouting his name to the skies.

The bounty hunters were left in puddles of their own blood, and you didn’t bother to check if they were even still breathing as you and Luffy helped Zoro back to the ship, Nami and Usopp trailing behind with Sanji. The two had suffered the worst of injuries-- which was proving to be typical, unfortunately.

“I’ll get us out of here,” You heard Nami say, but you were already gathering supplies from the makeshift First Aid kit, mind whirling with what you needed to do. Zoro was still not completely healed from his fight with Mihawk, and then the brawl with Arlong’s pirates. You were pretty sure at this point he was just straight-up ignoring Death.

Your thoughts came to a stand still when you saw Sanji half-slumped in the chair next to the bed where Zoro laid, far more pale than usual and beads of sweat evident on his forehead. “Hang in there, okay Sanj’?” You spared a brief moment to squeeze his shoulder - softly, just in case it was injured - before turning to your first patient. "Let me get Zoro fixed first."

“I’m fine,” Zoro tried to protest until you poked his chest sharply and got a hiss in return.

“Bull-fucking-shit,” You snarled, ignoring the huff of laughter coming from behind you. “I’m not even a doctor and I can tell that lie from a mile away.”

“It’s not smart to piss off a lady, moss head,” Sanji muttered, making you grit your teeth as you worked. Of course he would decide to push Zoro’s buttons while you were trying to treat the swordsman. “Especially one that’s taking your clothes off.”

“Oh my god, Sanji!” You snapped before Zoro could react, turning your head to glare at the cook out of the corner of your eye. “Are you serious?” The blond’s head was hung back as he slumped in the chair, hair covering his eyes but you could still see the faint smile on his lips. Far, far too pale lips.

“You’re just jealous she’s undressing me first,” Zoro added and you saw red.

“I know you are both some of the strongest people I know, but do not think, for one second, that I would hesitate before murdering you both,” You swore between clenched teeth. “And I could get away with it. After all, I’m not a fucking doctor.”

Thankfully, once you started to fix the torn stitches on Zoro’s chest, the swordsman was too busy controlling his breathing to make any quips, and Sanji was unusually quiet - though you presumed you knew why once you heard the click of his lighter. Silence hung in the air along with the smoke from Sanji's cigarette while you worked, allowing you to finish quicker than you expected.

“Alright,” You sighed as you bandaged up the swordsman before throwing his bloodied shirt at him. “You’re good to go. I’d give you strict orders to get some rest, but…”

“I was already planning on it,” Zoro muttered as he stood and gingerly limped out of the cabin.

“Okay then, next…” Your words died on your lips as you turned and watched as Sanji undid the buttons of his blazer, and then his shirt.

Oh. Huh. It was… it was suddenly a lot hotter in the room, and you blamed that solely on the fact Zoro had shut the door behind him.

You swallowed thickly as you tried to focus on the wounds from the bounty-hunters swords. After all, you had seen him shirtless before. Granted, the times he had done so you had found yourself in similar situations of being hit with speechlessness and sudden hot flashes.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Sanji asked, shooting you a look, snapping you back to reality.

"Tired," You excused, gesturing to him to sit on the bedside. "Not used to all this excitement."

"I wouldn't think mosshead would affect you that much," Sanji muttered, making you roll your eyes.

"Hardly." You muttered. "The man's going to end up with more scars than anything else at this point." Zoro was… nice to look at.

But he wasn't Sanji.

Not that you would ever admit that.

Your heart took up residence in your throat as you cleaned Sanji's wounds, yet also relieved to note they weren't as deep or severe as Zoro's - And if your fingers lingered on his skin, gliding across the muscles, it was just part of the assessment. That was all.

"I think you might just need a few stitches," You decided, avoiding looking up at him as you looked through your first aid kit for another suture pack.

"...are you sure this is what you wanted?" He asked as you readied the needle and thread. "Being a jack of all trades for a bunch of pirates?"

You shrugged half-heartedly. "Even if it wasn't, I can't exactly change my mind now." Was this what you wanted--stitching up your best friend's wounds? Listening to him curse in pain because you didn't have the right painkillers, or even some kind of numbing agent?

Not at all.

But you thought that was the end of that line of conversation as you worked - your heart aching in pain with every hiss of pain. You were not meant to be a doctor. Not at all.

"I'm sorry," You repeated for what felt like the hundredth time as you pierced his skin. "Last one, I promise."

"I'd find you a way back," He said through gritted teeth, surprising you. "Back to the Baratie if you wanted. Or anywhere else for that matter."

You finally looked up at his face, meeting his gaze. "I'm not leaving you Sanji. So drop it."

His hand reached out to cup your face, wiping away tears you hadn't realized had escaped your eyes. "I don't want you staying here for my sake. I'd rather you be happy."

Your heart twisted into a knot. Did he really think you could be happy anywhere else? Constantly wondering if he was okay? Wondering if he was alive or dead? Especially now that you knew how dangerous it was.

You scoffed as you focused back on the last stitch. "Sorry, lil' eggplant. I said you were stuck with me forever, and I meant it."

~*~

If you thought Sanji-- the man as strong willed and stubborn as Red-legged Zeff himself, who survived nearly three months with barely any food at the age of nine-- would drop it there, you were wrong.

"Where is this coming from?" You swore after he pressed you again about going back to the Baratie while you helped wash dishes. Thankfully the rest of the crew had left the galley after supper, allowing you two privacy as you argued - though you would be highly surprised if they couldn't hear.

"I want you to be happy," Sanji excused again around his cigarette. "I know you only joined the crew because you felt like you had to. Because we pressured you back at Coco village. I don't want you risking your life because of me."

You ground your teeth as you scrubbed one of the pots. "Is that it, or because I keep cock-blocking you?" You weren't blind, there had been more than a few girls in the various ports that had been charmed by his wiles. Yet every time you had sworn to yourself you were going to turn and look the other way - allowing him to do whatever he pleased - his eyes would catch yours. You don't know if it was the sadness or disgust in your expression that always seemed to ruin his mood, but everytime you retreated back to the Going Merry - he would follow.

"You're not--" He choked out, surprised by your words. "That's not it. This has nothing to do with me, or how I feel."

"Bullshit. Because no one else has a problem with me except you." You slammed down the pot, biting back your tears. "I told you, Sanji. I'm not leaving." Go back to the Baratie, try to live a life without him? Without the promise of seeing him again at the end of every lonely trip?

Even if he disliked you, at least by staying here you would know if he was okay.

"I don't have a problem. I just want you to be happy, that's all. I want you to be following your own dream and not just tagging along because you feel like you have to."

Thoughts tore through your mind quicker than you could really handle. 'I don't have a dream. Not like everyone else. I just want to be happy, and that has always included you. I can't imagine life without you. I don't want to.'

Maybe you were foolish. Being blinded by your feelings. But hell, even if he hated you, you knew you would still care for him.

His hand slid over your shoulder, breaking you from your thoughts. You could barely see through the tears in your eyes as you looked up at him, and you wanted to curse him. Because you were sure the human heart shouldn't be so full of both love and anguish at the same time.

You slapped his arm away, and didn't give him a chance to say another word as you stormed from the kitchens and out to the deck.

》°《

Your eyes burned as you rotated the spices in the small closet, and you wished you could blame it on the sharp pungent smells.

But you couldn't. Maybe it was just because it was close to that time of the month. Or maybe you were overly tired. But after your usual meeting with Zeff to settle the books, you had escaped to your usual little table to watch the patrons of the restaurant.

Except today, one of the beautiful women must have really caught Sanji's eyes. The sous-chef had slipped from the kitchen with some delectable little dessert to serve in-person. The woman had blushed deeply, but seemed just as smitten with Sanji as he was with her. The two talked for quite a while until Sanji picked up her hand to press a kiss to it.

And, well, that had been enough for you. You slipped back into the kitchens to tell them to cancel your order before disappearing into the pantry to put away the items you had delivered.

Organizing and stocking was oddly soothing, though it allowed your mind to wander.

Were you really that idiotic? You knew he was a flirt-- a playboy. So why did it hurt so much? Why couldn't you let this stupid crush go? There was more to life than men. Then Sanji.

You needed something else - maybe even someone else - to think about. To worry about. To dream about.

A shadow fell over the tiny closet, and you looked over your shoulder to see Sanji. "Could you hand me some of the saffron?" He asked, gesturing to one of the shelves.

"Uh…" Despite being the main supplier for the restaurant, you weren't overly familiar with the various spices. Especially the less-typical ones. (You knew oregano, considering the lifelong debate about it, but the others you need to smell or at least see the label.)

It didn't help that the racks were tightly packed from floor to ceiling, so the vague gesture was less than helpful.

"Here," Sanji stepped closer, a hand on your shoulder as he pressed against you to reach over your head. Your face flushed as your breath hitched-this was definitely not helping your situation. "Damn Zeff got it in his head for some Saffron Risotto for some reason."

"Hmm," You hummed, unable to say anything with the lump in your throat.

And then the door slammed shut.

Both you and Sanji swore, though the space was barely large enough for either of you to move. "What the fucking hell," Sanji swore, and you heard the unmistakable sound of a lock.

"You two idiots are going to be stuck in there until you actually talk to each other," Patty's unmistakable voice stated from outside. "We are sick and tired of your teenage dramatics."

"Patty! Patty! Not funny!" Both of you swore, trying to move, which was very uncomfortable as you were more or less pressed into the shelving.

But if Patty was out there, or any of the others, they were unusually quiet.

"Fuck my life," You sighed as you pressed your head against the shelf in front of you. Because, unfortunately, you could easily guess that Patty, and probably many of the others, had jumped to the - correct - conclusion your unusual lack of appetite and sober mood had something to do with the flirty playboy.

"You and me both," Sanji grumbled near your ear. "That pretty brunette at table five is waiting for me."

Yeah, that did not help.

"Speaking of pretty girls, what are you doing in here?" He asked after a moment. "I don't recall your order coming through."

"Not hungry today," You bit out. "Look, do you think you can shift enough to try the knob?" Even though you had heard the soft click of a lock, you had to hold out hope.

"You? Not hungry after coming home?" Sanji scoffed, but also turned slightly behind you, his hands falling naturally to your waist as he tried to turn completely, but failed to do much more than press you against the shelving more.

"Ow ow, wait, no," You hissed, pushing back against him. You felt his fingers dig into your hips as he tensed. "Let me turn first so the damn bar isn't digging into my chest."

Sanji stayed oddly quiet as you wiggled and managed to turn around in the tight space. The hanging light lit the space sufficiently, letting you see Sanji's red face even as he avoided your gaze, his hands no longer on your hips but gripping the shelving on either side of your head.

Ah. Right. Knowing him and everything, having a girl pressing against him was not doing him any favors.

Or, at least when that girl was you.

"Bet you wished it was brunette in here with you now," You couldn't stop from grumbling. "Bear with me another minute and you can get back to your new girlfriend."

"Is that what you're mad about?" He asked as you tried to reach around him for the knob, pointedly ignoring how it felt to be pressed against his chest.

"I'm not mad," You growled as you tried to focus. "I just think it's poor work ethic for you to be flirting with every woman while on the clock."

For a moment you grinned as you were able to grasp the handle, but a small jiggle proved it was locked making you curse.

"I don't see why you'd be bothered by my 'work-ethic'. Hell, as much as the old geezer complains, that's not something he grumbles about."

"Should be," You huffed. "The damn thing's locked."

"Fuck," Sanji swore and you couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. "I'm gonna kill him as soon as we get out of here."

"You'll have to wait your turn." You were going to strangle that blue-haired menace. And whoever was his accomplice, even if Zeff himself was involved.

There was a moment of silence as both of you fumed, thinking of ways to exact your revenge as well as how the hell to get out.

Or, so you presumed.

"She's cute but she's not really girlfriend material."

You were confused for a moment at the non-sequitur before your mind was able to connect the metaphorical dots. You rolled your eyes, unsure if you were more annoyed with him bringing that back up, or the fact that it only solidified your belief he was a playboy despite his insistence otherwise. "You said she was waiting for you," You bit out. "So does she know that?"

"Considering she's waiting for her bill so she can get back to her fiance back on Maple Island, probably." He sighed. "She's here with a bunch of her friends for one last night out before she gets married. I was indulging them, that's all."

He finally met your gaze, face still pink but a faint smile on his lips. "You know it's hard for me not to indulge a beautiful lady. Especially when they ask so sweetly."

You huffed as you looked away. "Yeah yeah yeah, I've heard it all before." Still, there was no denying his admission soothed the wound on your heart. The one you rather not think about. "So, back to our issue at hand, how are we getting out of here?"

"Well, if you pardon my touch for a moment…"

Your breath caught as he gripped your thigh and pulled it up, bracing it against his hip. There was a devilish smirk on his face that did nothing good to your insides that were both twisted in knots and boiling.

"Kick it."

Oh.

Oh.

Yeah, your face was red judging by the fact your cheeks felt like fire as you shifted your weight, finding the door with the bottom of your foot as you held on to Sanji for balance. You weren't as strong as him or Zeff, but you could still do plenty of damage.

There was a sharp crack as you slammed your foot against the door, though it still held. Even after a second kick, it barely gave any.

"Harder, sweetheart," Sanji whispered in your ear. "Give that damn thing a piece of your mind."

Could you just die after this?

Still, you poured all your energy and slammed your foot one last time, which did the trick. The door freed itself of the hinges and fell to the floor with a loud crash.

Sanji chuckled as you caught your breath, still holding your leg against his thigh, mindless rubbing his thumb back and forth. "You promise to leave a bit of Patty left for me if I let you go?"

"I make no such promises," You retorted, and felt his laughter as well heard it as he pressed a kiss to your head.

"Alright, fair enough. You go kick his ass sweetheart, while I make your favorite dish."

[risingscorchingsuns]

okay so i have the bit where i reblog the post about genya having MALS every time mine flares up, but i realize nobody likely knows what the hell MALS is because it’s pretty rare and massively underdiagnosed. so because this is a thing that Hurts Me A Lot, and also because i genuinely do think it makes canonical sense for genya to have it, so im gonna infodump about it! obvious tw for medical shit and mentions of vascular problems. please do note I am not a professional- just a patient with too much time and having to do my own research because doctors won’t listen to me <3 I write from my own experience and very surface-level research; this is in no way an academic paper.

okay! MALS! what is it? MALS stands for Median Arcuate Ligament Syndrome. The median arcuate ligament is a vascular ligament in the lower part of your chest, and MALS is a kind of chronic vascular compression condition where this ligament sits lower than it should. This puts pressure on the celiac artery, which supplies blood to the stomach, liver, and all the other organs and stuff in the lower abdomen.

The symptoms vary, but from the limited research out there as well as my own experience, the primary symptom of MALS is agonizing chronic stomach pain, which has a risk of flaring up after eating or exercise. In my own experience, it’s both, but it’s mostly food. I’ve had days where I barely eat, or eat much less because i really don’t want to have to deal with a flareup. There’s no foods that trigger it specifically as far as I know, but I’ve noticed that things with high fat or oil contents make the flareups happen faster. For example, sushi- I love tuna nigiri, but the fat in the raw tuna always leaves me in agony 😔 I’ve also had to leave the gym early sometimes, because exercise triggers it. This is less common in my experience, though.

The pain is normally manageable- it feels like a stabbing cramp in my lower abdomen, typically about a 4-5/10 on the pain scale. It sucks, but normally i just have to sit down for about 20 minutes and it passes. But the worst ones have had me completely immobilized, sometimes for hours at a time. The worst one I ever had actually had me hospitalized; I was on the floor curled up, in so much pain I could barely even breathe. It was like someone was twisting knives in my insides- I thought I was dying. I run the risk of pain like this every time I eat. Pain like that is rare for me, and I’ve never met anyone else with my condition, but if they feel pain like that more often than I do, it’s all the more reason to raise awareness for MALS.

As far as I know, there’s nothing to be done for pain management. Ibuprofen and things like that either don’t touch it, or the pain simply passes before it takes effect. Regardless, the only thing I’ve found to do is wait it out, and don’t strain myself. There is a surgical cure, an open vascular surgery to relieve the pressure on the artery. But MALS is very rare, mostly because it is massively, massively underdiagnosed. It took ten years for doctors to stop telling me I was just lactose intolerant/experiencing menstrual cramps and actually run a CT scan on me. I believe the diagnoses rate is two out of every hundred thousand patients. MALS is mistaken for all sorts of things; lactose intolerance, IBS, Crohn’s, pretty much any Tummyache Disorder can get confused for MALS. Additionally, I’ve found mentions of patients saying doctors just straight up don’t believe their pain because there’s no obvious cause. In my experience, finding treatment has been nothing short of a nightmare; because MALS is only debilitating and not technically dangerous, I’ve had countless doctors dismiss my case and tell me to just deal with it. (I could go on a whole rant about sure, yeah, just deal with a coin flip’s chance of agony if I want to sustain myself by literally eating, but whatever thank you fuck you every doctor.) Regardless, MALS is really underdiagnosed, and it’s fairly under-researched as well.

Anyway, onto Genya Shinazugawa. From a surface level, I headcanon him to have MALS because he’s my blorbo and I love projecting onto fictional characters, but if I do a bit of analysis it actually makes a lot of sense. The most obvious symptom is his demon-eating; his ‘stronger’ digestive organs could be some fictional result of MALS. Something or other less blood flow tolerates demon magic something something fantasy. The important thing is, it’s mentioned in the manga that Genya has frequent checkups at the Butterfly Mansion due to his demon eating. I can’t remember exactly where, but im pretty sure it’s mentioned that this ability is harmful to his health/causes him pain. Therefore it’s not unreasonable to assume that eating demons can trigger Genya’s MALS, just as tuna triggers mine. Additionally, it was mentioned in the anime (I believe it was a Taisho Era Secret in the Swordsmith Village arc?) that Genya often refuses food, going long periods without eating. This is a common mental side effect of MALS- a lot of patients, myself included, develop a hesitance or even fear of eating due to the likelihood of it triggering a flareup. It’s likely that Genya is doing the same thing.

Anyway!! If you have any questions, or feel that I’ve missed something, please let me know!! As per usual for me I’ve written this mostly past 3am, so it’s possible I could have my lore crossed!! Regardless id be interested to hear everyone’s thoughts on this headcanon, because it’s not one that I’ve heard before. Thanks for reading! 💜🪲

[callieptrsn]

Four years ago I was in my last semester of high school. What was a year full of parties and university applications for others became the most challenging year of my life. I was struggling with emotion regulation, mood swings, intrusive thoughts, and much more. Little did I know, I was actually struggling with a serious personality disorder that was controlling my life. My thoughts were constantly loud and I couldn’t escape which left me feeling chronically empty.

Content warning: suicide, self-harm, other mentions of mental illness.

I remember that winter being the worst it had ever been. When I wasn’t empty, I was immensely sad. When I wasn’t sad, I was empty. It was a vicious cycle that changed the rest of my life. On February 3, 2021, I attempted suicide for the first time. I don’t remember much of the experience besides being the most scared I had ever been. There I was at seventeen being rushed to the hospital I had visited just days prior for suicidal ideation but no action had been taken.

The following two days were spent in the emergency room as they had nowhere to put me. After that second day, they transferred me to a mental health hospital in Edmonton in the middle of the night. When I was admitted, I asked how long they would keep me. After all, my mind was just thinking about how much school I would miss. They said the typical stay was three weeks. This made me panic a little bit, but I recall having an overwhelming sense of nothingness. Nothing mattered anymore.

I struggled during those three weeks. I met with countless doctors, nurses, psychologists, and therapists to try and get to the bottom of what was wrong. It was a very difficult time, especially because it was in the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic which left tight restrictions on visitors. No one was allowed to visit me; not my mom, my sister, my best friend, etc. The only contact I had outside of my phone during those weeks was with staff and other patients. It took me a long time to leave my room in that first week, but eventually I met some lovely people that I am still friends with to this day.

After what felt like an eternity, I was released on the twenty-first day. Nothing I can say will describe that feeling I felt when I got to walk out of those doors that had locked me inside for twenty one days. It felt like freedom, but returning to life was a challenge. I was now on a strict medication regimen, going to therapy once a week, seeing a psychiatrist every two weeks—it was overwhelming. As the days passed, I missed more and more school because I felt like I couldn’t keep up with everything going on around me. I’ll never forget the whirlwind that surrounded me when returning from this hospital admission.

When February third rolls around every year, I try my best to reflect back on what I went through. There are many emotions that come with today. It’s difficult to describe, however it makes sense to me. Each year, I hide myself at home and try to ignore this part of my past. This year, however, I’ve decided to let go of the fear around sharing my story. The story didn’t end there, in fact it is still ongoing, but I couldn’t be more proud of myself for telling my truth. Instead of hiding in silence today, I’m going to be as loud as I can with hopes of helping other young adults have support through their journeys as I wish I had four years ago.

No matter how bad it gets or how dark the future seems to be, it will get better. I know that’s tough to believe from someone on the internet, but try to believe me when I say that this pain won’t last forever.

I survived, and so will you.

[maybejj]

Saw where you posted about being a surgical tech and wondering if you might expand on that as I’m considering going back to school for that myself. Whatever you feel comfortable sharing about what your day is like and duties responsibilities or what the schooling is like would be super helpful and interesting. Only if you feel comfortable sharing though.

omg absolutely!! i love talking about anything and everything relating to my job!! truly something i love.

talks of surgery

i work at a smaller hospital so we don’t do a lot of bigger cases or big traumas but we still get our fair share of emergencies. a normal day usually starts by getting to work around 6:30 am and doing your “first scrub of the day” which means you scrub your hands & arms with a surgical scrub to really get your hands clean and underneath your fingernails. then you start getting supplies & equipment needed for your first case. your main job is to make sure everything is sterile once opening like checking indicators that say the instruments have been run through the sterilizer and maintaining sterility. you’re also the surgeons right hand man. anything they need? you better be ready with it 2 minutes before they need it. you need to know your anatomy by heart because that’s very important to know when trying to make sure you have the right instruments they need for a certain part of the body. it’s a lot of information to learn especially if you do multiple specialities (general, ortho, ENT, vascular, urology) and each doctor likes things a certain way (they’re all divas) but you eventually learn the flow of stuff and it gets easier. the OR does have a lot of different personalities and a lot of times they can be very rough and tough until they start trusting you. 9/10 it’s just because it’s a high stakes environment and they need to know you won’t crack under pressure because anything can happen during surgery. i won’t lie, it’s hard and very physically draining but it is so rewarding. you’re literally apart of a team that’s improving someone’s quality of life and it’s just so amazing to experience that. plus there’s no better team that works better together than surgery. especially during an emergency. everyone comes together for the patient and you either see the best or worst of people in those situations. you will see all kinds of nasty, odd things. definitely have to have a strong stomach for it and can’t be soft spoken because people, especially doctors, will walk all over you if you let them. just stand your ground and be respectful and it goes a long way.

but back to my day! lol i work 4 10’s so i get there around 6:30 and leave around 5 ish. i also take call because i work at a main hospital so typically im on call one week day a week and then i have to take 3 weekend day calls in a 6 week period. we’re a smaller hospital but we stay pretty busy. most days we’re doing anywhere from 20-35 cases. bigger hospitals will do loads more. we basically get the room ready for surgery, set up all the instruments and equipment, help position the patient, pass instruments during the case, draw up meds. all kinds of stuff. and we have to be aware of everything on our back table at all times. we do not want a retained item. that is a big no no. so we are the ones in charge with counting all sponges, needles, instruments, literally everything that has the possibility of getting lost in the patient we have to count.

schooling wasn’t too bad for me! like i said, it’s just a lot of information and most of our job, besides learning anatomy and how the body functions, is hands on. so you really do 90% of your learning in clinical’s. now clinicals can be rough. your preceptors are usually older, grumpy, and don’t want to teach the newer class. at least that’s the experience i had and it was miserable. i did learn a lot but the hospital i trained at was awful to students. safe to say i moved away and now im at a lovely hospital with great people. in my schooling we had to know over 700 instruments by their names and be able to identify each one asap and what body part it’s used on. that can be intimidating at first but now? i could tell you in my sleep lol

i hope i didn’t ramble too much but if you have anymore specific questions or detailed asks at all please don’t hesitate to reach out!! i love talking about my job 😂

[stanheighttrapped]

Voyeur

"What do voyeurs see when they look in the mirror?"

Adam grew up observing everything he could. No matter how insignificant it seemed, he would always make a mental note of it. A specific change in scent, a person turning sharply as though they forgot something important, a couple readjusting their hands into a more comfortable position. It wasn't like he could say it was never on purpose, no, he knew what he was doing but there was something so fascinating about observing. About knowing things that people don't pick up on.

It helps him a lot throughout school, lets him keep his head down since he knows things and his classmates know that he knows things. The ones who don't learn quickly why they should, usually in the form of the cops pounding on their door due to an anonymous tip of illegal possession of drugs and a one way ticket to juvie. He isn't just left alone though, he's the person everyone goes to if they need dirt on someone. Need to find out if your boyfriend is fucking that cheerleader? Adam can find out. Need to get dirt on the bestfriend who betrayed you? Adam can get you the worst of it. So yeah, Adam wasn't necessarily liked by his peers in high school, but they valued him enough to leave him alone unless they needed his skill.

When he'd gone to college, his 'hobby' of sorts had followed him. Word spread around that if you needed information on anyone in the city, all you had to do was bring their full name and a $20 bill and you'd get their entire life story in about a week and a half. Before long, he had to start turning people away unless they were willing to pay a higher price or needed it for legal dirt because there were simply too many people who asked him for his services. Sometimes it made things awkward with people who didn't know about his side gig as they had assumed by 'services' he meant sex work. After a certain point he stopped trying to explain that no, he wasn't a prostitute, he just followed people to make a few extra bucks.

And after he'd dropped out, he somehow managed to keep that job going if on a more professional level. He didn't have a secretary to sort through all of the requests he got, but he was getting hired by higher profile people. Politicians, lawyers, sheriffs all had picked up on the kid who could track damn near anyone and not be caught. He raised his rates and, somehow, realized he could actually survive like this. Granted, it wasn't easy living, but it was better than trying to find somewhere other than a god damn McDonald's to hire him. All he had to do was follow people around, take a few photos, and boom he had an extra couple hundred dollars for the night. It paid his rent and kept him mostly fed, what more could he ask for?

Then he got the job to follow Lawrence Gordon. The man was a doctor, oncologist specifically, and was the prime suspect for the Jigsaw murders in the eyes of Detective Tapp. Tapp had paid a pretty penny for this job, nearly $450 which was more than enough motivation for Adam to take the job. Dr. Gordon was the typical doctor, rich and had a surprising amount of time on his hands for someone who worked with cancer patients. Apparently he had a wife and a daughter, but it didn't seem like a happy marriage especially when Adam followed Lawrence to that shitty motel to fuck a med student. Despite all of this, there was something about Lawrence Gordon that drew Adam in. Something about the older man tugged at something deep inside Adam's mind, something terrifying. He had never taken pleasure in his job necessarly, it was a job like one anyone else might do, but with this one, it became a game to him. To see just how close he could get to Lawrence without being caught. The fear in Lawrence's eyes when he'd stop and look around, hair on the back of his neck standing up in a warning of somethine he chouldn't see made Adam go a little more insane each time. By the time he'd gotten enough pictures and information for Tapp, there were dozens of pictures of Lawrence pinned up in his dark room that had started bleeding into the rest of his apartment. Before this job, he had never liked to call himself a stalker, opting usually for 'private investiagtor', but now? Now he couldn't call himself anything else. Not when he had a plan to continue following Lawrence after handing the pictures off to the detective.

As it turns out, he didn't even have to. Not when he woke up inside that fucking bathroom with none other than Lawrence Gordon chained across from him, just out of reach like always. It drove Adam slightly mad when he wasn't thinking about how they were definitely locked in a Jigsaw trap, how he was finally face to face with Lawrence and he couldn't do a single damn thing. There was something strange with the idea that Lawrence knew what he looked like, but had no idea who he was. Lawrence was clueless to the fact that the man he was telling about his wife and daughter had known about them for weeks now. Oh Adam knew so much more than Lawrence would ever realize and if that didn't do something to Adam's head, pleasure simmering low in his gut at the mere thought.

But then the clock struck six and Lawrence got that fucking phone call. Watching him saw his own foot off was indeed terrifying, getting shot by him was worse. Then the guy behind it, Zepp is what Lawrence called him, had burst into the bathroom with a gun, spouting about how Lawrence hadn't finished his game on time and needed to die. Now, Adam couldn't let that happen. No, he would do anything to keep Lawrence Gordon alive, even if it meant killing a man. Killing wasn't the right word, however, it was more mauling. Adam had mauled a man for Lawrence. It wasn't even a conscious choice, he had just done it. Picked up that porcelain lid and brought it down onto Zepp over and over and over, almost relishing in the warmth that came from the blood splattering against him.

Adam wasn't one to beg, he never had been, but right now he would have kissed Lawrence's feet if he still had both of them and the ability to do such if it meant Lawrence wouldn't leave. He knew Lawrence needed to get help otherwise they'd both die, but as he reached out and grasped at whatever part of Lawrence he get get ahold of, all he could think about was that he couldn't let Lawrence go. He couldn't. But Lawrence had promised, said he wouldn't lie to Adam, that he'd come back for him. That had been a day and a half ago, based on that stupid clock that was still ticking away. He knew Lawrence wasn't coming back, he wasn't stupid. All he had now was Zepp's corpse, the shattered pieces of the mirror, and the photos of Lawrence.

Those words from the tape playing on loop in his mind. What does a voyeur see when they look in a mirror? The last thing he sees before that plastic bag is pulled over his head and he chokes on his own blood is a glimpse of himself in one of the mirrors across from him, but he doesn't know who he sees. After all, no one had ever paid him to take photos of himself.

[anony-man]

Some Delphi doctor Pharma thoughts because, well… why not? More specifically, a thought-out explanation for successfully hiding the very, very illegal business of organ harvesting (or cog harvesting, if you’re Pharma). Very, very long, and mainly Pharma-centric. Also TW for mild mentions of gore below (near the end):

It would have been a very, very good question to ask how in the world he’d managed to get into the practice of harvesting cogs for the enemy, but that isn’t exactly the focus here. What it came down to, for the most part, was being stationed at Delphi of all areas. It was a rough place to work, and it had quite the reputation of being the worst of the worst when it came to practitioners AND survival rates. The extra factors were probably due to the fact that an ex-Decepticon and a war frame were both in high ranks of the medical staff (not to mention the awful habit Cybertron’s governors had of actually making sure funds went to keeping heat and lights on in the building), but none of this phased Pharma. When the offer—well, not so much offer as it was threat to end his life and career if he didn’t accept—came up, he wasn’t exactly in a place to decline.

It was easy work, really. All he had to do was stay after hours and harvest cogs from dead patients before they left to be cremated, or buried, or recycled, or… well, whatever their loved ones chose to do. He was practically running the hospital at that point, and no one had ever questioned his authority. Besides, no medical staff outside of himself and Ambulon had ever worked at Delphi for more than a few months tops. Delphi’s hospital was severely understaffed with one or two medical drones patrolling the area outside of himself and Ambulon, but that’s the way Pharma would have had it. After all, it’s what made his awful situation possible.

Besides… If push came to shove, and by some miracle someone found out about his forced ties with the DJD, he could always blame Ambulon. It would be easy enough to frame him, after all. No one would believe him, anyway. Not with his past as an ex ‘Con. Pharma wasn’t much better, being built a war frame despite his work in the medical field, but what choice did he have?

Things were going well, at first. Pharma was averaging at about three to four cogs a month, give or take a few. Despite what outsiders said, Delphi was typically the place where those too far gone came to live their last moments in the peace and comfort medical support was able to offer, so the supply was always steady. That is, it was steady, until Pharma got a rather threatening letter in the mail. The DJD had begun to demand four times what he was averaging, and that number was expected every two weeks.

The first time he took a life with his own hands, Pharma had felt physically ill. He spent the rest of the day locked up in his office, ignoring Ambulon’s pestering concerns with the complaint that he was feeling unwell, which was true, but that he didn’t require support, which was… well, sort of true. He’d barely managed to make it through a ration of energon that evening, and he’d spent most of the night forcing down bottle after bottle of cheap alcoholic drinks. The overwhelming guilt didn’t last long, however, since Pharma knew he couldn’t physically keep it up. He’d have to tough it out, take in a few extra cogs from living patients, and maybe—just maybe—his circumstances would change.

As expected, things most certainly did not change. At least, not for the better. Enter First Aid, who soon became a sort of Achilles heel to Pharma’s process. The new doctor was young and inexperienced, practically fresh out of the academy from what Pharma had heard. For the first few weeks, Pharma was absolutely relentless in his blatant dislike of First Aid, and he took every chance he could get to publicly disapprove or humiliate the young doctor when he could. It felt awful, it really did. But given the very dangerous situation he found himself in, he couldn’t risk having more than one other doctor around the hospital floors.

First Aid wasn’t supposed to have lasted as long as he did. One week became two, which became four, which turned into one month, but still, Pharma relented. He chastised the young medic every chance he could get and occasionally gave crude, condescending remarks about question just how long First Aid would last before he, too, dropped out of the Delphi work force. Would he even remain a doctor, Pharma wondered? Would the stress from his experience at Delphi turn him away from any and all future medical endeavors? He’d hoped it might end that way—not for his sake, but for First Aid’s safety. Still, his nagging coworker who still struggled to turn over a new leaf was also relentless, but in the aspect of helping the new recruit. Before Pharma knew it, Ambulon was taking First Aid under his wing, showing him the ropes. It was infuriating, and it posed a very, very great threat to Pharma’s new business.

Primus, he grew so nervous during that time, so very, very nervous. He shouldn’t have been doing it at all. Everything, all of it—the manipulation, the twisted work, the criticism to both First Aid’s character and his career, it was all so fucked up in the worst way. It was unethical. It was awful, it… it was—ohh fuck. Fuck, what choice did he have? He didn’t have one. He had no choice at all, and this was how things would end. A well-known, well respected medic who’d risen above the hierarchy and racism, only to destroy it all after doing such dirty work for the DJD.

Despite his petty and discreet efforts, First Aid relented. It was nearing six months into the young medic’s employment at Delphi when Pharma realized he needed to do something different, and fast. He had already experienced one too many close calls, what with the nosy little doctor running into him after hours on the wrong floor at the wrong time. Sexual innuendos and workplace relationships had only gotten him so far with Ambulon, and after an awkward interface session in the washracks while bodies lay decomposing in locked bathroom stalls mere feet away, Pharma simply couldn’t take it anymore. Drastic measures had to be taken, unfortunately, and despite the medical oaths he’d sworn to observe and the many, many moral boundaries he’d never wanted to cross, Pharma was no longer against twisting the tables in his own favor.

He started out innocently enough. Aid was a smart one, of course, and Pharma caught the skeptical looks the young medic gave him every time he dared to bring up Delphi’s sketchy past. Despite the visor covering his optics and the mask he wore nearly all the time, it wasn’t hard to gauge First Aid’s reaction, and given a few weeks, Pharma knew it was starting to take a toll on the new medic. It was only when Ambulon had begun to scold him behind closed doors for “scaring” First Aid that Pharma realized he needed to push things up a notch.

He wasn’t a terrible person. Truly, he wasn’t. He never meant for any of it to happen, and he had never intended for First Aid to be affected so deeply or for his own reputation to be tarnished. He’d known his fate was sealed the moment he was given over to the DJD as their own personal provider of anything organ-related, but that didn’t make him a bad person, right? He was only doing his job. He was doing what he had been forced to do. He was still a doctor, a good person. Right? He was still him. He still saved lives, he still helped others, he still held the role and responsibility of being a strong, confident medic. He was a good person, right? Right?

He hadn’t been thinking all that clearly when it had happened. Still, the pieces just so happened to fall into place, and Pharma knew that his secret was sealed for at least a few months. He had been in the process of dragging the most recent body into a storage closet for safe keeping while he dealt with other more impending issues when it had occurred. Of course, shoving a dead corpse into an old closet wasn’t the best course of action, but with his mind starting to crack under the pressure and his options starting to slim, Pharma knew he didn’t have much of a choice.

He could hear the sound of quiet pedesteps entering into the washracks. It was First Aid, he knew, stopping to get cleaned up after a long shift. He always came into the washracks at this time, after every shift. Primus, he did it almost daily. How could Pharma have forgotten? How could he have forgotten?

Never mind that, he supposed. Pharma had waited until First Aid was rifling through his belongings and getting everything unneeded placed into a locker (really, with there only being three bots capable of making it to the washracks, what was the need for the locker?) before making a run for the shower stalls. He had thrown the body over one shoulder as he headed there, and as expected, it made quite the sound. Instead of hearing a bout of silence to follow the sudden interruption of First Aid’s prep-work, he was instead met with a small, startled gasp from the young medic. He paused in the middle of pulling the curtain shut and waited, just in case his cover was to be blown. He would hate to do it, but if he needed to take out one of his fellow medics—

“Is someone out there?” First Aid had called out, the anxiety practically dripping from his voice.

If Pharma hadn’t been so busy with not getting caught carrying a corpse around, he would’ve felt a little bad for the poor doctor’s frazzled nerves. Still, a job had to be done, and a job was what he was going to do. Pharma laid the corpse down onto the shower stall and, after quietly drawing the curtains back to hide it, made his way towards the exit. He managed to escape without running into First Aid, which would end up being a blessed accident for him in the next ten minutes.

Pharma was nearly halfway to his office when he heard it. A guttural, blood-curdling scream that sent a chill racing down his spine. He knew what had happened, of course, but the sound—Primus, the sound, the palpable horror and fear in the air as First Aid screamed—it would stick with him for a very, very long time. It didn’t take long before Ambulon was rushing down the hallway, a mixed look of confusion and concern plastered across his face as though First Aid—a disposable, inexperienced waste of space on their hospital’s floor—could have actually meant anything to him.

Pharma turned around quickly enough to see First Aid bursting out of the washracks, his entire frame rattling with choked sobs that even Pharma could see the plating shift and grind from such a long distance. He couldn’t quite make out the words—not that the poor medic was saying anything legible, but still—from where he stood, but from the way First Aid all but collapsed against Ambulon’s front, wailing about a “dead body” and the poor soul he’d just checked on so and so minutes ago and the guilt he felt, oh the guilt. What could have he done differently? Was it his fault? Was he to blame? God, why couldn’t he stop crying? He couldn’t breathe, Ambulon, he couldn’t breathe—

It ended up being too much to bear, too much to witness. Pharma slipped past with a distant pat to Ambulon’s shoulder and muttered something about giving First Aid a little something to take the edge off before he headed in to “take a look.” Of course, Pharma took the chance to properly dispose of the body so that nothing else could be said about the standalone incident, and when Ambulon had come in sometime later and informed him that First Aid was in the medibay sleeping off some heavy sedatives, Pharma was more than willing to show him the now-empty and pristine shower stalls. Every one of them, too, not just the one that had just so happened to inhabit the… the victim.

It didn’t come as much of a surprise when, a week later, there was a new medic among their ranks. First Aid had hardly even gone to the third floor—the floor where the incident had occured—at all during the week, and he had barely managed to keep himself moving throughout the normal shift changes. At first, Pharma expected him to drop out of the hospital staff like all of the other medics before him, but no. Instead, he was treated to a new recruit.

Ratchet was his name, Pharma recalls. Ratchet, Ambulon’s acquaintance, First Aid’s temporary mentor, and Pharma’s mortal enemy. Well, mortal enemy and secret obsession. If there was one thing Pharma had become good at during his many months spent harvesting the cogs of helpless victims, it was casting illusions. Though he had taken a deep, almost toxic, interest in Ratchet, Pharma knew he was more than capable of keeping up the charades.